He crossed the terminal lobby, swiped through a door, and kept going at a quick pace. He swiped through another door in what was basically a tunnel, and they entered the security hub.
He brushed aside one of the two men monitoring the various gates and exits, dropped into the chair, got to work himself.
“You said fifteen-thirty?”
“That’s right.”
“Monika said on time, so …” He swiped, tapped, shifted feeds.
Eve watched Brinkman, casual pants, light jacket, rolly bag and briefcase, march through the gate. After a quick wave toward the counter, he kept walking.
“Follow him,” Eve ordered.
“Let me switch cams. You can see he walked out on his own, and … here we go, that must be his driver.”
“Not his driver. Enhance, zoom. Zoom on the driver—and I want a printout of him, full body, close-up face.” As Darren zoomed in, Eve swore under her breath. “It’s a droid.”
“Doesn’t look like a droid.”
“Closer. Go in closer.”
“Fine, but … son of a bitch, you’re right.” Darren let out a low whistle. “That’s one damn top-grade droid.”
“That’s how she does it. That’s how,” Eve muttered. “Droids. Brinkman’s asking questions. Probably where’s my usual guy. This one’s programmed to give some reasonable answer. And he’s going with the droid. Outside, move outside.”
“They’re heading to pickup—at the island. At least that’s where a car service would wait. Give me a … Yeah, moving out. Droid’s opening the back door.”
“Zoom. Get as much of the interior as you can.”
“I’m not going to be able to get you much.”
It was enough for Eve to see a pair of crossed female legs as Brinkman hesitated. Then a hand reach out to shake his as he slid inside.
“That’s how she does it. She just dosed him. Closer on the hand, enhance and freeze. See it? In her palm.”
“Mini pressure syringe,” Roarke said. “I doubt he even felt it.”
“I need the make and model, the year of the car. I need the license plate.”
“It’s a Vulcan, a Town Coach, luxury model. Last year’s. We make them,” Roarke told her.
“Capture that plate,” she ordered Darren as the car pulled away. “Echo, Charlie, Zulu, eight, four, three, eight. Print out those close-ups, and get me a copy of the feeds inside and out.” She turned away, pulled out her PPC to run the plates.
“Bogus name and address—had to figure it.”
“Give me two minutes,” Darren told her, “and I’ll have what you need. Still, it’s damn near impossible to program a droid to do any harm to a human.”
“Damn near isn’t impossible. I’ve got Baxter and Trueheart sitting on the house,” she told Roarke. “And Peabody by this time. McNab’s coming in with the van. I’ve got to use what we got here to fast-talk a warrant. I’m going to need Reo and a really cooperative judge because nothing I’ve got ties her to it. I’ve got nothing that wraps her in it.”
She checked her wrist unit. “She has to wait until the nurse leaves. She has to get her out, then find a way to get her grandmother down for the night. It’s too early, but she knows I’m sniffing. She knows, so she’s going to want to get started soon.”
She paced as she worked it out. “She grabbed him early, broke pattern enough for that. I’m looking at tonight, and she beats me to him. Gives me the car, the plate, the fricking droid because I can’t tie those to her—yet.
“I need a goddamn warrant. I need to get into the garage, into the house, into the basement. Goddamn it, she got him in there right under my nose. The grandmother thought she was still out getting a damn manicure. She got one, too. Covered her ass with that. She’d just gotten him in the fucking house and I’m right there. Right there.”
“You can blame yourself for that,” Roarke suggested, “if you want to be an eejit.” He clamped a hand on her shoulder, as she looked entirely capable in that moment of punching him. “Which you’re not, as an eejit couldn’t have narrowed the target to this one, had her residence already staked out.”
“Doesn’t help unless we can get inside.”