All the Queen's Men Read online

  On the top floor, the third one, he unlocked the door to a certain room. It was empty except for the computer humming quietly on a wooden crate, cables hooking it to the electrical outlet and phone jack. There was no printer.

  The lights were programmed to go off and on at random times. The window was covered with shutters. Sometimes he came in the mornings and opened the shutters, then returned in the afternoon to shut them, so it looked as if someone was living there. He didn’t think anyone ever had; there was only the computer.

  Per that morning’s instructions, he walked quickly over to the computer and tapped a few keys on the keyboard, entering the program called Norton Utilities. On that program was a feature called “government wipe.” He pressed a few keys, waited a moment, then pressed another one. He watched briefly as the computer performed as instructed.

  He took his handkerchief and wiped off the computer keyboard, then the doorknob as he was leaving. He wouldn’t be back to this empty room with its electronic inhabitant.

  No one saw him arrive or leave, but then, he was so very average looking.

  Later that afternoon, a white van stopped down the street from the apartment building. Two men got out and walked up the narrow street; they were dressed as laborers, in paint-stained coveralls, though their van bore none of the accouterments of painters.

  They went into the apartment building and took the stairs up to the third floor. Once in the narrow, dingy hallway, they each took heavy automatic pistols from inside their coveralls and quietly approached the closed door to one of the apartments. One positioned himself to the side of the door, his pistol held ready He nodded to his companion, who cautiously reached out and tried the knob. Surprise etched both their faces when the door swung open.

  Quickly they peeked around the frame, automatically jerked back, then relaxed; the room was empty. Still, they held their pistols ready as they entered the room and quickly searched it. Nothing. Not only was the room uninhabited, it showed no signs that anyone had lived there in quite some time.

  On the other hand, there was that computer. It sat on the crate, quietly humming. The screen was a pure blue.

  The two men were professionals; they got down on their knees and inspected the computer, following the power and telephone cords to their outlets, looking for anything unusual. Not finding anything, one of them finally reached out and turned off the computer. The screen went blank and the quiet hum died.

  They briskly unplugged the computer and carried it downstairs to their van. They didn’t bother closing the door behind them when they left.

  Ville de Ronsard

  Cara was swimming when Ronsard sent word the computer had arrived. She hauled herself out of the pool and bent over from the waist to wring the water from her hair. She knew Hossam was watching her, his dark eyes hot with excitement. She ignored him and wrapped a towel around her head and another around her torso.

  Poor Hossam. All that jealous lust was getting tiresome. Hossam was getting tiresome. Cara was quickly bored with her lovers, because once they got her in bed they all seemed to get possessive and territorial. Why couldn’t they just be satisfied with good sex, the way she was? She didn’t like hurting them because she cared for them all, just not the way they wanted. On the other hand, she wasn’t going to spend her life with a man she didn’t want just because she felt sorry for him.

  Extricating herself from the relationship with Hossam could be tricky. She was well aware of the cultural differences; in the beginning, they had even been exciting. Now she felt stifled whenever she was with him.

  What she needed, she supposed, was a nice boy toy for her to keep, someone who knew she was the boss, at least of herself. She wasn’t into dominance, just independence.

  The truth was, no man she had ever met, with the exception of Ronsard, was as interesting as her computers—and she was smart enough to know Ronsard wasn’t the settling-down type. Not ever. She liked him, but he wasn’t for her. Maybe no one was. Maybe she was going to end up one of those eccentric, world-traveling old ladies. She kinda liked the image that brought to mind.

  Hossam approached and laid his hand on her arm. “You will come to my room tonight?”

  “Not tonight,” she said, moving away as casually as possible. “Mr. Ronsard has brought in a computer he wants me to investigate, so I’ll be working all night.”

  “Tomorrow, then.”

  “You know I can’t promise that when I don’t know what my schedule is.”

  “Marry me, and you will not have to work.”

  “I like working,” she said. “Good night” She hurried away before he could stop her again. Yes, this situation with Hossam was definitely getting tricky. Perhaps she would ask Ronsard to reassign Hossam, though she hated to do that; after all, Hossam was only being himself. He shouldn’t be punished for that.

  She stopped in her room to get dressed and pin up her hair. In the States she would have hurried to the office in her bathing suit, but Ronsard was very European in his dress standards. She liked that, actually. It was nice to have standards.

  He was waiting for her, his long dark hair pulled back in its usual style, giving his lean face a more exotic slant. He was dressed in black trousers and a white shirt, which was as informal as he got. “Your gift,” he said, nodding to the unit that now occupied her desktop.

  Quickly she hooked up the machine and sat down in front of it. She turned it on and waited for it to boot. Nothing happened. She tried it again. The screen still remained a blank blue.

  “Uh-oh.”

  “Is something wrong?” Ronsard asked as he approached.

  “It’s been wiped.”

  “Erased?”

  “Yeah. Maybe he just used a C-prompt command. If he did, there should still be some information on the hard drive.”

  “And if he didn’t?”

  “If he used a government wipe, then there’s nothing left.”

  “A government wipe . . .”

  “It’s just what it sounds like. If there’s anything you don’t want the government to see, you use a government wipe. It’s in Norton Utilities—”

  He held up a hand. “Details aren’t necessary. How long will it take you to find out which type of erasure he used?”

  “Not long.”

  He waited patiently while she got into the hard drive and began searching for bits of data. There was nothing. The drive was as pristine as the day it came off the assembly line.

  “Nothing,” she said in disgust.

  Ronsard put a comforting hand on her shoulder. “That is what I expected, really.”

  “Then why get the computer?”

  “Because I want to know Mr. Temple. If he were careless enough to leave data on the computer, then perhaps I shouldn’t deal with him. As it is—” Ronsard hesitated and gave a thin smile. “I’ve learned that he is almost as careful as I.”

  “Almost.”

  “I’m not going to him,” Ronsard said gently. “He is coming to me.”

  CHAPTER

  TWELVE

  Your name is Niema Jamieson,” Medina said, handing over a passport, driver’s license, and social security card.

  She looked down at them in both interest and disbelief. “Niema?” she questioned.

  “Your name is so unusual you’d probably slip up if you had to answer to anything else. It’s always best to stay close to your real name.”

  “Is that so, Mr. Darrell Tucker?” she murmured.

  He gave a faint smile in acknowledgment of the hit. “I’ve used so many names, I ran out of similars.”

  She opened the passport. Her photo was there, as well as several pages of stamps. According to her passport, within just the past year she had been to Great Britain twice, once to Italy, once to Switzerland, and once to Australia. Niema Jamieson was certainly well-traveled.

  The driver’s license looked just as authentic. She was a resident of New Hampshire, evidently. Niema Price Jamieson.

  “My middle name