Retribution

by John Sneeden

  She had to admit it was all her fault. She had fallen for the ruse—hook, line, and sinker. It was the first time she had given her number to a man in over a year. She remembered telling Nathan Sprague about him when Nathan had finally arrived that night.

  Nathan Sprague.

  Drenna felt something twitch inside of her. Was it significant that she was meeting her boss on the same night that she met Trevor? Had the two been working together? Drenna had always trusted Nathan, but she also couldn’t ignore what seemed to be much more than a coincidence.

  She was about to go back through the details of that evening when her phone flared on the table next to her. She checked the screen. Driscoll. She connected the call.

  “How are you holding up?” he asked before she could speak.

  “I haven’t jumped out of my window, if that’s what you mean. Any news on what happened to Rana?”

  “Not yet. A couple of media outlets are reporting that a man was strangled at a pub in Nice, but it’s hard to tell how accurate that is.”

  “It’s pretty obvious he wasn’t shot, so strangulation makes sense. I think we can safely—”

  “I need to tell you something,” Driscoll said, cutting her off.

  Drenna felt her stomach tighten at his ominous tone. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Alan.”

  “What about him?”

  “He’s gone.”

  Drenna sat up straight in the recliner.

  “I rang him about an hour ago,” Driscoll continued. “I told him to come to my room so we could plan our next steps. He told me he was on his way down to the lobby for a cup of coffee and would meet me in five minutes.”

  Drenna knew where this was going.

  “Fifteen minutes pass, and he still hasn’t come, so I ring him again,” Driscoll said. “No answer. Goes straight to voice mail.”

  “Did you go down to the lobby and look for him?”

  “Of course I did.”

  “And?”

  “And he wasn’t there. I went to his room, thinking he might have hopped in the shower, but no luck there either.”

  “You think someone grabbed him when he went down?”

  “No.” Driscoll paused. “As I thought back on our conversation, I realized there was something about it that bothered me. He said he was on his way down for coffee, which would imply that he was in a hallway or in the elevator. But it sounded like he was outside somewhere.”

  “Maybe he had run down the street to get something and was coming back.”

  “Then why say he was on his way down? I don’t even think he was anywhere near the hotel when I spoke to him.”

  There was a long pause as both of them considered the implications of the agent’s disappearance.

  Finally, Drenna asked, “So you think he’s working for the other side?”

  “Nothing else makes sense. Remember that he was the one who suggested searching for Botha in the bars. I never spoke to the owner who supposedly recognized Botha in the photograph. I just relied on what Alan told me.”

  Driscoll was right. With the benefit of hindsight, it was easy to see how the whole thing had been orchestrated. Bowles came up with the idea of canvassing bars, then he supposedly found a man who put Botha in the Irish pub.

  Still, one thing didn’t make sense. “I agree with you that Bowles is likely our turncoat. But if that’s true, then why even answer your call?”

  “I think he wanted to see what I knew. He was probably worried you found something implicating him and had passed it along to me. He might have also wanted to verify that I was still at the hotel.”

  Drenna’s jaw clenched. “Does he know what I got off Petrov’s phone?”

  “Not the specifics. I told him you had survived and were able to pick up some useful information, but I didn’t go into any detail.”

  Drenna had called Driscoll soon after leaving the yacht, and the two had agreed not to meet right away. The streets would likely be swarming with police after the discovery of a dead body in the heart of the city. Rana had false identification on him, which would keep the local police in the dark until MI6 could come up with a diplomatic way to resolve the situation.

  Fortunately, the authorities would probably never know what had happened on board Petrov’s yacht. Before leaving, Drenna had quietly searched the boat and discovered a few crew members on board who were asleep in their cabins. Even though she could have easily killed them all, she decided not to. If she had, the authorities would eventually board the deserted boat and discover what had happened. Leaving the crew alive would ensure the boat never drew attention. After waking up and discovering the mess, the crew would get the yacht out of the area as quickly as possible.

  Driscoll spoke into the silence. “You were betrayed by someone at Langley, and now it’s clear one of ours was compromised as well. This conspiracy is much larger than anyone could’ve imagined.”

  “Petrov told me they had tentacles everywhere. There was a part of me that didn’t believe him at the time, but now it’s possible he was telling the truth.”

  “How did this all come about?”

  “I believe it was extortion, pure and simple.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Let’s assume the Phantom is someone at the CIA. I believe he ran across a piece of evidence that exposed the group. He would keep them apprised of efforts to bring them down, and in exchange, they would pay him a fee.”

  “But this mole seems to be the leader of the organization. Petrov doesn’t seem like the kind of man who would give up power that easily.”

  “This likely goes back years, and we don’t know how long Petrov has been involved. He may be relatively new on the scene.”

  “Alan Bowles. How do you think he got wrapped up in all of this?”

  “He and the Phantom must have a connection of some kind. My guess is they worked on something together in the past.”

  “What about that secret project back in London that he worked on before joining you?”

  “I don’t think that was it. I think that was an overhaul of internal procedures. More than likely, he connected with the person during some joint operation between the CIA and MI6. My guess is they stumbled onto the organization together then used what evidence they found to extort the group and eventually take it over.”

  “We may never know the backstory.”

  “I’ll do some research when I get back to Vauxhall Cross.”

  “That sounds good,” Drenna said. “Speaking of Vauxhall Cross, I assume your people are on the way?”

  “Andy will be here this afternoon. I’ll meet with him for an hour or so before he goes to our French counterparts. We’re not on the best of terms with them right now, so the goal is to soften what could potentially be a diplomatic disaster.”

  “What about you? Are you going with him to meet with the authorities?”

  “That will be Andy’s call. Personally, I want to start the search for Bowles. I’ll get that traitorous bastard if it takes the rest of my life.”

  “Did you tell Andy I was still alive?” Drenna asked.

  There was a long pause, a clear indication that Driscoll had done exactly that.

  “Simon, I trusted you to keep this whole thing—”

  “Look, I didn’t have a choice,” he said.

  “That’s not what you and I agreed—”

  “Listen to me. He’s sympathetic to what you’re doing, and he’s promised to keep it under wraps.”

  “I’m not sure I trust anyone right now.”

  “I understand. I really do. But you can trust Andy. If he’s been compromised, then the whole world is going to hell in a handbasket. Listen, I know him better than anyone else at Vauxhall Cross. I’d trust him with my own life.” He paused then continued. “He needed to know, Drenna. How do you expect my people to investigate this with only a few pieces of information? You and I both know my people would eventually find out what had happened. We weren’t going to
keep this a secret forever.”

  After a moment’s reflection, Drenna realized he wasn’t wrong. MI6 had a job to do, and to successfully root out their own bad apples, they needed any and all information regarding the operation. Not only that, but at this point it didn’t really matter if word got back to the wrong people inside the CIA. Whoever was behind the whole conspiracy knew that she was alive.

  “You did the right thing,” she finally said.

  “You know I wouldn’t have done it if there were any other choice.”

  “I know.”

  “What about you?” he asked. “What’s your next step?”

  “I have to call the tech guy I’ve been working with back in DC. I need him to track a phone number for me, as well as a couple of other things.” A memory of one of Petrov’s contacts flashed in her mind. “By the way, are you familiar with the name Croesus?”

  “Croesus,” he said, more to himself than to her. “No, I can’t say that I am. Why?”

  “It was a name in Petrov’s contacts. I think it’s important.”

  “I’ll make note of it and see if I can dig up anything on our end.”

  “Simon, I need you to do me a favor. Since you spilled the beans, can you ask Andy to arrange transportation for me back to the States? Whoever is after me is going to be watching all the commercial flights into the US.”

  “We have planes going across the Atlantic several times a week, so it’s possible we can put something together. I’ll call you after our meeting.”

  Drenna thanked him and disconnected the call. She tossed the phone onto the bed and slipped off her robe. She would take a shower then call Geoff about the two leads she pulled from Petrov’s phone. If Petrov was telling the truth, it was clear that he wasn’t at the top of the organizational chart. The real Phantom was still out there, and she was going to hunt him down.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Georgetown, Washington, DC

  Two days later

  Drenna turned onto R Street then drove west past Montrose Park. After crossing 32nd Street, she pulled into the first spot she could find. As she put the car in Park, the first large drop of rain hit her windshield. Seconds later, several more splattered against the glass, harbingers of the nasty storm that was moving across the area.

  After killing the engine, she looked toward the front of Geoff Raymer’s house, which was about a hundred yards away. He had left the front porch light off just as she had requested. She didn’t think anyone would be watching but didn’t want to take any chances.

  Movement on the sidewalk drew Drenna’s attention. A young woman dressed in a pink T-shirt and black yoga pants was jogging toward her. She had on a pair of bulky headphones and appeared to be lost in whatever music was playing. She ran past Drenna without looking at her then turned north onto 32nd Street and disappeared from sight. Drenna checked the block ahead one last time. About a block away, a man was walking two pugs. He seemed to be urging the little dogs to move faster, a clear indication he didn’t want to be caught out in the storm.

  Seeing nothing that aroused suspicion, Drenna slipped on a baseball cap and exited the car. As she made her way to Raymer’s house, her thoughts turned to the last twenty-four hours. MI6 had been even more helpful than she had expected. In addition to putting her on a government plane, they had agreed to let her stay at one of their safe houses, a seldom-used condominium in Crystal City. They also let her use a car from a special fleet of vehicles that were owned under fictitious names. Drenna was pleasantly surprised to discover she had been given a sleek white Tesla.

  Driscoll’s boss, Andy Scott, had authorized the assistance. Having lost one of his men, Scott had been entirely sympathetic to Drenna’s cause. The only thing he asked in return was that she never reveal she had received help from the British government. He was willing to assist her efforts to uncover the truth, but he didn’t want to damage relations with Langley in the process.

  During the flight across the Atlantic, Drenna had gone through a mental list of all of her associates in an attempt to determine who might have betrayed her. But no matter how many times she went through the exercise, she kept coming back to one name: Nathan Sprague. Until then, she had trusted Sprague as much as she trusted anyone at the agency. He was the consummate professional, the type of person who put the needs of the country and his colleagues before his own. Still, Drenna couldn’t ignore the fact that she had met Trevor on the same night she was supposed to meet Sprague for dinner. Looking back, she found it more than a coincidence, particularly since Sprague had picked the location.

  Drenna shuddered at the thought that she might have been fooled by two people so close to her. From this point forward, she would look at everyone with some measure of suspicion. And if she continued working at the CIA—something that currently seemed highly unlikely—she vowed to keep all of her personal activities to herself.

  Despite the circumstantial evidence against Sprague, Drenna decided to give him the benefit of the doubt, at least for the time being. It was still possible he was completely innocent. Trevor might have simply chosen to make his move on the night Drenna was meeting Sprague.

  After arriving at Raymer’s house, Drenna stepped onto the darkened porch and knocked softly on the door.

  Raymer opened it a few seconds later. “Welcome back.”

  She stepped inside and took off her baseball cap. “It’s good to be back.”

  He shut the door behind her. “I take it you weren’t followed.”

  “If I had been, I wouldn’t have walked up to your door, now would I?”

  “Sorry, I guess I’m still a little spooked by all this. For most of my career, it’s been the same thing every day. After work, I get in my car, drive off, and leave it all behind.” He paused. “Now, everywhere I go, I imagine someone following me or listening in on my phone conversations.”

  “Welcome to my world.”

  “I know. Me complaining to you is like a guy with a cold complaining to someone who’s about to start chemo treatments.”

  A clap of thunder sounded outside, followed by the sound of rain beating on the roof.

  “Sounds like I got here just in time.”

  “How about some coffee?” Raymer asked. “I just made a pot of dark roast.”

  “That sounds fabulous.” As Drenna followed him across the living room, she noticed a Sig Sauer P226 pistol on the coffee table. “Nice. I’d say you’re adjusting to the whole spy thing pretty well. Just glad I didn’t get shot when I knocked on the door.”

  “Believe it or not, I’m actually a pretty good shot.”

  “Maybe I should just stay here under your protection.”

  He looked back at her. “Shut up.”

  After they arrived in the kitchen, Drenna took a seat at the table while he walked over to the counter. Rain splattered against the bay window. The storm was beginning to unleash its fury.

  Raymer retrieved two mugs from the cabinet. “We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  “Oh?”

  He turned toward her, his eyes filled with a seriousness that hadn’t been there before. “I think I may have stumbled onto something big. Really big.” He nodded toward the front of the house. “It’s why I decided to keep that pistol handy.”

  Drenna’s brow furrowed. What one piece of information could have made him fear for his life? “Okay, you have my attention now. Let’s hear it.”

  Raymer lifted the pot and poured coffee into the mugs. “What I’m going to share is mostly circumstantial, but I think you’ll agree it’s pretty compelling evidence.”

  “Pretty compelling evidence of what?”

  He turned toward her. “Treason. Subterfuge. Treachery. Whatever word you want to use.”

  “That’s pretty vague.”

  “I’ll explain everything.”

  After he finished pouring the coffee, Raymer placed one of the mugs in front of Drenna then took a seat across from her.

  “I hope I haven’t gotten you i
nto any trouble,” she said.

  “What do you mean?”

  She took a sip of coffee then said, “It sounds like whatever you found has put you in some sort of danger. Did someone discover you were snooping around?”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. I’m just being cautious.”

  Lightning flashed, followed by another clap of thunder several seconds later. The house shook.

  Raymer took a sip of coffee then set his mug on the table. “Let’s start with the number you gave me.”

  “The DC-area number in Petrov’s contacts.”

  He nodded. “As you might have suspected, it was connected to a burner.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. “So I did a little digging around and managed to figure out where it was purchased.”

  A gust of wind howled outside, throwing a sheet of rain across the window.

  Raymer tapped on the screen of his phone. “As it turns out, someone bought the phone at a convenience store on Columbia Road about four months ago.”

  “Columbia Road,” Drenna said softly. “I know that street. Isn’t it in northwest DC near Adams Morgan?”

  He nodded.

  “Were you able to find out who purchased it?”

  “No, the store has a cheap security system. Their cameras only have enough data storage to last a week. Every seven days, it starts taping over existing footage.” He slid his phone to the middle of the table. “Fortunately, I didn’t need the film.”

  Drenna leaned forward and looked at the phone’s screen. It displayed a satellite map of DC.

  Raymer pointed at a block along the east end of Columbia Road. “That’s where the store is located.”

  Drenna nodded. “Okay.”

  He moved his finger north. “And this is Harvard Street, which is one block away.”

  Harvard Street. Drenna frowned. It rang a bell, but she didn’t know why.