“Thank you,” she whispered, taking the paper from him.
At the door of the study he paused, his own grief close by. “You loved him. Why did you step out?”
She didn’t move. “I don’t know. I just don’t know.”
He went down alone, not making a sound on the carpeted steps. Opening the front door, he set the lock.
Soft, quick footsteps from behind.
Janet gripped his hand on the doorknob, her face tight and red. “Will you find Tom’s murderer, please?”
Her question demanded a promise, one he wasn’t sure he could keep. Her teary eyes searched his and again he couldn’t help himself. “Yes.”
He left, needing to get out. He felt smothered.
CHAPTER 20
Janet Bellue’s house was at the end of a block, in a cul-de-sac, and there were no other cars parked nearby. He quickly went around his Jeep in a crouch, feeling beneath the chassis. Near the front he found a small oval GPS tracker attached to the frame. It hadn’t been there at the restaurant.
He pulled it off and drove away. On the way home he punched a number on his burner phone.
“Steel, do you know what time it is?” Christie’s voice held an edge, but he was still glad to hear it.
“Sorry, but I need another favor.”
Her voice softened. “What?”
“I’d like the police and autopsy report on Tom Bellue. Died about a month ago in Fredericksburg.”
“I’ll have to ask my superiors.”
“I think it might be tied to the men who attacked us, but I don’t want CID involved just yet.”
“What do I get for this?” Her words held a hint of humor.
“Whatever you want.” He didn’t see that he had much to give anyway.
“Remember that, Steel. Whatever I want.” She hung up.
He wondered what she wanted. She hadn’t earned his trust yet, but he was certain the attacks on him were coming from outside Blackhood Ops and the government. It wasn’t much of a risk to go to her.
***
He headed west-northwest, making a series of turns for an hour and a half that led him up into the Blue Ridge Mountains. A car was following a good distance behind him. He wanted a secluded place. From his days of spelunking he knew all the roads and turnoffs.
He rolled the window down and cool air rolled in, fresh on his skin. As the vehicle climbed in elevation the scent of pine trees filled the air. It brought back memories of Rachel. Shared sandwiches. Excited conversations. Photos of rock formations, and hikes. He swallowed.
The place he was searching for appeared in his headlights. He took a quick right into a tourist lookout and turned off his lights. Trees hid his Jeep. Grabbing the tracker, he ran back into the shadows along the road.
Stopping, he tossed the tracker as far ahead as he could along the road and off the edge so it disappeared in the canyon. Then he squatted back off the road. He didn’t have long to wait. A metallic blue Volvo swung around a turn below him, killing its lights as soon as they speared his parked Jeep.
The Volvo skidded to a stop.
Steel ran up to the passenger side of the car and shot one round into the window, past the startled driver. The gun report was loud in his ears and the glass was blown out on both sides of the car. The driver was the big guy from the bar.
Steel caught something glinting and ducked as two shots were fired at him through the window.
The car rocketed backward.
He knelt and aimed at the front windshield, putting holes in it. The echoes of his shots were drowned out by squealing tires as the Volvo turned and roared down the road.
Running to the Jeep, he made his own tires squeal as he turned around to follow. Even though it would be impossible for his Jeep to catch a Volvo, he accelerated in case he had put a bullet into the driver.
He never saw the car again.
CHAPTER 21
His gaze was stuck in his rearview mirror all the way home.
He took a different county road as he neared his property so he could check on tails. After multiple stops he was convinced no one was following him. He pulled the Jeep into the shed on the LLC property and took the tunnel back to the lower barn level.
Using his computer, he checked stored images on the cameras along the driveway. No parked cars or hidden visitors. The outer gate had remained locked.
Thirsty, he got a glass of lemonade, his gun cleaning kit, and sat in the living room. He turned over a few Audubon magazines on the coffee table, covered them with newspaper and a heavy cloth, and pulled out the Glock.
Mechanically he ejected the magazine, checked the chamber, pulled off the slide, and took out the recoil spring and barrel. Working with a rag, solvent, patches, a bore brush, and oil, he scoured it, letting the night’s events sift through him.
He wasn’t followed to Dixie’s. After the incident with Yellow and Blue, he had been careful. Thus the man must have followed Grove, knowing Grove would send him to Janet Bellue. Which meant they knew about Grove’s affair with Janet and were worried Janet still posed a risk for something her husband knew. Or else the opposition believed he was on the run and they were trying to find out where he was living.
The phone rang. He finished reassembling the Glock and set it down, picking up on the third ring.
“I just remembered something else.” There was a pause.
“Go ahead,” he said softly.
Janet Bellue’s voice broke. “Well, it’s just that Tom didn’t sleep well anymore. All last month he was often up in the middle of the night. I’d ask him why in the morning, and he would say he was listening to music and having ice cream. Beatles and blitz at three, he used to joke.”
“His sleeping problems were unusual?”
“Yes, we always used to sleep in each other’s arms until morning...” Her voice trailed off.
He knew she had the same thoughts occurring to him. And when did your relationship with Grove begin? Did your husband suspect it? Even unconsciously? When did you stop sleeping in each other’s arms? What were the other signs?
He had never suspected Carol. Maybe he had just blocked it out as impossible, or perhaps he had missed the signs because he had put distance between them. He didn’t like that he was also responsible for what had happened to them.
“Oh, no,” she said. “I’m sorry.” She hung up.
He understood the real reason she had called. She was desperate. If there was a gentle way to tell her that she wasn’t the only one, he would have. For a moment he considered calling her back and warning her that she might be in danger. But what could she do? He felt like a fish with sharks circling closer and sensed he was running out of time.
CHAPTER 22
Torr steeled his eyes into Sorenson’s to see how long the four-star general could hold his gaze. Sorenson lasted three seconds before he looked at his lap. Toady old general with a big nose. And a gun.
“What are we going to do about Steel?” asked Sorenson.
Torr smoothed his hand over the MultiSec logo engraved into the glass top of his desk. “What do you think we should do?” He sat back. The killer his security people had hired through intermediaries had failed, and Steel was on the run. He felt a headache coming on. “Maybe Bellue was more careful than we thought.”
He slid open the center drawer on his desk. A Smith & Wesson .44 Magnum lay there. Shiny.
“Bellue was tortured,” said Sorenson. “He was an accountant. He would have talked.”
“Perhaps.” Torr was seven when he had toured one of his father’s many car dealerships. His dad had taken him aside and whispered rule number one in his ear; Son, make sure you’re always in control of the flunkies. Then you’ll get it done right.
Torr missed his father. “We’ll wait and see.” He shifted to a different stressor. “I’ve been conside
ring our problem south of the border.”
Sorenson’s body stiffened.
Torr smiled. Rule number two: Put pressure on the flunkies so you know what they’re thinking.
The general’s pointy jaw stuck out. The old boy had some spunk left. Not totally worthless.
Torr nodded. “Maybe you’re right. We don’t need another Op. A lone assassin would be better. Tell Hulm. Get one of the cartels to hire someone. They can erase that friar along with General Vegas.” He paused. “Actually I think the friar may prove to be more of a burden than Vegas.”
Sorenson’s forehead wrinkled and his white face became taut, but he said nothing. His hands were fists on his thighs.
Torr waited. Security had informed him that Sorenson had a weapon. He had ordered the guards to let the general through. He wanted to see if Sorenson had any real guts. Rule number three: Never back down to a flunky.
“This is the last request, and the last time we meet.” Sorenson’s voice trembled with anger.
“I’ll decide that, general.”
Sorenson slowly stood up, unbuttoning his uniform coat. A small revolver was stuck in his belt. “I’ve lived a long, honorable life, with only one regrettable mistake.”
Torr rested his hand on the arm of his chair.
Sorenson thrust out his jaw. In slow motion he moved his hand to his revolver.
Torr’s hand slid forward to the Magnum.
Sorenson gripped the handle of his gun and stood motionless.
Torr gripped the .44 in the drawer.
Sorenson drew his gun in a slow, methodical movement.
Torr lifted the Magnum, matching Sorenson’s speed.
Sorenson extended his arm and aimed at Torr’s head.
Torr was satisfied to aim his gun at the general’s belly.
Sorenson’s trigger finger tightened. “We’re through with each other today or we can finish each other right now.”
Torr tightened his own finger, staring into Sorenson’s dark eyes. The old toady general had some guts after all. He held his breath.
Sweat beaded the general’s forehead.
Torr exhaled. “I think we understand each other, general.” He slowly turned his gun sideways, laid it in the drawer, and closed it.
Sorenson gave him a fierce stare. Lowering the pistol, he stuffed it behind his belt and buttoned his coat. Then he wheeled and left.
Torr had already dismissed the flunky. His father would have been proud. He swung his chair around to look out at his city. His world. Steel threatened that, but he had a new plan of attack to bring the great Steel into line. Steel could still be useful.
***
The president watched Hulm, hating the fact that the man never showed his emotions. He studied his nails, wondering what he could say to get to Hulm. He couldn’t remember why he ever appointed him director of the CIA. At the time he must have been out of his mind. “So we know Steel is looking into things and Torr knows this as well. What next, admiral?”
Hulm shrugged. “We wait.”
“Torr wants you to hire an assassin for the friar.” The president smiled. “And of course you’re going to do as you’re told, aren’t you?”
“I’ve finally got one of Torr’s top financial advisors to play along.”
“Swell. And if this mole doesn’t know every little hidey-hole that Torr has, where does that leave us?” He sat back, his stomach lurching over where that would leave him. In prison. Impeached, at least. “I don’t want you to do anything without consulting me first. Do you understand?”
Hulm just nodded.
CHAPTER 23
The next morning Steel called Grove. His mood soured at having to talk to the man, but he had no choice.
Grove’s voice was hushed. “I’m in a meeting, Jack. Thanks for talking to Janet.” His voice stumbled. “I owe you.”
Steel wondered if Janet Bellue had called Grove after she had talked to him, and if she would continue her relationship with Grove. Disgust filled him and he had to clear it before he spoke again. “I need the phone number, user name, master password, and anything else required to gain full remote access to Spirax’s data.”
“Hang on.”
Grove hurriedly talked to someone else, and then returned to the phone. “Why do you want to pursue this?”
“Why not?”
“We already checked Bellue’s files.”
“Bellue had security software. He might have encrypted a file.” Steel paced in his barn.
“They can trace access back to your computer.”
“I have software to prevent that.” He paused. “I told Janet I’d look into it.” Silence. He wondered if Grove was fuming again over being pressured or feeling indebted to his lover. Maybe both. He waited.
“Jack, you have to be careful. Just view things, don’t make changes with anything. You understand?”
“Sure.”
Grove gave a phone number, his username, two passwords, and an eight-character alphanumeric code. Steel memorized all five. “Are all the files Bellue worked on still listed in the system?”
“Just call up the MultiSec file.” Grove paused. “Let me know if you find anything.”
Steel hung up and stared at the phone. He had expected to be turned down, or at least face heavy resistance from Grove. Grove was almost too cooperative in letting him into Spirax’s security. It tightened his stomach.
He got online and accessed Spirax’s site, plugging in the user name, passwords, and alphanumeric code. The MultiSec folder held files of all MultiSec subsidiaries. Under each company name was a list of defense and civilian projects that the company had worked on over the last ten years.
He pulled up individual projects. Different data sets appeared, including audit files on each one. His little knowledge of accounting wasn’t enough to dig too deeply into what was on the screen. He sat back in his chair. If Grove hadn’t discovered anything in the audit statements, then he wouldn’t either. Unless Grove was part of the problem and Spirax was hiding things for MultiSec.
MultiSec’s holdings included a lot of diversity, worth billions. But none of it led anywhere. He loaded Bellue’s security software and stared at it.
An idea came to him. Tom Bellue’s slogan for his late-night snack—Beatles and blitz at three—might actually be a clue for a three a.m. login. He would have to wait.
He left the site and looked for any current information on General Vegas and Francis Sotelo. Nothing remarkable, other than political news. After the Komodo Op, Vegas’s security would be ramped up even more. As a general, Vegas would have the army at his disposal.
An email with attachments came in from Christie. The police report on Tom Bellue.
Bellue was shot once in the forehead. The black and white photo showed a dead center wound. Striations revealed the bullet came from a Walther PPK/S. Bellue was found facedown in the front hallway of his house. Death was instantaneous. No other wounds were found on the body, except a slight bruising that might have occurred with the fall.
Next followed a list of the specific items that Janet Bellue had reported stolen. The police also noted her concerns that the house might have been searched.
He studied the black and white photo of Bellue’s head. How many burglars carried a Walther PPK/S? A pocket gun, made of steel, it was very accurate. But polymer guns like the Glock were dominant now.
It was odd a burglar would carry a Walther. It wasn’t out of the question. Still it bothered him, along with the dead-center shot in a darkened hallway. But maybe Bellue surprised the man, who then ordered him to close the door and shot him. Maybe.
The scene didn’t fit a surprised burglar who took a shot in haste. Unless he was a real pro. But what the Bellues owned, though a temptation to the common house burglar, didn’t seem enough for the type of pro Steel thought necessary.
And if the killer was that calm, why not just tie up Bellue? Didn’t want a description of himself? That would fit.
He put the file down. Tom Bellue’s death reminded him of his own life. Nothing was certain.
The phone rang. He answered and his back stiffened
Danker.
CHAPTER 24
He checked his six all the way to the Pentagon parking lot, finally able to release the anger that clenched his jaw. His parking permit gave him access. He left the helmet on the bike. His military ID got him into the Pentagon. A building pass was waiting for him.
Danker’s small office had a desk, file cabinet, and a wastebasket. The colonel’s injured leg was stretched to one side of the desk. Danker didn’t stand to greet Steel, but he did hold out a large, hairy hand.
Steel took it and stared into Danker’s dark eyes.
Danker wore his uniform and his thick, black hair was combed back, his moustache trimmed. His large frame hulked over his desk. He folded his hands on it and nodded.
Steel took a chair.
“You’ve been cleared of what happened on the Komodo Op.” Danker leaned back and looked at him.
“Was everyone cleared?” He didn’t show any surprise.
Danker nodded. “We think you were right, someone in the ranch house did me. I bungled it.”
“How’s the leg?”
Danker winced, his heavy brows hunched together. “The knee’s screwed, literally. Lots of physical therapy, and I still might never have full use of it again.”
“Sorry.” He remembered how hard he had kicked Danker. He should have kicked him harder.
Danker waved a hand. “Not your problem. I called you in to see how you’re doing.”
“It’s been rough.”
Danker nodded, a hint of a smile on his wide face. “I heard your wife left you.”
He didn’t give Danker any satisfaction with a reaction. But he wondered if someone had put a poster near the front door of the Pentagon: Steel’s wife left him.
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