by Seeley James
“Oh, for god’s sake, what is she trying to do, get canonized while she’s still alive?” Violet rounded the sofas and sat to watch the newscast.
A newscaster stood in the dark with blue and red police lights sparkling behind her. “…teenager is safe and unharmed. The two Kazakh nationals are in police custody…”
Cummings muted the screen. “Did she say—”
Violet stared at him as she dialed. The call connected. “What the hell have you done, Anatoly?”
“You told me not to call unless for board-specific business,” Anatoly Mokin said. “I expect same from you. What board business this is?”
Violet put it on speakerphone and set it on the coffee table. “I’m here with Ed Cummings. I couldn’t reach Wu Fang on short notice, but that doesn’t matter. We have a quorum. We demand to know why two Kazakhs are kidnapping Americans in Maryland.”
“What do they say when you ask them?” Mokin answered.
“The police have them.”
“Then this is good thing, da?”
“Don’t get cute with me.” Violet shook with anger and her voice rattled the windows. “If there are Kazakhs going after Pia Sabel, you sent them. I want to know why.”
“Seventeen million peoples in Kazakhstan. I know only few.”
“I saw your man Yuri on TV. I could go to the police and tell them who he is, and who he works for. But I’ll ask you this one last time: why is he in Washington?”
“To you, all Kazakhs look same. Your racism does not insult me. Your accusation that I have some doing with this—this insults me. Do not call unless for board-specific business.” Mokin clicked off.
Violet paced the room, wringing her hands. “What is he trying to do? He’s up to something, I can tell. He knows something. Maybe he put it together. Maybe he knows about Philadelphia. But why would he go after Pia Sabel? Why kidnap someone? For extortion? Money? He could do that in China. No, he’s after something. Do you think he’s after the vials? Why would he be after the vials?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Cummings said. “For whatever reason, he’s trying to kill her. So, my plan is the best way forward. We go to the Sabels and turn him in. We can pin Borneo on him and forget the whole Element 42 thing.”
“Don’t you dare walk out on me now. The last man to walk out on me was my father.” Violet dropped on the sofa and pulled off her prosthesis and sock. She rubbed her throbbing skin.
“Who’s walking out? Think about it. It’s a win-win. Sabel’s pal Tania gets the drug, we look like heroes, we pin Borneo on Mukhtar and Mokin, and Sabel rewards us with investment capital.”
Violet lowered her chin, her face red. She scowled with flinty eyes. “He’ll invest in Cummings Capital, but he won’t invest in Windsor. So—genius—where does that leave me?”
CHAPTER 26
Police lights flashed in the park’s trees, making it look like some giant Christmas display. Twenty news hounds tried to catch officers and Sabel agents for statements. With Carmen still on my heels, I found Ms. Sabel.
“I need to borrow your jet for a couple days,” I said. I didn’t realize how odd that sounded until she craned over her shoulder to look at me. “Uh. If that’s OK.”
Ms. Sabel faced me, pulling her blanket tighter around her. “Where to?”
“I’d rather not say.”
“Tell me it’s not about Pramashworisasmita.”
“Who?”
“The hotel owner.”
I felt myself turn red. “Oh. I pronounce it … never mind. I’m asking you to trust me on this one, ma’am.”
She leaned back and considered me. After yelling at her about teamwork, asking to borrow a jet that costs twenty grand an hour was bold even for me. She kept those gray-green eyes locked on mine and waited.
After a few long seconds, I exhaled. “We have more than a leak; we have a traitor.”
She crossed her arms and continued with that cold, impatient stare.
“Obviously someone sent the Kazakhs after Verratti several days before we came along,” I said. “Yuri and his crew were in the US before then. As you noticed, the attack that killed Kevin required inside information. But they had photos of Betty Weir hours before Otis’ story aired. And they just attacked NIH.”
“Where are you going, then?”
“Can’t tell you.” I gauged her reaction. It would take a world of trust to say yes, and she didn’t know me that well. When she opened her mouth to say no, I cut her off. “What I’m going to do requires an element of surprise. If you know about the mission, our traitor might pick it up from any scrap of conversation. Whoever he is, he’s close to us. If you leave town, everyone will know it. No one cares where I go. Put out the word you sent my team for more training because we blew the rescue. I’ll be back in a couple days with a whole lot of answers.”
“But we need to find out what’s killing Tania.”
“I’m no doctor, but what we saw on Borneo killed people fast. Tania’s not dead because she’s young and strong. She’ll make it. She has to.”
“You’re offering me as bait to the killers.”
“Worse,” I said. “I want you to bait him, uncover him, but don’t tell anyone because he can’t be working alone. Someone called Menedzher is out there between our mole and the Kazakhs. That guy could be right here or the other side of the world.”
She nodded with a slow rhythm. “At times like this, I want to toss feminism aside and return to chivalry. But you’re right, it’s the only way.”
I offered my fist and she bumped it. “Be careful and keep the Major close.”
“Take Emily with you,” she said. “I want an embedded reporter in case this thing is political.”
“Understood, but how about Otis instead?”
“Emily.” Her stare left no room for discussion. “I have my reasons. You’ll have to patch things up with her.”
It was a good choice. As angry as I was at the reporter, her paper had something no one else could offer.
Carmen and I headed back to the Jaguar and found Verges and Miguel leaning against a Kia.
“Guess who won’t let me share the NIH security video?” Verges said.
“No surprise there.”
“But,” he added, “I told the team at NIH that Agent Stearne was coming directly from an undercover op without his ID. They’re expecting you.”
Miguel punched Verges playfully.
“Anything on those fingerprints?”
“Not in any American or Euro database. We’re working on Asia now. That’s a manual process.”
I fist-bumped Verges as a thank-you and kept walking.
Emily exuded enough tension to feel her approach twenty yards out. I cut her off. “If you want a scoop, pack a bag for hiking in warm weather, and meet us at the Executive Terminal in twenty.”
Her gaze darted to Miguel.
He said, “Told you I’d have something for you.”
“Do I have to ‘bang’ him to get it?” Emily sneered.
“I have no desire for an intimate relationship with you ever again, Emily. From now on, our relationship is strictly professional.”
She stood stock still, her mouth hanging open.
I said, “If you’re not interested, maybe Otis Blackwell—”
“Warm weather hiking, executive terminal, I’ll be there.” Emily ran to her car and spewed gravel down the road.
“What happened to brownnosing the boss?” Miguel said.
I shrugged. “Turns out, prom was a long time ago.”
“You!” Jaz Jenkins approached before I could get in the car. “I want your word that you will step up your game and protect Angel to the best of your ability.”
I stuck out my hand to shake and gave him a humble smile. “My apologies, Mr. Jenkins. I will endeavor to do my best in the future.”
He pulled up his chin and took my hand.
I spun his hand in mine, turned him around, twisted his arm behind his back, slammed my knee into his
coccyx, and cranked his neck in a vicious headlock. My mouth ended up next to his ear. “If you want my respect, earn it.”
He landed facedown in a mud puddle.
Miguel watched from a couple yards away. “Harsh, dude. He just wants to be relevant.”
I glanced back. Jaz was on one elbow, surveying the damage to his wardrobe. I felt a twinge of guilt. He was making awkward moves on a woman I would never have. He didn’t need my jealousy, he needed my guidance. Besides, how can you not feel sorry for a guy who tries to revive the cravat?
Miguel nodded to the car. “Jacob, let’s move.”
Jaz flinched when I approached, so I left a small distance between us and bent down. “You’re hitting on a world-champion athlete who owns a global company. She’s not the schoolgirl who had a crush on you ten years ago, so don’t call her Angel. In case you didn’t notice, she’s not comfortable with your familiarity. Show some respect. Take interest in what she’s doing and forget about what you want. When she’s ready for you to make a move, don’t do it. Make her come to you.”
He looked indignant but underneath, he was taking notes. Now all he had to deal with was that Ms. Sabel didn’t like him. And that he was from Omaha.
* * *
NIH was lit up like a mall opening. Unmarked Fed cars were scattered like Hot Wheels at the end of a broken track.
An FBI man waved us down and ran up to my door. “Agent Stearne? This way, sir.”
He led us into the building where we’d met Dr. Carlton and walked us into the shoebox of a security office. He pointed to the desk and left. Miguel took the console seat and played with the controls until he had date- and time-stamped video rolling on the quad-screen.
The intruders had wrecked all the video servers except for the outdated black and white, grainy stuff kept separately on an old machine. When he found the right spot, we watched it. Four hooded men in black rushed into the lobby. They pepper-sprayed the security guards, beat them with nightsticks, and bound them in seconds, then sprinted for the elevator. No footage survived for the lab floor. We re-ran the lobby video.
“Four of them,” Carmen said.
“Tall,” Miguel said.
Before I could add my observation, the office door burst open and a lean, older guy, his gray buzz cut glistening in the fluorescents, glared at us. “Who the hell are you?”
“Who the hell are you?” I shouted back.
“Special Agent in Charge David Watson. Answer my goddam question or I’ll call your unit chief and have you busted out to the nearest reservation.”
I didn’t know much about the FBI, but I knew a SAC was like a colonel in the Army, always pissed off that he hadn’t made general yet. And they wielded about as much power. They reported to unit chiefs, so he thought I was a peer invading his turf.
“SAC where, WMDs?”
“Counterintelligence. Now tell me who the fuck you are.”
We were imposters in the enemy camp. I was staring at the same guy who had buried Ms. Sabel’s last attempt to expose President Hunter. The urge to sucker-punch him was hard to keep under control.
“Agent Jacob Stearne.”
He squinted.
“I’ve seen what I needed to see,” I said. I held my hands out, palms up and fingers splayed wide. “Now I’m going to leave. You’re going to wave goodbye. Otherwise, you have to file a report explaining why Sabel Security was welcomed into your investigation with open arms.”
When something lands on a report in the government, there’s no way to keep it from your chain of command. You can make excuses and blame others, but there’s no way to make it disappear. Sooner or later, the Attorney General would learn of the egregious mistake that happened on Watson’s watch and he would be the guy manning a desk in Tuba City. Personally, I’d consider it a nice place to work. Just an hour’s drive outside of Monument Valley, and all you have to do is keep pot hunters from stealing more ancient artifacts. Easy work, but not the right direction for a SAC.
I stuck out my hand to shake on it.
His face turned red and swelled. He squeezed my hand hard, trying to intimidate me. His mistake. Every Midwestern farm boy has spent hours milking cows by the time he’s in high school. We have machines for that, but the older generation sees it as a rite of passage. You squeezed udders and pulled teats for hours before school so you didn’t go soft. The resulting hand strength lasts a lifetime.
I crushed his hand just short of breaking bones. Pain shot through his face.
As the pain bent him forward, I leaned to his ear. “Only one of your people saw me, and he doesn’t have a clue who I am. Now’s your chance to make the problem go away, Mr. Watson. Just forget I was here.”
I let go. He grabbed his wrist but was man enough not to cry. He nodded.
Outside, I stopped in front of our helpful FBI guide. “Where are the guards now?”
“Across the street. Walter Reed.”
“Did they mention anything about smell?”
“No, sir, they weren’t conscious.”
We left with a smart salute to the poor bastard. He didn’t know it yet, but he was about to get the biggest ass-chewing of his life.
Carmen had something eating her up on the drive to the airport. When we pulled into the Executive Terminal and saw Emily standing next to her car, Carmen let it out.
“What are you thinking bringing Emily along?” she asked. “She should be at home, we could call her with updates, send her phone videos. She’s no soldier, she’s a nice, pretty civilian. Why in god’s name are you bringing her to a big, ugly firefight?”
“She can get us something we’re going to need.”
CHAPTER 27
The indoor pool house echoed with Pia’s lone rhythmic strokes, the chlorine-drenched air dense with trapped humidity. Her fingers sliced into the water on the downsweep, pulled to her chest and pushed to the recovery point. A perfect s-curve. Four kicks per cycle were synchronized to the beat playing on her waterproof headphones. Swimming remained her favorite meditative exercise. After her turn, she noticed the Major—dressed in slacks and turtleneck under her Sabel Security pullover—standing poolside. She coasted to the side and rested her elbows on the pool deck.
“Did you get everyone cleared?” Pia asked.
The Major paused for a moment before answering. “As we expected, our people are clear. There are still three unexplained calls that I’m sure the investigators will finish shortly.” The Major tilted her head. “You should investigate me. I should undergo the same scrutiny.”
Pia moved to the ladder and rose from the pool. She took a towel from the stack and rubbed down. “If I can’t trust you, nothing else matters. What about Dad? Can he account for all his calls?”
“Talk to him. You can’t keep suspecting him every time—”
“What should I do, Major?” Pia’s voice echoed in the cavernous building. She lowered it. “Do you think I should just come out and ask him, ‘Were you hoping President Hunter would have me killed, or did you just sell me out for the fun of it?’ Do you know how awkward that makes dinner?”
“He loves you. You know that. He did what he thought best. And you were never arrested for treason.”
“Forget about it. Water under the bridge.”
“I have him on the cleared list,” the Major said.
“Fine.” Pia batted the issue away like a mosquito and padded barefoot into the locker room. “What about the guest list?”
“Impossible. There were two admirals, a former ambassador, some congressmen, family friends, and a small army of corporate VIPs. We can’t ask for their records without our investigation getting to the press—and they would have a field day.”
Pia peeled off her suit and stepped into the shower. She shouted above the steaming jet. “Then how do we figure this out? Can we look at who knew about the game’s location?”
“The league scheduled the game. Anyone with Internet access could look it up.”
“But they keyed in on B
etty Weir.”
“Her teammates tweeted it, Instagrammed it, Snapchatted it, they even made a podcast for the school. Four hundred girls at St. Muriel’s told all their friends and family about how Betty managed to get you involved with the team. Everyone knew she was your point of vulnerability.”
Pia shut off the water, stepped out, and shrugged into a robe. “He had to be in the dining room before I left for the detention center. I told no one, not even you. It has to be someone who saw me leave.” She thought for a moment. “Jaz was there.”
“Or someone in the kitchen. Or they could’ve had an observer outside.”
“Otis was outside.” Pia sat in a chair in front of a mirror. A woman appeared with a blow dryer and a brush and began drying her hair.
The Major raised her voice over the dryer. “I can check him out, but asking too many questions will feed his next story.”
“So how do we figure it out?”
“Why do I have a feeling you and Jacob already have a plan?”
“You don’t trust Jacob?”
“I’d trust him with my life.” The Major looked away, then back at Pia. “But I wouldn’t trust him with yours.”
Pia waved away the blow dryer and pulled her hair into a ponytail. She leaned closer to the mirror and examined the array of makeup baskets. Tossing her way through several, she found black eyeliner and applied it. She checked out several lipsticks and passed them over. “Do you have any lipstick?”
“Uh,” the Major said. “I don’t think we use the same shades.”
Pia pulled a muted red. “So what’s your advice for our next step?”
“Don’t go to the ball game with Jaz.”
* * *
Pia watched Jaz Jenkins approach the limo, his unzipped Redskins jacket flapping open. Agent Dhanpal opened the door in time for him to slide into the seat next to her.
“Hi Angel, uh, Pia. Sorry. I guess that nickname’s a little dated.”
“Do they consider it flattery in the Midwest?”
Jaz glanced up as he buckled his seatbelt. “Well. Some. Might.”
He chuckled. She didn’t.
