by Seeley James
“Certainly not.” She glared at him then looked away. “Why would the FBI want to know?”
“Is the project related to Element 42?”
Violet felt her neck and face tighten, her hands clench into fists. “What do you mean, Element … what was it?”
“Forty-two, ma’am.” Verges let the statement hang, waiting for her response.
She forced her fingers open and smoothed her skirt. “Could you give me a hint? Is it something I’m supposed to know from the periodic tables?” She glanced from Verges to Dhanpal. Neither man said anything. “Why is the FBI interested in vials from Borneo?”
“Where is the shipment of Element 42 that’s missing from your Guangzhou facility?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about and I certainly don’t like your tone of voice.”
“When was the last time you saw Ed Cummings?”
“What does Ed have to do with this? Is Element 42 one of his hedge funds?”
“He was found dead last night, ma’am.”
Violet felt lightheaded. How did the FBI arrive on her doorstep so quickly? “Oh my god. Is that how you talk to the man’s friends? You announce his murder just like that? What is wrong with you?”
“Murder?” Verges asked.
“Well, he was young and healthy,” she stammered. Her head sank, she gazed at the floor. “I guess it could’ve been an accident. But here, in central DC, it’s reasonable to assume…”
“Central DC?” Verges waited. “What do you know about his death?”
“I don’t know anything about his death. I didn’t know he was dead until you told me.”
“You were close to him, is that correct?”
Violet snapped her face up and glared at the young man. “Since when does the FBI get involved in a murder investigation? Murder is a police matter. You’re outside your jurisdiction. Who do you work for?”
“I’m investigating potential terrorist threats, ma’am.” Verges leaned forward. “You haven’t answered my questions.”
Violet stood up. “I know when I’m being set up. No more questions until I have an attorney present.”
“Why, do you have something to hide?”
“Not another word until my attorney arrives.”
Verges and Dhanpal stood up. Verges said, “Here’s my card. When your attorney is ready, call me. Tonight would be good. If you take too long, we’ll have to bring you in.”
“How dare you! I…” Violet stood and gestured them out. She opened the door to a uniformed butler holding a coffee tray. The three of them stepped aside to let the butler through, then Violet waved them out.
Dhanpal stopped in the hall as Verges continued walking away. He caught Violet’s eye. “Not going to offer us a cup to go?”
She glared at him for a second then lightened. “What kind of consultant are you? What’s your specialty?”
“Liars.”
She slammed the door.
The butler set the tray down on the table and began setting out cups.
“Get that crap out of here,” Violet said.
She staggered into the bedroom and slammed the door. Leaning against it, her eyes swept the room in an anxious arc. She wrung her hands. How dare they accuse me? Element 42—where did they hear that? Maybe Chapman? No. Ed. Had to be Ed. And he’s dead. Good. Why do they think I did it?
Pacing to the edge of the bathroom door, she stopped and stared for a moment, then stepped inside. She placed her hands on the sink’s cold marble, hung her head, and stared down. She turned on the water, grabbed the bar of soap and rolled it around between her hands. Over and over, she scrubbed and scrubbed until the bar popped out and landed on the floor. She ripped her house-leg off and smashed it against the sink, beating it until exhaustion made her take a breath. She dropped the prosthesis.
After rinsing, she grabbed the marble again and considered herself in the mirror. “Get a grip, girl. You can fix this. You have to.”
Violet picked up her phone and dialed while hopping through the suite on her good leg. It was answered on the third ring. “Prince, what can you tell me about—”
“Violet, they know about you.” He breathed hard. “This is not a good time. I’ll call you later.”
“I need the last vial and a cloth, there’s a cloth.”
“Later.” The line went dead.
She shouted at her window. “Worthless son-of-a-bitch.”
Below her, commuters struggled through the crowded streets. Wiggling and writhing, they hurried past each other with a strange sense of desperation.
Violet dialed Kasey Earl. “Since you’ve failed miserably to kill Pia Sabel, apply that fee to deploying my package. I want it done immediately.”
“Too late for that, sugar.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve already delivered it to the interested party. I’m on my way out of the country on another job.”
“What happened to my $2 million?”
“Oh now, sugar, don’t worry about that. I’ll get you a refund. My associate will bring it by later.”
“Can I get it in cash?”
CHAPTER 36
Halogen backlighting streaked through the stained glass window illuminating the family chapel at Sabel Gardens as if it were still daytime. Pia was amazed at how fast her HR department had provided grief counsellors and, at the request of Carmen’s brother, a pastoral service.
The agents and staff rose slowly and filed out, remembering Carmen to each other in hushed tones and quiet tears. Pia remained on her knees, her forearms resting on the rail in front of her, her head bowed.
She thought about life and death and love. Her love for her parents hadn’t saved them. Then she took the reins at Sabel Security and immediately lost Ezra and Alphonse, and later Tony and Safwan the Arab. In the last week, Kaya and Kevin had been murdered. Now Carmen was gone. She dared not love anyone for fear it would hasten their death. Jacob’s concerns about her lack of planning and preparation were proving horribly accurate. The weight of leadership pressed hard on her shoulders and tore at her heart.
She sensed someone standing next to her and looked up to see the Episcopal priest who’d just given the homily. Pia tried to remember the woman’s name as she sat in the pew and laid a hand on Pia’s shoulder blade. It was an oddly comforting gesture, neither too familiar nor too awkward.
“Carmen,” Pia said, her voice cracking. “The mass grave on Borneo. The horror in this world is overwhelming. How could a loving God allow so much tragedy? How many innocents will He let die?”
Pia’s carefully managed emotions flooded out in tears.
The priest didn’t speak for a long time. Keeping her hand on Pia’s shoulder, she spoke softly. “Would you prefer a God who does our work for us? A creator who gives us a Disneyland-world full of fun and exciting rides with no responsibilities?” The woman dug her fingers in and squeezed hard. “Every time we sit back, satisfied that we’ve done enough, the result shocks us. The Holocaust, Rwanda, suicide bombers, famine, disease—could we have prevented them if we tried harder?”
Pia gazed at her face, searching her eyes for any sign of hesitation.
The woman gave Pia’s shoulder a goodbye-squeeze and smiled. “These are mankind’s problems. Why should we expect God to solve them? Quit sniveling. There’s work to be done.”
As Pia watched the priest leave, she found the Major kneeling on the other side of the aisle. The Major wiped her cheeks, crossed herself, and rose. Pia met her in the aisle.
“Stay,” the Major said. “Take tonight and tomorrow off and let yourself mourn.”
Pia shook her head. “We can’t slow down. We have to speed up.”
Her long legs outpaced the Major, taking her to the narthex where her father chatted with Bobby and Jaz Jenkins. She strode straight to Bobby, her aggressive approach separating him from the others. She said, “What did you hold back about Windsor last night?”
Bobby said, “I’m sorry?”
She watched him look left and right before he met her gaze.
“Remember the Chinese milk scandal in 2008?” he asked. “Her company convinced baby formula makers to pump up the protein numbers with melamine she sold them. Nearly half a million victims suffered in that atrocious crime.”
“That company is still in business?” Pia asked.
“Instead of putting her in jail, China invested in her company. She went on to win NIH research grants.”
Jaz opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it and lowered his head.
Pia left them and followed the stone path through the woods to the main house under the last glow of an orange sunset. The Major struggled to keep up with her.
A police detective approached and put a hand out to stop her. “I’ve finished with the staff, but I still have a few questions for you regarding the death of Ed Cummings.”
“Walk with me then.” She gave him a cold stare as she stepped off the walkway and around him.
He turned and followed her. “I don’t understand why you wouldn’t want to see the body. I mean, somebody dumps a carcass in your front yard and you aren’t the least bit curious. Can you explain that?”
“Correction: Mr. Cummings’ body was left at the front gate, two hundred yards from my front door. I explained this in my statement.”
“I’d like to hear it again.”
“You recorded it.”
“People remember things differently sometimes—”
“My agents cautioned me that the killer’s intent could be to lure me into the open. How hard is that to understand?”
“But after they secured the area, before the police removed the—”
“The news crews were there. Eight minutes after Mr. Cummings’ corpse was dumped.” She scowled at him. “Did you hear Otis Blackwell? He reported, ‘Asking for a meeting with Pia Sabel were the last words Cummings spoke.’ How did Otis know anything about Cummings’s conversation with me? Are you his source?”
“And you’re sure you never met Mr. Cummings—”
“I told you once already, neither his name nor his photograph are familiar to me.” Pia gave him another scowl. “If you don’t have any new questions, or new information you’d like to share, then you’re done here.”
“One last thing,” the detective said. “What was the last thing you said to him?”
“I gave you the recording of the call.”
“Humor me.”
“I told him to turn himself in at FBI headquarters.”
“Did you tell him to walk or take a cab?”
“Neither. Why?”
“He walked. It’s well over a mile. Don’t you find that odd?”
“Exercise clears the mind. I encourage it.”
“Then you encouraged him to walk?”
“One more pointed question like that and I’ll refer you to my attorneys.”
“Your evasive answer leads me to believe you know what happened to him.”
“From your line of questioning, a five-year-old could figure out he was abducted on the street.” She stopped walking and faced him, pointing to a fork in the path. “The exit is that way.”
The detective glared at her. “Everyone at the FOP Lodge 35 is grateful for your annual contributions, Ms. Sabel. But it won’t influence an investigation.”
“Good to know.” She turned on her heel and strode on to the house.
He sneered and took the exit path.
Pia watched him leave, then pointed toward the main house where Otis was chatting with two Sabel agents. “Who let him in?”
The Major checked with Marty on her earbud to order the reporter escorted off the grounds. She said, “Otis is a guest of Carmen’s brother. They arrived together.”
“No one kicked him out?”
The Major shrugged. “A guest of the bereaved? Pia, you’re angry. We all are. But let’s not overreact.”
Verges jogged over to join them. “Dhanpal and I rattled Ms. Windsor’s cage, but have nothing to show for it. However, Counterintelligence thinks they’ve found the last shipment of Element 42 and they identified a partial print from the last vial.”
Pia entered the main house with Verges a step behind her.
“It belongs to a guy high up in China’s Communist Party,” Verges said. “But my Feeb brothers closed ranks and cut me out of the loop.”
“Did you get a name?”
“Wu Fang, but in China that’s like saying Jim Smith.”
Pia glanced at the Major, who nodded back.
Verges watched them. “What, you know the guy?”
“We’ve heard that name,” Pia said. “What do you know about him?”
“He’s the Party’s top bio-med scientist. He’s involved in charities, anti-pollution campaigns, birth control, and all kinds of stuff.”
“And mass graves on Borneo.”
The Major interrupted. “Verges is pointing out that a fingerprint does not prove Mr. Fang’s involvement or collusion. It only places him at the scene.”
Verges raised a finger at the Major and nodded. “Yeah, what she said. So, where have you heard of him?”
“He’s a member of Windsor’s board.” Pia grabbed her tablet off a reading stand. “But, typical for China, every scrap of news about him is carefully curated.”
Alan Sabel came in the room. Pia pointed toward the door and walked through it. Alan dropped in beside her.
She said, “What’s Bobby holding back about Windsor?”
“What makes you think I would know?”
“Friends for twenty years, neighbors for ten, a thousand discussions about life.”
Alan patted his thighs. “All I know is, it’s personal. He competes with lots of pharmas, but Windsor is different.”
“Don’t hold out on me, Dad.”
“Violet Windsor is Bobby’s daughter from his first marriage. Jaz is her half-brother.”
Pia stopped in her tracks and turned to the Major. “Have the Jenkins family escorted off the property immediately. Tell them I’ll call later to explain.”
The Major relayed the order into her earbud.
Pia moved forward again and glanced at her father. “Are they close?”
“She calls him ‘Prince’. I don’t know if that’s because she likes him or she’s jealous. Bobby treated Jaz better than—”
“Counterintelligence is keeping Verges out of the loop.”
“You’re not suggesting they’re helping Windsor.”
“Would they be the first government agency to create a terrorist threat just to reap the benefits of cleaning it up?”
“That’s pretty farfetched,” Alan said, “even for one of your conspiracy theories.”
“They had Element 42 in their possession. But they sent it to China. Why didn’t they destroy it?”
Dhanpal rushed to intercept them. “Sorry to interrupt. Bobby Jenkins went back to your library—the vial and rag are missing.”
CHAPTER 37
Several captains and colonels wanted me to finish college so they could put me in Officer Candidate School. I always turned it down. Making the decision about when to pull the trigger was a decision I could handle. What kept me up at night were the decisions that ended in a friend’s death. Any psych worth his hourly rate would tell me, Mukhtar gave the order, his man executed it. Carmen’s death was not your fault.
But it was.
Sometimes, reflecting on things only makes it worse.
I wandered through the camp. It was a training ground for a lot more men than Mukhtar had on hand. Most everything was packed in crates and ready to ship. We’d arrived before the last of them pulled out. When I fed some Chinese characters I found on crates into a translator, the answer read, “People’s Pest Control, Flying Insect Specialist”. They had everything they needed to make people experts with mosquito foggers. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Element 42 must work in the foggers. But the equipment is easy to operate—I did it for the local
parks in high school. Which meant they were training for a covert method of dispersal.
I turned on one of the foggers for a second. Instead of a chainsaw-noise, it was almost silent. They were planning to infect neighborhoods in the dead of night and leave without a trace. Walking around with a fogger, even a quiet one, meant a high probability of getting caught. Especially in a city like Philly. It would only make sense if they were planning to infect powerless minorities, like the Melanau. But powerless minorities are usually short on healthcare and cash. They wouldn’t be buying the Levoxavir Ms. Sabel told me about. So what was Mukhtar’s game?
I had no idea, so I quit thinking about it. Then I was bored. When I’m bored, I act out. I picked up Mukhtar’s satellite phone and called the Sabel tech center. They uploaded the requisite software for snooping. I redialed Mukhtar’s last call. When a voice came on, jabbering in Kazakh, I stopped him. “Anatoly, my name is Jacob Stearne. Oh, you remember me then. Good. You ordered the murder of my friend. That made it personal. I’m going to find you and kill you.”
“You want personal? Bring me the pizda,” he said.
“The what?”
“Pizda, whore. Bring me your boss, the fucking whore who ruined my business. I let you live, Jacob Stearne.”
“OK, where and when?”
“My office in Guangzhou, as soon as you can get here. Now let me speak to Mukhtar.”
“Sorry, he can’t make it to the phone—ever again. He’s busy explaining himself to Allah.”
“Impossible! You could never take down Mukhtar.”
“Hang on a sec.” I snapped a photo of his man’s corpse and sent it to him. “I killed him the same way I’m going to kill you, Anatoly. Look for me later this afternoon.”
He was ranting in some language I didn’t know when I clicked off.
Emily looked at me. “You’re going to kill someone?”
“Anatoly Mokin, the guy who gave the order.”
“And you know where to find him?” She stroked her .45 as if it were a mink stole.
I didn’t answer.
She looked up. “I want to be the one.”
“You’re a reporter. You’re going home.”
