by Seeley James
“I’m going with you.” She stood and stuck out her chin, thumbing her chest. “I get to pull the trigger this time.”
“Mokin didn’t live this much of his miserable life by letting strangers get close enough to kill him. We’ll be lucky to live through the assault. If we fail, we need you to tell the story.”
She turned away, stuck her silver revolver into her belt. Diego stared at her as if she were an alien.
HQ piped in the healing service from Sabel Gardens via our earbuds. Miguel and Emily mumbled along with the prayers. I left it alone. God forgives everyone, but experience taught me that it’s best to give Him some cool-down time before seeking absolution. Besides, I had Mercury. He wasn’t much of a god, but he was handy.
I patrolled the perimeter until a squad of four Malaysian policemen arrived. They followed me to the crime scene, where their medic worked on Diego.
The captain took my statement with a mix of skepticism and sarcasm. Finally, he bought into it and time began to move forward again.
We brought their jeeps in for the dead and wounded. Miguel never put Carmen down. He stepped into the open back seat and carried her all the way to civilization.
The rest of the day swirled around me. We put Diego in a hospital, answered police questions, signed statements, arranged to ship Carmen’s body home. At some point, I tried to talk Miguel into going with her, but he’d heard me threaten Mokin and was anxious to get moving. Emily became equally difficult, even threatening to tell the Chinese government about our plans for murder and mayhem. In an effort to dissuade her, I made her write the soldier’s letter home in case of death. Hers was eloquent, but it didn’t change her mind.
Tania met us in the car rental office just after the police turned us loose. HQ had updated her on losing Carmen, and she had repositioned the Sabel jet to the Malaysian side of the island for us. After she chewed my ear off for losing Carmen, we left the island.
I watched the coast disappear from view. I’d thought my plan was clever, giving the Malaysian officials everything they needed to catch the Pak Uban after I’d come and gone. I never thought the Kazakhs would hang around Borneo after stuffing twenty-nine bodies in a grave. That miscalculation cost Carmen her life. You would think a god who cared about me would find a way to warn me.
Mercury said, There are limits, you know, bro. Not even Jupiter knows what’s going down in Kazakhstan.
I said, You never spread your screwy religion that far east?
Mercury said, Hey now. You got no call to be mean. Nobody has 100% coverage, not Jesus, not Buddha. Well, the Beatles maybe, but nobody else.
CHAPTER 38
“Where the hell is my shipment?” Violet shouted so hard she nearly dropped her phone. “Did you find the tracking?”
“Yes, ma’am,” the shipping operator said. “I mean no. Well, I found the tracking. But Hong Kong customs held it up, ma’am. Sorry.”
“You’re useless.” Violet clicked off.
Her Washington attorney called. She asked, “Are you here?”
“I’m stepping into the elevator with them now.”
“It’s after ten o’clock, can’t you postpone this until morning?”
“Only if you want an arrest on your record.”
“Fine.” She clicked off.
Pacing the room, she dialed another number. “What’s the latest news from Sabel Gardens, Prince?”
“I can’t talk. Bad time. The last vial and rag were stolen.”
“Are you OK?” Violet asked. “No one blames you?”
“Can you get back to China? You should go as soon as possible.”
“I’ve always cared about you.”
“Dad sends his regards. I have to go.” He sighed. “Sis, be careful.”
Violet closed her eyes and rested her head on the window until the knock on her door roused her. She ushered three men in and introduced herself with as much politeness as she could muster.
“Ms. Windsor,” Special Agent Verges said, “has your attorney explained to you Title 18, United States Code, Section 1001, which makes it a felony offense to lie to a government official?”
“Knowingly or willfully,” the attorney added.
“Sorry, I don’t know the code by heart,” Violet said.
“It’s the fed’s favorite trap,” her attorney told her. “The same trap that put Martha Stewart behind bars when they couldn’t prove insider trading. And they used it against Ali Saleh Kahlah Al-Marri when they couldn’t prove he was an enemy combatant. They ask you if the moon is shining, and you say no and they claim it is somewhere, therefore you’re lying.”
Verges said, “Earlier today, I told you about the death of Mr. Cummings and you acted surprised. Do you recall referring to his death as a murder before I told you what happened to him?”
“Yes, but that was just a guess, it could’ve been—”
“What did you say when I asked what you knew about his death?”
“I asked to have my attorney present.”
“Just before you requested an attorney, did you deny having any knowledge of his death or the circumstances of his death?”
“I don’t remember. What is this? How dare you accuse me of lying. If you have any evidence that I’ve done something wrong, let’s hear it. Otherwise, you’re just wasting my time.”
Her attorney waved his hand. “If you have a transcript of the conversation, pull it out. Otherwise, she can’t recall.”
Verges nodded at the local detective. “She’s all yours.”
The short man leaned forward with a digital recorder. “Ma’am, I’m going to play a recorded conversation for you. I’d appreciate it if you could identify the two people talking.” He pressed play.
Man: “Why tell me this?”
Woman: “I need you to kill Ed Cummings.”
Man: “Two hundred grand. All upfront. Where do you want the body?”
Woman: “I don’t know. However you dispose of it, make sure it’s not traced back to me.”
Violet repeatedly gasped as the room spun around her. “Where…”
The attorney slashed his hand between the detective and Violet. “My client is not answering any more questions. We’re done here.”
“Have it your way,” the detective said. He faced Verges. “Shall we flip a coin, heads you get her for terrorism, tails I get her for murder?”
Verges pulled a quarter out of his pocket and flashed it with some flair. He glanced at Violet. “If you want to answer a few more questions, we might work out a deal.”
Verges flipped the coin and watched it rise to the ceiling. So did the detective and Violet. The attorney stuck out his hand and caught it on the way down.
“What kind of a deal?” the attorney asked.
“Maybe a plea.”
“What do you have?” the attorney asked.
“I have the man who made the recording,” the detective said. “He says she hired him to murder Ed Cummings.”
“If that’s the case, why didn’t you arrest her already?”
“Because Special Agent Verges here is tracking a shipment of something called Element 42.”
“I don’t know where it is,” Violet said. “I made a call minutes ago, and they—”
“Don’t say another word,” the attorney said.
“Are you saying Element 42 is in transit to the US?” Verges asked.
Violet tried not to cry.
“Can you provide tracking numbers?” Verges asked.
“I… I’ll need some time.”
“We can wait.”
“I mean morning. It’s tomorrow in China. I’ll need a few hours. Can you give me til morning?”
“My client is cooperating here. She’s an upstanding member of the business community. It’s her word against whatever unsavory character you’ve managed to scrape up. I think—”
“He’s a CIA contractor,” the detective said.
“Oh, like that makes him so much more reliable than a rapist or
drug dealer. No wonder you didn’t arrest her right away.” The attorney opened his arms. “C’mon guys. Giving her a few hours to contact people on the other side of the planet is reasonable.”
After a short, whispered discussion with the detective, Verges turned back to the attorney. “She’s a flight risk and a terrorist threat. If she turns over her passport, and you take responsibility for bringing her to the Hoover Building at 9AM sharp, we’ll allow it.”
“How did you know there was a second shipment of Element 42?” Violet asked.
“The contractor told the Counterintelligence Division.”
“Counterintelligence tracks spies,” her attorney said. “Why are they involved?”
“That’s a good question,” Verges said.
“Don’t you work in that division?”
“I am a special liaison,” Verges said. “Do you accept my terms for tomorrow?”
They shook hands on it. Violet turned over her passport and the men left.
Her attorney hovered in the doorway, waiting until the elevator swallowed the police, then faced Violet. “They have a weak case, nothing to worry about. But it’s strong enough to tap your phones. Be careful what you say to anyone about anything. No jokes, no sarcasm, no unnecessary calls. I’ll be here at 8AM. We’ll have breakfast and go see the FBI.”
Violet nodded and tried to smile. He backed into the hallway and left.
She let the door close and leaned her back against it. Her knees sank. She put her hands on them to keep herself upright. Her head swayed from side to side and tears of self-pity swelled in her lids until they dripped down her cheeks and fell to her skirt. Sobbing started in her gut and traveled up her lungs and into her face. The tears overflowed in streams and washed out her mascara. Wiping her face with the back of her hands, she turned them over to use her palm before running to the bathroom.
Someone knocked on the door.
She took a deep breath and glanced in the mirror. Black streaks carved their way down her face like spilled paint. Screw it. She opened the door, and drew a breath that she planned to spend saying what now? to her attorney. Instead, she inhaled a second larger breath.
Before her, a man in a black raincoat raised an accusing arm with a dangerous shadow extended from it.
Before she realized it was a pistol, the muzzle flashed. She felt the bullet enter her forehead. A painless sensation. She was still conscious when the second round entered her left eyeball. Still feeling nothing, she fell limp against the wall behind the door and her vision blurred into darkness. She wondered if she was going to die. Nothing in her body responded to movement requests, not her hands or legs, not even her lungs and heart. But oddly, she thought, she could still hear a little. Then that faded.
Violet Windsor’s last earthly sensation was that of her assassin picking up the spent shell casings from the hotel hallway.
CHAPTER 39
Agent Marty leaned on his cane, dwarfed by the marble foyer around him. His furrowed brow and pale face turned to Pia. “We’ve been over the house and grounds and found nothing. I’m terribly sorry, Pia. I thought I had everything covered. This is on me, not the agents on duty. It’s completely—”
She leaned close to his ear and whispered. “I know exactly where the vial is and who took it. But I need you to keep it quiet. Push the agents to find it.” She paused. “Go.”
“Right away, ma’am,” Marty said. He turned to the agent leaping up the left staircase and yelled. “Dhanpal, reassign quadrants for the search. We’re starting over. MacKenzie, no one leaves without a thorough going-over, understood?”
Both agents answered and Marty shouted more instructions.
Pia went down the hall to the drawing room.
Verges ran to catch up with her. “Ma’am, Violet Windsor claims the second shipment never arrived. She’s going to have tracking in the morning.”
“Was she telling the truth?”
“Well, those methods you and Dhanpal taught me…I’m not sure if I have it down right, but she gave me full eye contact, no pupil dilation, when she said it was missing. Everything else was a lie.”
“How do we keep ahead of the Counterintelligence guys on this?”
“We can’t,” Verges said. “If they swoop in, we’re done.”
“I have to know who’s in this with Windsor. Can you arrest her to keep her out of their hands until we get the tracking?”
“It wouldn’t do any good. They can pull rank on any bust in the country.”
“This isn’t their jurisdiction. Why are they working so hard on this?”
Verges shrugged. “They’re working with China. Maybe it’s a spy swap or favor.”
Pia looked up and down the hallway. “Can you help me with a quick ploy? I don’t want to take my people off the project.”
“Sure,” the young man said.
“Give me a lift down the road in your car. I have to get past the TV crews, incognito.”
She stepped into the kitchen and spoke to Cousin Elmer, then slid into the footwell of Verges’s Kia Soul, in all its alien-green glory. They passed her agents at the gate with whispered instructions to keep up the ruse. She stayed down as Verges drove past rows of TV crews. They overheard one reporter say, “…unconfirmed reports that this gathering was to mourn a death of a Sabel Security veteran. Whatever war Pia Sabel is waging has taken yet another life from a local…” by then they were out of range.
“None of my business, ma’am, but I could set them straight. What you’re doing is—”
“The first time I tried to set the press straight, I’d been given a red card, ejected from an international game. I was sixteen and thought the press would understand if I just explained it.” She crawled out of her cramped hiding space and sat upright. “It only made matters worse. Don’t waste time with what other people think, just do the right thing.”
She gave him directions to a drugstore parking lot on the edge of the village of Potomac, Maryland. In the back corner, a glowering burgundy Ferrari waited with the convertible open to the autumn chill. Cousin Elmer waved to them and Verges piloted his car nose-to-nose with it.
Verges sat perfectly still, admiring the car in his headlights. “Uh. Do you need any help driving, ma’am?”
Cousin Elmer took the Kia back to Sabel Gardens while Verges, like a kid in a candy store, drove. He stopped where she asked, in a modest residential neighborhood.
“Wait here,” she said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
“OK.” Verges got out, ran his hand along the hip of the fuselage, around the engine compartment, never taking his eyes off the surface.
A harvest moon glowed high above her as she walked around a hedge and crossed a lawn to an alley that led out to a quiet residential street. She stood under a tree and assessed the house. A colonial split-level with a garage and darkened bedrooms on a half-acre lot. Light glowed in the kick-out middle level. She crossed to peek in a window. A simple study filled with electronics.
A dog shuffled inside, sniffing. Slinking silently into the dark, she made her way to the back yard and tossed a doggy treat onto the patio. An old Lab stuck his nose out the doggy door and sniffed. He went for the treat.
Pia gave a low whistle. The dog eyed her. She showed a treat in her hand before tossing it to him. He gobbled it in a single bite. She approached slowly, dropping a treat with each step, until she reached him, hand-fed him a treat, and scratched his ear. “Good boy. Easy now.”
She pushed her head through the doggy door into a small, dark great room. She heard a muffled voice. Stretching her way through the tiny door, she pulled her Glock, and threaded her way between furniture to the hall.
The voice came from two rooms down the hall on the left. The speech pattern was filled with lengthy pauses: a phone call. Looking carefully both ways, she snuck a peek into the dark kitchen. Satisfied it was clear, she slid toward the study.
The voice stopped.
Pia stopped. Her ears strained for clues t
o who was in the study. One person? More?
A zipper zipped. A rustle of fabric followed. Her target was leaving. It was now or never.
Pia ran up the short staircase and burst into the study, leading with her pistol, aimed straight ahead.
“Going somewhere, Otis?” she asked.
Blood drained from his face. His eyes bulged out. A daypack fell from his hand. He stood behind a large desk wearing dark pants and a dark shirt under a black leather jacket. A motorcycle helmet rocked back and forth on the desk.
“The vial is a fake,” she said. “And the rag. You have nothing.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Who are you working for?”
“Try to make sense, Pia. Why are you holding a gun on me?”
“I’ve been on to you from the beginning. You used the fact that we dated in high school to worm information out of my people. But I figured it out. Several people knew I was going to the Detention Center, but only two knew exactly when I left. And the other guy can’t tie his own shoes. You were the one who called the Kazakhs.”
Otis glanced at his helmet and tightened his lips.
Pia moved two steps closer. “You didn’t see Kevin get in the driver’s side because you were so proud of yourself for fooling me.”
He nodded slowly and sighed. “You are one tough bitch.”
A car pulled in the driveway and the motor stopped running.
His eyes narrowed. “How did you get in here, anyway?”
“What happened to the crusading reporter?”
“Google happened. There is no such thing as professional journalism anymore. There’s only Buzzfeed and Facebook. Post a bunch of opinions as fact, add a lot of unfounded hyperbole, and anything viral becomes fact.”
Pia lowered her voice. “What happened to you, Otis? What happened to the documentary?”
“No one cares. Without cute cat GIFs all over it, I can’t get anyone to distribute it.”
“You used to be driven by causes. You reported on a corrupt governor until he went to jail. You reported on drone kickbacks until three congressmen resigned. What are you working on now? What cause has you so worked up you’re ready to kill me, Otis?”
