Labyrinth

by Catherine Coulter

  Rafer said quietly, gently, “Ma, in your vision, when Camilla came to you. Did she actually appear to you? Did you actually see her?”

  “Of course I did. I saw her clearly, my beautiful Camilla, so talented, so ready to live life to the fullest. I love her, Rafer, your father worshiped her, everyone admired her. She will come to me, she’ll tell me why she ran away. Remember all those worthless investigators your father hired over the years? They claimed they couldn’t find any trace of her, the idiots. In my vision Camilla said she’d had to hide herself from them, from all of us, that she was in danger, but she needs me now.” She stopped a moment, searched his face. “Don’t you see? Linzie Drumm, she’s the key to finally seeing Camilla again.”

  “Ma, how old was Camilla when she came to you in your vision?”

  Cyndia stopped cold. She shook her head back and forth. “No, no, that doesn’t matter.”

  “She was still sixteen, wasn’t she?”

  Cyndia said nothing, kept shaking her head.

  “Not everyone loved her, Ma.”

  Cyndia’s head snapped back. “That’s not true. Camilla was magical, she’d come into her gift, she was testing her limits. She was so happy with what she was, ready to conquer the world. No matter why she left, no matter what she’s done over the years, she deserves to be happy, deserves to be someone important. She wants me to find her now, Rafer, she wants me to bring her back.”

  Rafer straightened, taller than his father, but young and fit, strong. “You want the truth about your precious Camilla? Oh yeah, she was happy, you’re right about that. She was deliriously happy with her gift, with what she could do. She loved to rub my nose in it, me, the little brother who didn’t have any gifts, the little brother who didn’t count, who couldn’t protect himself, whose parents didn’t even see him. How could you not know how she made me her slave? That she tried out her powers on me? Experimented on me. On me, Ma. I was only eleven years old. She made me do things, stupid things, awful things. She made me hurt the boy who broke up with her—made me steal the car he loved and wreck it, and I almost killed myself doing it. She told me she’d make all the blood in my body burst out of my mouth if I told you or Pa or anyone. She called me her little toy.

  “You didn’t see what she was, what she was doing. I don’t think you wanted to see. She was the only one who was important to you. I was nothing at all, worse, a failure because I didn’t have your gift.

  “I bet you didn’t know she hated the name Camilla, but what could she expect with you as her mother? She made fun of you, Ma, and Pa, too. She said Pa was just one of your tools, just like I was one of hers. She’d laugh, tell me she was only waiting until she was stronger than you, then she’d rule you like she ruled me.

  “I think Pa knew Camilla was bad, but he couldn’t admit it to himself or say it out loud. He knew, but he never did anything to keep her away from me, to keep her from hurting anyone she wanted. Do you know, I think Pa was afraid of her, like he was afraid of you.

  “And Aunt Jessalyn knew what she was. She found me one day after Camilla had made me hit myself over and over with a rock, laughing as I cut myself again and again. She called me a pathetic little loser and she left. I was sitting cross-legged on the ground, crying, rocking myself, and Aunt Jessalyn came. She tended me, comforted me, and I told her everything. Like Pa, she knew, knew deep down, and now she had proof. She promised me that day she’d deal with Camilla.

  “But I couldn’t wait, I was afraid to wait. Camilla knew Aunt Jessalyn had taken care of me and she was furious. I knew in my gut she could kill me, and then she could go after Aunt Jessalyn, there wasn’t a doubt in my mind. But you, Ma, you refused to see what she was—a demon from hell. She was evil, evil to her rotten heart.” He paused a moment, searching his mother’s face. “You noticed I was hurt, since Aunt Jessalyn had put bandages on me and my face was so bruised. Do you remember what you said? Of course you don’t. You said I should stop fighting with the other boys at school, nothing more. Camilla heard you. You know what? She laughed, said when she was strong enough, she wouldn’t be stupid and blind like you, her lame mom.

  “Time was running out and I was scared, so scared, but I had to act. I waited until I knew she was asleep and I snuck into her bedroom. I remember standing over her, looking at her face in the moonlight coming through the window, and I wondered how such a pretty face could hide such evil. I watched her face as I rammed the knife through her neck. Her eyes flew open and she tried to speak, to curse me, to destroy me, but blood was pouring out of her mouth and her neck and she only made garbled sounds. But I was still afraid, so afraid. I pulled the knife out of her neck and shoved it in her chest. I watched her eyes go blank and empty. I didn’t know what to do then, and so I just stood there, frozen with fear, but relief, too, simple relief. She would never hurt me again. She wouldn’t kill me, she wouldn’t kill you or Pa. And then I saw Aunt Jessalyn at the window. She’s never said, but I know she’d come to kill Camilla. I just beat her to it. She told me to take off my bloody pajamas and bury them deep, then take a shower and go back to bed, she’d handle the rest. She placed her hands on my head and looked into my eyes. She told me to forget. I know she’s got some gifts, but the fact was, I never forgot, any of it.

  “But I didn’t do what she told me. I wanted to be sure. I watched her carry Camilla away, over her shoulder, and I followed her. I watched her bury Camilla deep in the forest underneath an ancient oak tree. She never knew I was there, watching, and I never told her. I always pretended I’d forgotten. Do you want to know what Aunt Jessalyn said while she was shoveling the dirt over Camilla’s body? Something I’ll never forget until I die. ‘You’re gone now, you nasty little witch, dead and gone. Your sweet little brother will never remember. You shouldn’t have shined Booker, made him sleep with you. I found out, you know. He dreamed it one night and shouted it out. Your own uncle. You had sex with your own uncle.’

  “How could I ever forget that? I mean, Uncle Booker was old, like Aunt Jessalyn. But that’s what she said about your sainted Camilla. Then she came back and packed Camilla’s favorite clothes and buried them, too. She cleaned all the blood off the bed and floor until there was nothing left of Camilla, nothing at all. And I was happy, Ma, happy she was gone. And for the first time, finally, you and Pa started to look at me, to actually see me.

  “Camilla’s been rotting for eighteen years in the grave Aunt Jessalyn dumped her in. She’s not torturing people like she did me, she’s not forcing them to do what she wants or she’ll make the pain so bad they’ll want to die, like she did me, like you just did to Agent Hammersmith. Camilla’s not anywhere, Ma, except in hell, where she belongs. Do you think she sent you this vision from hell? Do you think she wants you to get her out of the flames?”

  Cyndia stared at her son, whispered as she shook her head back and forth, “No, you were only a little boy, she loved you, she had to, didn’t she? It’s a lie, my dear sweet girl—no—”

  “No, Ma, I’m not lying and deep down you know it, too, you know what she was. Just like Pa knew but chose not to believe it.”

  She looked at her son, her eyes blind, and kept shaking her head back and forth. Then she stopped. Her eyes went vague. She whispered, “I’m sorry, Rafer.”

  Rafer dove for her but he wasn’t fast enough. Cyndia put the Beretta in her mouth and pulled the trigger.

  71

  * * *

  MCLEAN, VIRGINIA

  CIA SAFE HOUSE

  They were drinking coffee strong enough to launch a rocket when Savich said to Lucy, “Nikki Bexholt’s group had to think you overheard what they said at the house and lured you to that gas station. One of them, probably Bexholt, knocked you out. They brought you here to a CIA safe house. Have I got this right, Armstrong?”

  “No, of course you don’t. I’ve told you what my assignment is.”

  Savich continued, “Not a good solution, but it would buy them some time. Maybe enough time to clean everything incrim
inating from that house?”

  Lucy said, “I saw boxes in what was the living room, and computer equipment, obviously the place was where they were working. But on what, Dillon?”

  “I have some ideas, but nothing solid.” He tapped his fingers on the kitchen table, rose suddenly. “We need to get to that house, Lucy. They’re not stupid, they’re going to be tearing down the operation and removing evidence as fast as they can. Can you show us where it is?”

  “Can I borrow your cell phone, Dillon?” She opened his Google Earth app, pinpointed where she was, and followed 7 back to the exit Nikki Bexholt had taken. Half a minute later, she zoomed down to street view. “Here it is. That’s the house. Right there.”

  “Take us closer, Lucy. Good. Show me where you were standing.”

  “Right here, by the living room window.”

  Sherlock tracked down the address on her own cell. “Listen to this. It’s listed as a protected historical property called Redemption House. It was a part of the underground railroad for escaping slaves. Now, the owner—” She searched, then, “It was purchased three years ago by an LLP, a limited liability partnership, owned by an offshore corporation. In other words, difficult to connect to Nikki.”

  “Let’s go, then,” Lucy said, and bounded to her feet, swayed where she stood, and sat down again.

  Savich said, “Ollie, I want you to take Lucy to the hospital, get her checked out.”

  “It’s nothing, Dillon, really—”

  “Lucy, you were hit on the head and drugged, and you’re pregnant. We’re not going to take any chances with your health.”

  Armstrong stared at Lucy. “You’re pregnant?” He shook his head. “I thought you were fat.”

  Lucy smacked him in the head.

  Savich said with a straight face, “What I want you and Ollie to do is take Armstrong with you and contact Mr. Besserman, tell him what’s happened. He’ll take care of Armstrong. Ruth, you and Sherlock are with me. Let’s move out. Ruth, get us some backup.”

  72

  * * *

  REDEMPTION HOUSE

  Claire Farriger wished she’d given the FBI agent enough ketamine to kill her on the spot, but of course she couldn’t, not with Nikki Bexholt and the others standing right there, watching her every move. She didn’t know what McKnight had overheard, what she’d seen, but even if she’d only seen Redemption House itself, she’d signed her death warrant, just as Eleanor Corbitt had when she’d let the CIA agent see her. Farriger could only hope McKnight hadn’t already called for backup or revealed what she’d seen.

  McKnight would have gotten away clean if Craig hadn’t happened to look at one of the monitors and see her on the property. It was only luck Claire herself had been there to set a plan in motion, or she had no doubt it would have been a disaster with the amateurs trying to figure out what to do. Nikki had led her away from the house and McKnight, as she’d expected, had followed her. And when Nikki had turned off at the isolated gas station, the agent had exited with her. Farriger had followed them both and taken care of the agent. She’d hoped her blow had killed her, but unfortunately it hadn’t. Thankfully, the agent had stayed unconscious after Nikki had insisted they bring her back to Redemption House. Farriger couldn’t very well fight with Nikki right there on the road. Back at the house, she called Lance and told him to come and pick her up, so little time was wasted. She had to call with everyone listening, so she had to tell him loud and clear to take the agent to a CIA safe house until morning.

  By now Lance was back in McLean at the safe house. She watched Cricket Washburn, Dr. Cook, and Nikki work for a moment, then slipped into the hallway and called him on her burner phone. She got his voice mail, frowned. No, she wouldn’t worry. Lance was a pro. She said into her cell only “It needs to look like an accident.” She walked back into the living room, where they were still all busily breaking down equipment, Nikki giving them orders. She studied them a moment. It amazed her how their collective greed overcame breaking more laws than she could count, yet they weren’t willing to do what was necessary to save themselves, save the project. They had to know the FBI agent threatened their very lives, yet they wouldn’t hear of killing her. And that’s why she’d never admit to them she’d had Armstrong kill Eleanor Corbitt. In her case, there’d been no time to stage an accident. She wondered, at odd moments, if killing Corbitt had been a mistake. Perhaps if she’d left her alone—but no, she’d spotted Corbitt as the weak link, and Corbitt had proved it when she panicked and drove off. Water under the bridge. Now the new threat was from Agent Lucy McKnight. This time she would do it right.

  She’d known working with amateurs meant screwups were inevitable—even with pros you never knew when things would go sideways—but she’d figured she could manage any amateurish mistakes. The only thing she hadn’t counted on was the FBI making connections so fast. They’d managed to scare the crap out of Palumbo and Nikki. Almost enough to give them all away.

  As for Justice Cummings, being dead was the only thing she wanted from him. The incriminating data theft from his computer would prove him a traitor. If anyone was going under the bus, it would be him.

  When she walked back into the room, Dr. Cook stopped his packing and gave her a long look. “I was telling Athena you would have the FBI agent killed if we let you, like you had Ellie killed. We all saw you go into the hall just now—in the mirror.” He waved back to the large mirror over the fireplace. “You pulled out your cell. Did you call that goon of yours and order him to kill her?”

  Farriger shook her head, sighed. “Craig, we’ve worked together for months now. I told you I didn’t have anything to do with Eleanor Corbitt’s murder. But now, you must listen to me, all of you. I will be honest. The FBI agent is another matter entirely. She could and would bury us all so deep we wouldn’t see the outside of a cell for the rest of our lives. No, don’t look away from me. They know the agent was following Nikki, they most assuredly will find out she came to Redemption House, and that’s why we’re removing every trace of our work. If she isn’t around to accuse us, and nothing is here to be found, we might still get out of this whole-hide. We can’t let her get back to them, she’d identify us all. I’ll arrange a fatal car accident. There will be questions, sure, but if it’s done right, there will be no proof. We can all go quietly back to our lives.”

  There was dead silence, then Cricket said, “They will know it wasn’t a real accident.”

  Nikki said, “Even if they can’t prove it, they’ll never stop if they think we killed one of their agents in a staged accident. And they will, you know it.”

  Farriger looked around the group, her eyes resting a moment on Jasmine Palumbo, responsible for the biggest screwup. She hated amateurs. “Yes, of course they’ll suspect, but I’ll see to it there is no compelling proof. Listen to me, all of you. If we’re very lucky, they may never find this place. In any case, I’ve managed to buy us perhaps twelve hours. We can’t waste more time on these senseless debates. We’ve got to empty this house and get out of here.”

  Nikki took a step toward her. “No, Claire, there will be no more killing. If only you’d asked me about Ellie, I could have told you she could talk her way out of anything. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll clean out the house, and they’ll have no way of knowing why we were here. If we stick together, we’ll get through this. When they find the agent, maybe she’ll be wandering around, still confused from the drug you gave her. Let her say whatever she wants, there’ll be no proof.”

  Farriger wanted to draw her service weapon and shoot all of them. Instead, she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t care what you believe about Corbitt, but if the FBI agent simply shows up, confused or not, the FBI will not stop, do you understand? They. Will. Not. Stop. We have no choice.”

  She saw a moment of indecision on Cricket’s face, saw Jasmine shake her head. She said to Nikki, “If we don’t kill her, your father wins, you’ll have proved him right—you’re a girl, inferior, a failure. And your brot
her? Can you imagine how happy he’ll be when you’re hauled off in your orange suit to federal prison?

  “Listen, Nikki, when you told me about Dr. Cook’s invention, we both knew it was our big chance. I could wipe the CIA muck off my shoes and we could both live the lives we wanted. You were so excited, anything to pay back the father you hate and your prick of a brother. Let me point out you were the one who led that FBI agent here to the house, like Jasmine blundered and hit Agent Sherlock’s car. Your fault, not mine, all the mistakes, the missteps. I’m the one who can save you, the only one. You’ve got to let me do what we have to do to keep us safe.”

  “No, Claire,” Nikki said, “you will not kill anyone else. We all talked about this, we’re all agreed.”

  Farriger was sick of all of them. More blah, blah. She stopped listening. She moved to stand next to a wall with shelves holding dozens of old leather books from before the Civil War. She splayed her hands in front of her. “Very well, trust me, the agent will be freed.”

  Dr. Craig Cook pointed a finger at her. “Trust you? You gave her over to that bulked-up trained ape of yours, Armstrong, after you drugged her. We all know you called him a few minutes ago. You told him to kill her, didn’t you? It’s easy for you, like pinching out a candle.”

  “Dr. Cook, get ahold of yourself.” Farriger walked slowly toward him and he flinched, she saw it. Good, the little worm was afraid of her. And so he should be. She stopped, clapped her hands together. “We must stop with these senseless accusations. We have to get to work.”

  Nikki said, “Make the call to Armstrong. In front of us. Now.”

  73

  * * *

  Savich, Sherlock, and Ruth crouched over as they moved quickly away from the long driveway to skirt the big colonial house. Savich nodded to Sherlock and she slipped around the side of the house to look through the front window. She backed up, whispered, “They’re packing up, moving fast. A man and a woman just walked out of the living room carrying boxes.”