“I thought you said you’d dragged him into it.”
“Nah. After he saw that fuckin’ sick video, there was no way he was gonna sit back an’ let that fucker get another shot at ya. I thought I’d talked him outta it the night before, but he was watchin’ ya by the time I met ya in the parkin’ lot at Sirius. I didn’t even know he was there ‘til he phoned me after ya pulled out. I tried to get him to break off, but then when ya turned me back I hadta either get in the truck with Kane or give it up completely. He was tailin’ ya a few miles back.”
I pulled the blankets up over my shoulders, shivering. “I can’t believe they’d court-martial him. He’s the best agent they’ve got.”
“Yeah, darlin’, it sucks shit. But the army doesn’t make exceptions.”
Arnie’s gloomy words hung in my memory while I signed for my security fob at Sirius Dynamics. Absorbed in rehearsing all the arguments I might offer in Kane’s defence, I realized I was bracing myself for the sight of Doytchevsky’s face as I hurried upstairs.
When I remembered he was dead, the surge of relief made my stomach twist with a peculiar mixture of guilt and satisfaction. Arnie was right. How fucked up was it to feel nothing but fierce elation at the memory of the gun kicking in my hand; the sudden horrible relaxation of taut muscles into death?
I gave my head a vigorous shake. Deal with it later. Kane needed me now.
On the dot of nine o’clock, I tapped on Stemp’s door.
He glanced up from his computer, an intent frown clearing from his forehead. “Come in. Close the door.”
He nodded in the direction of the chair and I sank into it as he withdrew the bug detector from his drawer and scanned the room. Including my waist pouch. I shot him a twisted smile and received a wry quirk of his mouth in response.
Assured that the room was clear, he resumed his seat behind the desk.
“How about the security cameras?” I asked.
“Webb went over the system with a fine-toothed comb. Doytchevsky was bluffing.”
“That fucking bastard.” I caught myself. “Sorry. I’ll try to watch my mouth in the hearing.”
Stemp raised a shoulder in one of his tiny shrugs. “It’s unlikely to matter. It’s not a trial or court-martial or any sort of official tribunal, merely a meeting of the chain of command to determine appropriate action. Fortunately, Kane’s chain of command is relatively short. There will only be two other men there besides General Briggs and myself. We hope to be able to establish and document a valid reason why charges are not appropriate. But it will have to be a unanimous decision.”
He eyed me levelly. “As you are likely aware, discipline is vital in a military organization. It would be virtually unprecedented to cancel a court-martial. Arbitrarily allowing that sort of special treatment would deal a severe blow to the credibility of the leaders and consequently, morale.”
I bit my tongue to keep from blurting out a detailed and explicit description of exactly what the army could do with its discipline and morale.
I held my voice level. “Do you think there’s any hope?”
“I have a strategy in mind. Doytchevksy followed you to Vegas and made contact in a way that made you realize he was a threat to our agents and to our internal security. I issued orders to Kane to meet you in Vegas. It won’t be necessary to mention I issued those orders before I was aware it was Doytchevsky who was following you.”
He eyed me expressionlessly. “It could be argued that you used Kane to draw Doytchevsky out of hiding. That both you and Kane were acting under orders to pretend the sexual harassment complaint and Kane’s subsequent suspension were true in order to bait Doytchevsky. In that case, the suspension order preventing Kane from contacting you would be rendered invalid by his standing mission orders to work with you to expose Doytchevsky.”
Hope rose, temporarily short-circuiting my breathing. After a moment I managed to inhale, trying not to wince at my tightening bruises. “That could work.”
“It could. It will all depend on how the meeting proceeds and whether anyone asks awkward questions. Kane is in the brig and we will have no contact with him until the hearing itself, so he won’t know we’ve discussed this. He may inadvertently say something that makes this strategy unworkable.”
Stemp met my eyes. “I will do everything in my power to sway the discussion, but I won’t mislead anyone or perjure myself. I suggest you do the same unless you want to risk the consequences.”
He paused. “That only solves half the issue, of course. The other half hinges on your ability to convince the chain of command that Kane didn’t engage in any improper conduct. Though you have been sufficiently convincing to General Briggs and myself, the other two members of the tribunal are unknown quantities.”
I eased out a long breath. “I have an idea that I think will work. Can we use Jack’s lie detector?”
Stemp sat in silence for a moment. “Are you certain you want to go down that path?” He leaned forward, holding me with his unsettling amber gaze. “If there is any little thing at all in your dealings with Kane that could be misconstrued, the lie detector might prove more harmful than helpful.”
Oh.
Little things like screwing each other’s brains out?
I swallowed the dryness in my throat and held my voice level. “We might as well go for broke. If I can’t convince this group, there’s no hope of convincing a judge or jury if he ends up going to trial.”
Stemp leaned back in his chair. “I’ll make sure the lie detector is available, but I’ll leave the final decision to you.”
He glanced at his watch. “We’ve gathered some more information that may or may not be relevant. Doytchevsky apparently took up pottery as a hobby several years ago, taking particular interest in a form of glazing known as raku, which involves firing the pottery to extremely high temperatures and then plunging it into flammable materials which then combust, creating desirable but unpredictable finishes.”
“Yes, he mentioned that,” I agreed. “He seemed quite proud of his work.”
Stemp’s lips twitched into a wry grimace. “His work; but perhaps not necessarily his pottery. Apparently that type of top-loading kiln is rarely used for raku because of the difficulty in unloading the hot pieces. Doytchevsky acquired the shop and hired an assistant to run it part-time. The assistant says on several occasions Doytchevsky asked him to fire the kiln to a high temperature and then leave the shop. He also said the other tenants in the strip mall had complained about excessive smoke and odour on those days. Doytchevsky explained it away as part of the raku process.”
My stomach rolled queasily, the sound and smell of Sherman’s cremation still lingering like greasy fog in my memory. I gulped down nausea. “So Sherman probably wasn’t the first.”
“Probably not, though we have no way of proving that. If not for the fact that Sherman’s stainless steel medical alert bracelet didn’t melt, we would have only your word that those were his ashes in the kiln. There was nothing left but fine grey powder.”
I swallowed again, willing my breakfast back into place. “Doytchevsky said it took less than an hour. As if he had already tested it.”
Stemp shrugged. “We’ll never know.”
His expressionless façade descended again and I braced myself. That was never a good sign.
“When we searched Doytchevsky’s apartment, we discovered some…” He hesitated. “…disturbing products and video footage. We also discovered blood on his pillow and bloodstained nylon restraints beside the bed. The blood type matches yours. In your briefing yesterday…” He hesitated again. “Did you provide a complete and accurate account of your interactions with Doytchevsky? More to the point, did you get medical attention?”
“No, I’m fine. The video was faked and the blood was from my wrists.” I held them up for corroboration. “He just beat me and choked me. No big deal.”
Stemp eyed me in silence for several long moments before speaking. “I’ve made an appointment f
or you with Dr. Rawling tomorrow at zero-nine-hundred. I expect you to attend and to cooperate with him fully, including any and all follow-up appointments he deems necessary. That’s an order.”
I eased back in my chair. “Okay. I was going to call him this morning anyway.”
He relaxed visibly. “I’m glad. I was hoping I wouldn’t have another fight on my hands.”
“I’m saving it for the hearing.” I shot him a grim smile.
He returned an equally mirthless grimace. “Good.”
Chapter 42
Released from Stemp’s presence, I prowled back and forth behind the closed door of my office, preparing arguments in my mind only to discard them and start over.
Far too soon, my remaining minutes evaporated. Kane’s remaining minutes.
Dammit.
I squared my shoulders despite the pain and hiked up my sleeves to expose the bruised flesh of my wrists criss-crossed with scabbed cuts. Might as well go for the sympathy vote, if there was such a thing.
I tossed my hair back and strode for the conference room, head held high.
I realized my mistake as soon as I stepped through the door. It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d be under-dressed. Stemp was in one of his usual quiet suits, but General Briggs and the other two men wore dress uniforms loaded with braid and insignia. I knew nothing about military ranks, but it sure as hell looked daunting.
And wouldn’t you know I’d be the last to arrive, making a grand entrance in my faded jeans, scuffed hiking boots, and waist pouch.
Before I had a chance to shrivel into the nearest knothole, all four men rose and General Briggs extended a gracious hand. “Agent Kelly, thank you for attending. This is Colonel Talbot…” He indicated a tall, sallow-skinned man. “…and Colonel Brinder.”
I shook their proffered hands, sizing them up. Talbot’s thin face was drawn in long lines of boredom, or maybe pain. If it was pain, I hoped it wouldn’t make him cranky. Brinder looked as though he’d been inflated with a bicycle pump, his jacket straining over his belly, his bulging chins obscuring his crisp white collar. A prim cupids-bow mouth huddled under the inadequate shelter of his tiny black moustache.
“Please have a seat,” General Briggs invited.
“Thanks,” I mumbled, slinking into the nearest chair.
The room seemed to have been arranged for maximum intimidation. The five of us sat in a semicircle around the head of the table, while a single forlorn chair floated on the barren expanse of carpet well beyond the foot.
Sweat prickled my armpits and moistened my hands, my heart rate ratcheting up to drum in my ears. Shit, this was worse than facing Doytchevsky. And I wasn’t even the one on trial.
Approaching footsteps in the hall made me lick my dry lips, trying to summon up enough spit to swallow. A moment later, an armed guard marched in, taking up a position against the wall.
Kane filled the doorway next, and I momentarily forgot my discomfort in the effort to keep my jaw from dropping.
My God.
I’d never seen him in full dress uniform before.
My. God…!
He stiffened to attention and threw a salute that threatened to melt my cerebral cortex. Or some part of my body, anyway.
I tore my gaze away from him long enough to belatedly identify a second guard behind him, stepping into position in the hallway and swinging the door closed.
By the time I’d recovered enough to resume breathing, some exchange had apparently taken place between Kane and the other officers. Kane stepped forward with only a slight limp and lowered himself into the lone chair, back straight, shoulders square, eyes front.
If I hadn’t known him so well, I might not have noticed the hard lines around his mouth that betrayed the pain he was hiding. It was impressive acting, but I was pretty damn sure gunshot wounds didn’t feel better the next day.
General Briggs addressed us. “This is not a trial or court-martial or a formal proceeding of any nature. We’re here because Agent Kelly insists that the accusations against Captain Kane are completely fabricated. This chain-of-command meeting is only to hear her explanation and decide whether a formal inquiry is warranted.”
He eyed Kane gravely for a moment. “That said, if it is decided that formal proceedings are warranted and if you are found to have made statements in this meeting that are subsequently proven to be untrue, additional charges will be laid. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.” Kane’s voice was steady, his eyes never wavering from some invisible point on the back wall.
“Good.” Briggs paused, the force of his authority holding us all motionless for a moment. “Captain Kane, do you have anything to say before we begin?”
“No, sir, not at this time.”
I drew a short breath of relief. I hadn’t truly expected him to break down and spill a confession about our consensual sex. After all, this was Kane. Mr. Super-cool James Bond. But some little part of me felt reassured nevertheless. So far, so good.
“Agent Kelly?” Briggs gestured. “You have the floor.”
I rose, then wondered whether I was supposed to stand or sit.
Well, too bad. They could tell me to sit down if they wanted me to sit. Flustered, I drew a deep, calming breath, forgetting my bruised chest. I couldn’t quite suppress my wince.
“Sorry,” I said reflexively.
Oh, for shit’s sake, get it together. I drew myself up to face the gauntlet of eyes.
“It’s quite all right,” Briggs said gently. “We know you’ve been injured, and this is not an official proceeding. Just relax and take your time.”
A little of my nervousness subsided. At least two people were rooting for me in this room. Well, probably three, counting Kane.
“Thanks.” I drew another, more careful, breath.
Might as well jump in at the deep end.
“I’d like to address the videotaped rape confession first,” I began.
Just stay calm. I could do this.
“First I’d like to point out that I’ve never formally accused Kane of rape. If he, or anyone for that matter, had raped me, I would have filed charges immediately.”
I eyed the impassive faces around the table. “The only reason you’re considering charges against Kane is because this video was recorded and the lie detector indicated his statements were true. If this video hadn’t existed, you would have simply accepted a statement in my mission report that we fooled Doytchevsky by faking a confession.”
General Briggs gave me a nod that looked like approval. Talbot and Brinder looked thoughtful.
Good.
I drew a slow breath. “I’m going to provide an explanation for why Kane answered the way he did. Can we run the video now?”
Stemp nodded, pressing some keys on a laptop computer and turning it so we could all see. I concentrated hard while the video ran, double-checking my strategy. God, I could barely remember saying those things. And Kane was an amazing actor. He looked guilty as sin in the recording.
Shit.
I turned to face the group. “First, you need to understand the context of the video. We were both under extreme duress…”
I hesitated. “Um… I’m sorry, I don’t mean to offend anybody, but I don’t know how much I can tell about, um… the technology involved…?”
“Everyone here has a top-level security clearance,” Stemp reassured me. “And this room is completely secure. There is no audio or video surveillance active.”
“Okay.” I plunged in, explaining Doytchevsky’s background as a Russian spy and his connection to my dead husband and the Knights. I could feel Kane’s eyes boring into me as I spoke, and I avoided his gaze.
If we were still friends when this was all over, I was going to owe him some major apologies for withholding that information from him. Oh, and for getting him captured and shot and accused of rape and…
Shut up.
I forced my concentration back to my narrative, laying out Doytchevsky’s threats and not
skimping on the details of what I had suffered. The more despicable he looked, the better for Kane.
“So anyway,” I concluded, “Doytchevsky hated Kane because he executed Robert… my husband, Doytchevsky’s best friend. And after Doytchevsky burned Sherman in the kiln, I knew he wouldn’t hesitate to do the same to Kane. I was desperate to find a way to stall him until Kane regained consciousness. I had been pretending to dislike Kane anyway in order to build rapport with Doytchevsky, so I appealed to Doytchevsky’s hatred by offering a way to make Kane suffer. This video was the result.”
I eased out a long breath, willing my pulse to slow. Stay calm. Stay focused.
“You’ll notice that Kane didn’t admit to sexual contact at any time in the video. I accused him of rape and then followed the accusation with statements that sounded like they were related but weren’t. Let’s look at what he actually admits to.”
I ticked the points off on my fingers. “He followed me. He broke into my house when I was sleeping. He didn’t listen when I begged. Notice I didn’t specify what I was begging for; it only sounds as though I was begging him not to rape me because I’d just finished mentioning I was naked. And I always sleep naked-”
None of their damn business. I willed the heat out of my cheeks and carried on.
“Next, I say I was bruised and crying, but the only accusation he actually answers is ‘you knew what you had done’. Then I say he ‘did it again’…” I made air quotes around the words. “…but the only thing he actually admits to is leaving me in the woods barely able to walk. Then he admits to following me again.”
I met their eyes, each in turn. “So what have we got? Obviously he could truthfully say he followed me many times; our mission reports confirm all the times he showed up just in time to save my a...” I stopped myself just in time. “…skin.”
A Spy For a Spy Page 31
