“And then Max Creighton came across Wilson’s notebook, which had notes on Pasha Tech. Creighton realized why Wilson had been killed. He knew someone in the US intelligence community must be a turncoat. He just didn’t know who. That was why he was so nervous when he met with me and Mallory. Creighton tried to research Pasha Tech but came up empty, just like we initially did. He had to ask someone about them, so he made the fatal error of asking his agency’s chief toxicologist—you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” said Gilbert with a frown.
“Once he asked you,” continued Alton, “his fate was sealed. It didn’t take long for Safi to send someone out to administer one of his boutique poisons. It’s no wonder the ME couldn’t find the poison that killed Creighton. It’s probably some unique blend Safi cooked up in the Menagerie.”
Gilbert shook his head. “This is bullshit. Yes, I’ve worked nineteen years for the NSA. I deserve better than to be the target of baseless accusations from some asshole on his first NSA assignment.”
“‘Baseless’?” said Alton. “No, not exactly baseless. You want to know what first tipped me off? It’s when we were in the cell in the Menagerie. You were the first person Vaziri questioned. When you came back to the cell, you said ‘they know how to beat a guy without leaving a mark.’ That made sense at the time, but later we learned that Safi was going to use us as human guinea pigs. He was going to kill us anyway, so why would Vaziri care whether or not she left a mark?”
“We already discussed this, remember?” said Gilbert. “They couldn’t damage us, or they’d render the experiments on us unreliable.”
“Yes, but that’s still not the same thing as leaving a mark. Vaziri certainly left marks on me and David. But you were unscathed. Sweaty, red, panting—yes. But not actually beat up. Why is that? Once Vaziri took a more brutal approach with me and David, I started to become suspicious. During my interrogation with Vaziri, she mentioned someone named Killjoy had told her I’d be obstinate. Now I know how she got that little piece of intel—from you.
“And then a few other curious things I had noticed previously started to make sense. Looking back on it, I can see how you did your best to trip up this mission.”
“Oh, really?” growled Gilbert. “Like what?”
“The night Mallory and I were on the hill overlooking the Pasha Tech site, I gave orders to maintain radio silence. But you had to come onto the radio to tell us someone was coming—almost as if you were hoping the site’s security team would hear.”
“That’s a pretty legit reason to break silence,” said Gilbert. “Plus, if I was working with Safi, I would’ve already known the site wasn’t Pasha Tech anymore, right? So why would I want to warn some other company?”
“You didn’t do it to warn them. You did it to get us captured. That would stop our investigation of Safi dead in its tracks.”
“But I’d be captured, too.”
“You knew you only had to tell the site’s new company to contact Safi. He’d see to it you would be released. He’d do everything he could to protect his American mole.”
Gilbert ran a hand across the back of his neck. “Are you forgetting about our escape from the Pasha Tech site? I shot the perimeter guard who stopped me on the way out. Why would I do that if I were working for Safi?”
“Why not? It wasn’t Safi’s site anymore. Even if it were, you don’t get credit for self-preservation. It was either shoot or be shot.”
Gilbert started to speak, but stopped himself before forming any actual words.
“And then there’s the Tears of God files we found in Pasha Tech’s old records-retention vault. When you started analyzing them, you told me it would be difficult for a layman to understand. Yet Mastana, a sixteen year old, was capable of explaining the poison-distillation process described in the documents just from translating them. You were determined to avoid giving away any information about Tears of God. You figured if you didn’t disclose its full meaning, we’d never learn what the project was all about.”
“You’re not giving me credit,” said Gilbert. “I did explain how the documents described the distillation of a pit viper’s poison.”
“Only after Mastana had already started describing it. And then a few minutes later, you suggested Tears of God could be part of a project to develop agricultural pesticides. Again, trying to lead us away from the truth.”
Gilbert snorted again. “I thought you brought me along on this team to render an expert opinion on toxicological questions. That was a legitimate possibility, given the information we had at the time. I can’t help it if I didn’t automatically assume Safi was some madman with an evil agenda.”
“Then there’s the question of Pete Phillips,” said Alton, ignoring Gilbert’s protest.
“Who?” asked Gilbert.
“DTI’s R&D Vice President. The guy who tried to help us obtain a passcode generator so we could break through the Goldmine’s security wall. When you and I met with him in the bar, you called me ‘Alton’ instead of using my ‘Ben Beerman’ alias. At the time, I chalked it up to your inexperience. But now I realize you had hoped to discredit me so Phillips would be reluctant to help.”
“So I called you by your real name. Sue me.”
“You can act like it isn’t a big deal,” said Alton, “but even an NSA agent without field experience has to know the importance of maintaining an alias. You blew it in the first five minutes.
“But there’s another, more profound piece of evidence concerning Phillips. You’ll recall he was going to contact a colleague in the security department about needing a safe place to carry on an affair. The plan was for him to call us the next morning, but he never did. Yesterday, I called Agent Vega. He told me Phillips’ body was recovered from a ravine east of town. His autopsy labs are consistent with poisoning. That tells me Safi found out about Phillips’ efforts to help us and had him murdered.”
“Yeah,” said Gilbert, “probably by the security guy Phillips approached about getting the passcode generator.”
“No. Safi was paranoid about secrecy. He didn’t tell anyone outside of the Goldmine about his activities there, not even Phillips, his boss. He never would’ve told some Alice Springs security manager. And why would he, when he knew he could count on you for intel on our every movement?”
“Intel how? I was with you guys the entire time.”
“I admit, we did stay joined at the hip during most of this mission, but there are a few times you could have sent him a message. You’d only need a minute or two to send a few lines.
“And when we examined possible entry points to the Goldmine,” continued Alton, “you were quick to dismiss the use of its drainage canal as a way in.”
“That’s right. It could have contained contaminants. It did come from a plant that refined venoms.”
“But you never suggested testing the waste water,” said Alton. “I checked with the EPA last night. They said that would’ve been standard procedure. With your expertise, surely you could have rounded up the appropriate chemicals in a few hours. But you didn’t. You wanted to make it as difficult as possible for us to get inside the Goldmine.
“And once we did make it in there, you were sure to let Safi know we were on the way. That’s how he knew to deploy so many guards in and around the Menagerie. We were walking into an ambush the whole time.”
The toxicologist sneered. “These are nice pet theories, Blackwell, but you can’t prove any of it.”
“I may not have to.”
“Why’s that? Last time I checked, a court of law required proof, not a good imagination.”
Alton set down his glass. “Did your champagne taste any different than usual?”
“No,” said Gilbert with another sneer. “Should it?”
“You tell me. Didn’t you wonder why Mallory mentioned to you—and only you—last night that I’d be exposing a double-agent at today’s meeting? And she was careful to mention that even she didn’t know who the double-agent
is. That meant you only had to take out me, and your secret would be safe. So tell me, does the toxin I’m guessing you slipped in my glass have any taste?”
“I didn’t put anything in your glass. Even if I had, how would I know how it tasted?”
“When you passed out the rest of the bubbly, I swapped your glass with mine.”
Gilbert’s eyes grew enormous. He set his nearly-empty champagne flute on the table with quiet deliberation, walked to a plastic chair in the corner of the room, and lowered himself into it.
“Your own body will tell us if you’re guilty,” said Alton. “If nothing happens, I’ll be happy to admit I was wrong. But if you experience a sudden, inexplicable death, we’ll know my ‘pet theories’ were true.”
Gilbert sat on the chair in stunned silence.
“Tell me,” said Alton, “how long do you have?”
Gilbert sighed and gave his head a rueful shake. “About twelve hours.” He stared into space a moment before speaking again. “Dammit! I felt so sure I had pulled it off.”
“But why?” said Mallory. “Why would you, a sworn agent of the US government, collude with a terrorist like Safi?”
“I can guess,” said Alton, “It’s usually about money.” He limped over to Gilbert and stared down at the man. “Still have your forty pieces of silver, or did you already squirrel it away in a Swiss bank account?”
“Come down off your high horse, Blackwell. You’re not Jesus. You’re simply another government agent trying to control the world’s poison supply—just like Safi.”
“Wrong. Safi’s intent was to turn a profit by killing innocent people. My intent was to stop him. You took part in wholesale murder to earn a quick buck.”
Gilbert’s eyes moistened, and his chin began to tremble. “Did you know I have a sister?”
“Yeah. You mentioned her on the flight coming out here.”
“Her name’s Elizabeth. She’s mentally disabled and living in the worst group home you’ve ever seen. My NSA job doesn’t pay enough to put her in someplace better. Safi knew I was desperate to help her and would take any money I could get. Then this new investigation started. I figured it was my chance to do one more job—a good-paying one—and get out. So I told him I needed half a million, or I walked. He agreed. After this job, Beth wasn’t going to have to live in the group home anymore. I was going to hire a private nurse so she could stay at my house.”
He sighed. Looking to the floor, he spoke in a near whisper. “It wasn’t anything personal. I was just trying to take care of my sister.”
“It was personal to me,” said Mallory, walking over. “There are plenty of ways to take care of her without murdering innocent people—including my father.”
“Gilbert,” said Alton, “you’ve done some horrible things, but I’m not your judge and jury. Is there an antidote for the toxin you drank?”
“No. It’s a brand-new creation. No antidote.”
“We’re in a hospital. What about pumping your stomach—”
“Nope,” interjected Gilbert. “It’s absorbed into the body immediately. It would’ve been too late even if I had gone straight to the ER right after drinking it.”
“You have twelve hours. I suggest you use that time to talk with your family one last time.”
Tears flowed from Gilbert’s eyes. “What do I tell them?”
“That’s for you to decide,” said Alton. “Cutter Wilson never had a chance to hold that last conversation with his family. You not only killed him, but you denied him that privilege. Remember: these last few hours, these last conversations, are a gift.”
By now, two members of the Alice Springs police department had entered the room. They handcuffed Gilbert and led him away.
Mastana looked stricken.
“You okay?” asked Alton.
The teen struggled to form a reply. “Yes, it is just…Alton, you know I respect you. But are we the people to decide Gilbert should die?”
“I didn’t poison him,” replied Alton. “I dumped out the tainted glass he gave me. His champagne was fine.”
“What?” exclaimed Silva. “Then what was all that—?”
Alton held up a placating hand. “It was the only way to get him to confess…and probably the only way for him to understand what Safi’s victims went through.”
Alton looked over to Mallory, whose eyes had teared up. He wrapped her in a silent embrace. Closure was an empty word, used by those whose hearts had never experienced the devastation of a murdered family member. But he hoped—he prayed—that the love and fidelity he offered his wife would shine a light of encouragement onto her path.
CHAPTER 88
Alton and Mallory walked hand in hand from the Alice Springs Hospital. Emerging from the facility, they squinted into the bright sunshine of an azure, cloudless sky.
As they approached their rented SUV, Alton pulled up.
“Look at this,” he said, his heart hammering in his chest.
The symbol of infinity, a horizontal figure eight, had been traced into the dirt coating the rear window.
“What is it?” asked Mallory. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’ve seen this symbol before. Vaziri was wearing it on a chain around her neck. She was here.” Alton studied the surrounding area but saw no sign of her.
“What do you think it means?” asked Mallory. “Is it a warning? Is she going to lie in wait for us?”
Alton stopped to consider. A late-morning breeze blew a cloud of dust across the parking lot and sent a flag in front of the facility snapping in the wind. “Now that I think about it, I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“I think I get what she’s trying to say.”
“Which is what?” asked Mallory. She tucked a loose strand of hair back behind an ear.
“Let me explain it this way. You have to figure all the people Vaziri worked with made self-interest their number-one priority. She probably did herself, or she wouldn’t have been working for such a scumbag.
“But then something different happened. When she interrogated Bravo team’s members, she took Gilbert out first. That was his chance to give her a full debriefing. At that point, I’m not sure why she returned him to the cell—maybe so he could keep collecting intel on us. But in any case, at that time she already knew about Alpha team, that you all were on the Goldmine site posing as stranded tourists. Later, when she tried to persuade me to talk, she was already aware of your presence. But I didn’t talk, and neither did David. She saw someone acting on behalf of someone they loved, maybe for the first time.”
“But didn’t you say her torture methods weren’t too extreme?”
“Mm…they weren’t the worst, but I wouldn’t volunteer for them again, either. But you’re right, maybe she figured we didn’t talk ‘cause she didn’t rough us up too bad. But then the next day, we ran into her in the hall.”
Mallory’s eyes glistened a bit more in the bright sun. “When you shielded me.”
“Yeah, well, when that happened, she saw it again.”
“Saw what again?”
“What real love looks like—the kind of love that makes someone else’s life more important than your own. Maybe that made her stop and think…that there could be a better way.”
“Don’t you think you may be over-romanticizing it? The lady’s a stone-cold assassin.”
“Maybe, but why else would she have let us live during a battle that was key to her boss’s survival? She could have blown both of us away right then and there. And then she made a point to return today and leave this message,” he said, gesturing to the SUV. “Think about it. What does this symbol represent? Infinity, right? That can mean a lot of things to a lot of people.
“Maybe to Vaziri, it meant a kind of love she’d never experienced—one that would always last. Perhaps that’s why she came back to leave this symbol written in the dirt of our rental: to acknowledge the truth of it.”
Mallory twisted her hair around
a finger. “Yeah, that could be. I guess we’ll never know. I still hope Vega tracks her down, though.”
“I do, too. At least we know she couldn’t have been the one to murder your dad. She was only eight or nine years old at the time. No doubt, though, she’s done plenty of bad things herself.” He stopped to scan the horizon for any trace of their adversary. “Who knows, perhaps this whole experience will lead her down a better path. One can always hope.”
CHAPTER 89
Three days later, Agent Vega drummed his fingers on the glossy walnut table of a meeting room housed in the NSA’s Washington, D.C. headquarters building.
“You guys have the craziest-ass cases I’ve ever seen,” he said.
Alton grinned. “We don’t make the cases. We just work them.”
Vega shook his head in disbelief. “Gilbert a turncoat. Who would’ve believed it?”
“I didn’t, until it was almost too late,” said Alton.
“Thank goodness you did eventually,” said Mastana, “or we would be discussing your funeral arrangements instead of his prosecution.”
Vega turned his attention to the teen. “You seem to have acquitted yourself pretty well, young lady.”
“A team composed of strong people makes the weakest among them appear strong as well.”
“Don’t let her say that, Chief,” said Silva from the end of the table. “She did good—damn good. I don’t think I could have done half of what she did when I was sixteen.”
Vega drummed his fingers again, studying Mastana. “Before this whole investigation began, Mr. Blackwell here told me you were interested in a career doing this type of thing.”
“Yes.”
“And has this mission changed your opinion on that?”
“Yes,” said Mastana, eliciting a look of vague disappointment from Vega. “It has made me more determined to make it my job.”
Vega perked up, then studied her through narrowed eyes. “Why? You were in danger more than once. Wouldn’t that make you want to look for a safer career?”
Tears of God (The Blackwell Files Book 7) Page 30
