I’d only met Tracy a few times at office Christmas parties, but the notion that she could conceal information—or deceive the grocery clerk—was preposterous. Perspiration bubbled at my hairline. I sat the file down and drank from the water bottle.
“Unless you want Woodhouse to drive around Salem for the next two hours, can you summarize this incriminating evidence that you think you have on Jerry?”
“I understand your skepticism. But we all swore an oath to protect this country. And just because we know this person, doesn’t mean we can overlook our duty.”
“That’s a good sound bite. Maybe we can use that some day when you’re vying for the director’s job.”
My sarcasm had just spilled out, laced with venom. I released a jittery breath. “Sorry about that.”
“No problem. I understand the initial shock. And by the way, I’ve been accused of much worse. It comes with the job.”
“Still, I don’t see anything here,” I said, opening the file again and sifting through more pages. If there was damaging information there, I didn’t see it. Or maybe I didn’t want to see it.
“At a high level, we think Jerry is associated with at least one person who could be plotting a terrorist attack on the United States.”
I narrowed my eyes, thinking what I’d just heard was nothing more than fantasy.
Holt continued. “I suppose the worst-case scenario is that Jerry is actually helping this person identify the target, maybe even implement the plan. We don’t know the extent of his involvement yet.”
“Do you have a mole somewhere, or some type of incriminating email, text, or phone message you’ve picked up?”
I could feel my pulse racing with the pace of my breathing.
“If we had a mole, I couldn’t share it with you. It’s confidential. I think you know that. But to give you more detail on what’s in that file, Jerry was spotted meeting several times with a known terrorist. A man named Ahmed Shaheen.”
“When? Where?”
“We picked up on it when he was in Europe about six months ago. You’ll see four pictures in the file, courtesy of our colleagues with England’s MI6.”
An extra thump in my chest as I visualized Jerry playing with his Eiffel Tower toy in his office. He’d reminded me he’d traveled to Europe, France in particular, about six months back. He and Tracy were celebrating their twentieth anniversary.
“What the hell is MI6 tracking Jerry for?”
“They weren’t. They were working with the French DGSE, their foreign intelligence service, to track Shaheen. That’s when Jerry came up on our radar.”
I found the photos of Jerry speaking to a man with skin the color of wet sand. In the first two, Jerry was propping an arm across his protruding gut, and from there he anchored his other arm to scratch his face. I’d seen that pose a thousand times. Shaheen had an academic look. Black-rimmed glasses, khakis, and a sport coat. He appeared to be about four or five inches shorter than the six-two Jerry and about seventy pounds lighter, if not more.
I turned the page to glance at two more photos. Both men were smiling, and Jerry had even palmed Shaheen’s shoulder.
“They look like longtime friends.”
Holt didn’t say anything. Then it hit me. This wasn’t a trial, and I wasn’t going to convince Holt of Jerry’s innocence. At least not without accepting the assignment and finding evidence that proved he wasn’t a terrorist.
“I’ll take on the assignment.”
“Good, because you really had no choice.” He released a single chuckle, and I paused for a split second.
“For starters, I need to bring my partner, Nick Radowski, in on this. There’s no way I can keep tabs on Jerry while working my other cases without Nick knowing.”
“Not possible.”
The bottle of water crackled in the grip of my hand. “What do you mean?”
“Can’t authorize anyone else being involved. It’s just too risky. Sorry.”
“How the hell am I supposed to pull this off? I’m assuming I need to continue with my current caseload?”
“As much as you can, yes. If you can push more to Radowski, then do it. Anything you can do to give you more time to gather information on Molloy.”
“You know I do have a family, and I’m a single mother.”
“Your nanny is quite good, from what I hear. Her name is Esmerelda?”
I wanted to ask how he knew, but I didn’t bother. I wasn’t in a sharing mood about my family, but I said, “Yes.”
Another thought zapped across my mind. “Have you forgotten about the man who runs the Boston office?”
Holt plucked lint off his trousers. “Special Agent in Charge Leland Drake, on the job for less than a year, correct?”
“What’s your point?”
He picked up his bottle of orange juice, but paused before taking a drink. “Drake is good at his job. He’s studious and strives to run an efficient operation. But…” Holt turned to look out the window, and I followed his eyes. Tall sycamores flashed by the window. We were passing the local cemetery. Finally, he turned back around and pulled skin from his neck. While he was playing the delay game, I noticed an area of mangled flesh on the side of his neck.
Was there any way that Holt—the personification of a DC suit—had actually served in the field? I tried not to stare at the scar.
“You really shouldn’t be stressing over telling me anything. Not at this point.” I popped an eyebrow.
“You’re right, Alex. I’ve got skin in this game too, and I think it’s important that you know that.”
I nodded. “Not sure how.”
“So, Drake is the kind of person who would probably freak out if we came to him with this issue, and the need to conduct a thorough, but covert investigation. He’d take it personally and start making changes throughout the office…and would just stir things up too much.”
I jumped in. “And that would probably get the attention of the person who was cavorting with a terrorist.”
“Right. Discretion is not Drake’s forte and, therefore, we can’t afford to take the risk of pulling him into the loop.”
“I hope you noticed that I didn’t use Jerry’s name.”
“Actually, I did. I understand your not-so-subtle approach in trying to convince me that Jerry could not be associated with an enemy combatant to this country. But I also know how you think, Alex. As I said before, you’re driven to do the right thing, even if it’s painful or not popular.”
I’d never made that distinct observation about myself, but I couldn’t argue it.
Faint shadows flashed across the seat, and I noticed the sun had found a hole in the blanket of clouds.
“So where is Ahmed Shaheen? In the Boston area somewhere?”
“Actually, no. He’s a Kuwaiti national, and he’s in Kuwait City. That’s the latest update I received yesterday. But he’s been known to travel a great deal, so we’re watching him closely.”
I nodded. “Wouldn’t he be the key to this thing? It might be easier to pick up chatter on his end versus trying to track a trained FBI agent, would it not?”
“Valid point, but we can’t ignore that one of our own might be involved. So for now, we hit both fronts, knowing that other suspects might come up along the way.”
“I need to be kept in the loop on Shaheen. That’s the only way I’ll take this.”
He curled his oversized lips inward. “Not sure we can accommodate.”
I tossed the file on the seat next to him. “Then I’m not sure I have the time to help you.”
He chuckled. “Remember, I didn’t give you a choice.”
“Are you going to kidnap my kids or threaten me in some way?”
His eyes bulged. “Don’t be ridiculous, Alex.”
“Good. Making sure I hadn’t been transported to Russia. So you’ll keep me in the loop on Shaheen?”
He pushed out a guttural sigh while wiping a hand across his face. “Dammit, Alex, I’m trying to mak
e this easier on you. The less you know—”
I held up a hand. “I’ve used that line before. And it’s bullshit, at least in this case. If you feel like you can’t share it, then I can find a better use of my time.”
He shook his head, his jaw muscles flinching. “Of course if I hold my ground, then you’ll probably conduct your own little covert intel op on Molloy, but you won’t tell us a single thing.”
“Hadn’t thought of it quite that way.” My lips parted until I showed my teeth.
“Okay, we’ll share what we know on Shaheen.”
“You know I’m only asking for this because if Shaheen is who you think, I can’t just chase one end of the rope. By understanding who he’s talking to, his movements, I can get a better idea if Jerry is involved. And it will move quicker this way.”
I noticed Woodhouse had steered us north again, and we were moving parallel to the park I’d run through.
“Besides me figuring out a way to get closer to Jerry, do you have any recommended next steps?”
He snapped his fingers, and I noticed a sizable gold ring on his right hand. Most likely a class ring, and I wondered from where.
“You need to speak with the MI6 agent who captured the intel on Jerry and Shaheen in Europe. Lee Dawson is his name.”
“You have his home number?”
He tried to smile, then he reached into his coat pocket again. “Take this.”
It was a simple-looking cell phone. “We can’t afford you using your standard cell phone for this intel op. Just make sure you only use it for this investigation.”
“Does it come with a contact list?” I joked.
He didn’t crack a smile. “I’ll have Woodhouse send you Dawson’s contact information. We’re lucky MI6 is so forthcoming with information.”
I’d heard that England usually played nice with American intelligence agencies, but I also couldn’t ignore the possibility that this Dawson character had a hard-on for taking down Jerry, whether it was personal or because of some type of professional pissing match.
“Yeah. Lucky.” I reopened the file and began to devour the information. “When can I talk to Dawson?”
“I don’t want to text and drive,” Woodhouse said from the front seat.
“I’ll be looking for it in the next hour or so,” I said over my shoulder.
“I want regular updates, but if you need any surveillance equipment or feedback on intel you’ve gathered, or any type of evidence reviewed by the team in Quantico, reach out to Woodhouse.”
I nodded, but kept my eyes on the pages of information, trying to put as much to memory as I could before they dropped me off.
The Cadillac turned north onto our street and pulled to a stop.
I reached for the door handle.
“You’ll provide regular updates?”
“Of course,” I said, shifting in my seat, ready to get the hell out of the confined space, if for no other reason than I had to take a shower.
“Alex, I know life hasn’t been kind to you lately.” Holt’s eyes had softened, but I wondered where he was going with this.
“I’m good, sir. Nothing to worry about.” I reached for the door handle again, and he raised his hand.
“Just know that if you do this right, and I’m sure you will, only good things can happen with your career path at the FBI.” He peered out the window. “That’s a really nice house. I’m sure a little more money, a higher level position would be welcomed.”
A jolt of energy spiked the base of my skull. He should have just let me get out of the car. I turned and looked him straight in the eye. “That sounds like you’re bribing me…sir.”
“Alex, get real.”
“I’m trying.”
“If this were any other job, and you were given an opportunity to make a significant contribution, you’d be given an incentive upon completion of that task. This is no different.”
“If this were any other job, would I be asked to spy on my boss? Most likely not.”
“So you’re saying you wouldn’t want a promotion or a raise, especially if you deserved it? I thought women like you were just dying to get a chance to break through that so-called glass ceiling.”
He smirked, and with that, my respect factor dropped about ninety-nine percent. I pinched the corners of my eyes and forced out two breaths.
“I don’t want handouts just to give you the satisfaction of helping poor, little, helpless Alex Troutt…sir. I’ve never asked for anything special just because I’m a woman. I want to be judged no better, no worse than the next person, whether it’s a man, woman…or an ogre. Sir.” I felt my jaw muscles flex.
“I apologize, Alex. Didn’t mean to get you riled up. You’re a damn good agent.”
“Thank you.”
I got out of the car.
“This is for your country, Alex. As difficult as this assignment is, you’re going to be the ultimate patriot.”
I slammed the door shut, thinking how easy Tom Brady had it.
7
I watched men in gray jumpsuits and caps carry in a flat screen as a big as a pool table, then begin to attach it to the wall in the war room. I’d become all too familiar with this room in the last several months.
I picked up a waft of BO, and I did a quick sniff test to see if it was me. I’d taken a shower back at home, but had I forgotten deodorant?
“You smell like a vase of roses.” Nick had snuck up behind me and flicked my shoulder.
“I was scratching my face.”
He just shook his head. Over his shoulder, I saw Jerry plodding by with a cell phone to his ear. He turned my way and then curled his sausage finger for us to follow him.
“Off to the principal’s office,” Nick said, opening the door for me.
As we sauntered down the hallway toward Jerry’s office, the rhythmic pressure of my pulse tapped against the side of my neck.
“You haven’t said much since you got into the office this morning,” Nick said as we turned right, now about forty feet behind Jerry.
“Just tired. Had a long workout this morning.”
Jerry swung open his glass door and moved behind his desk. A few seconds behind him, I opened the same door.
“Give me a second, Alex.” He held his hand over the phone.
“Sure.” I backed out and looked at Nick. He had his head buried in his cell phone. “What’s up with Jerry and all the secrecy?” I asked.
“What are you talking about?” Nick put a finger to his lips, seemingly in another world.
“Did we get a new lead on the priest bombings?” I sidled up next to Nick as he carefully slid his finger across the small screen.
“Words with Friends, really?”
“What? It keeps the mind fresh. I’m getting up there in age, and I need to make sure I can keep up with Brad and all these younger agents around here.”
I wrapped my arm around Nick’s shoulder. “Are you falling into the trap of comparing yourself to everyone else? I thought you had confidence in yourself, Mr. Radowski.”
He shifted his eyes to me as a smile cracked his face. “Confident, yes, but I can’t afford to be left behind, at least not mentally. I’m already feeling old because of this bad knee.” He reached down and rubbed it, his face scrunching into an ugly hairball.
“Still hurting you, and I bet you haven’t seen a doctor?” I noticed Nick’s midsection had expanded in recent months, which was a strange sight, considering how he used to run marathons.
He kept his eyes on his phone. “Do you see my furrowed brow? This is my way of pretending to concentrate on the game so I don’t have to hear you badger me about seeing a doctor.”
“Okay, you’re going to play it that way.” I balled up a fist and gave him a light punch in the socket of his shoulder.
“Damn, what are you trying to do to me?” He rubbed the front of his shoulder while giving me a five-year-old kid’s pouty face.
“Oh, I don’t know, get you to wake up. I can�
��t make you go to the doctor, Nick, but you’re gaining weight, you’re in pain, and more than anything, you’re in denial. Not a good combination.”
It seemed like everyone I cared about had gotten together and decided to put on a huge pair of blinders. I couldn’t comprehend it, to the point where it was beginning to piss me off.
I crossed my arms and let out a huff.
“What? You’re pissed at me now? I’m a big boy, Alex. I can take care of myself.”
“It’s a free country and all that, so you can make your own decisions. I just don’t understand how your mind works sometimes.”
“Ready when you guys are,” Jerry said, briefly poking his head out from his office door.
Nick made a final statement as we headed toward Jerry’s office. “The thought of a surgeon cutting on me makes my stomach turn. I’m a wimp, what can I say?”
“You’ve been shot, Nick. You’re anything but a wimp.”
He held up a finger. “But I didn’t know it was coming.”
“I see. So if we can find a surgeon who will jump you in an alley and cut open your knee, you’re good with it?”
“Only if my gun is stolen.” He gave me a cheesy grin as he swung open Jerry’s door.
Crossing the threshold into my SSA’s office, my senses flipped from a motherly mindset to a frame of mind that I could only equate to being undercover—even though I’d never become a “legend,” as it’s called in the Bureau. On one hand, I was part of this squad with the sole purpose of bringing criminals of violent crimes to justice. We worked well together, even if we did have an occasional family squabble.
The image of Assistant Director Holt sitting in his limo wearing his five-thousand-dollar suit flashed into my mind. With his oversized lips yapping away, I couldn’t stop the continuous loop of him saying, “Alex, the FBI, your country, has the need for you to do the right thing.”
Still unsure if I’d gauged Holt’s true intentions correctly, I felt trapped. For now, though, my senses were on high alert, trying to figure out exactly what the right thing was. I just hoped my mental confusion wasn’t obvious.
“Guys, tell me we’ve got something on this priest bombing.” Jerry sat in his chair and pulled up to his desk, which appeared to be especially messy. He began to sift through papers and folders.
The Alex Troutt Thrillers: Books 1-3 (Redemption Thriller Series Box Set) Page 57
