The FBI Thrillers Collection

by Catherine Coulter

  “Now the thing is, the two policemen had major doubts about Mr. Avery’s mental acuity. They thought he might be embellishing, even creating, all these excellent details to impress them. Evidently Mr. Avery also told him that the car fishtailed as it drove away, headed east. He thinks it was a Virginia plate, the first two letters RT or BT. There’s no match for that plate to a late model Toyota, so we’re checking for recently stolen Toyotas and reports of stolen plates with those letters. Mr. Avery did not hear any shots.

  “As I said, the police weren’t sure we could believe much of anything he said, that he wandered all over the lot—even asked his dog’s opinion—seemed a little too, well, old and odd is how they put it. Oh yeah, the police officers said when he asked his dog’s opinion, the little sucker actually barked.

  “It’s clear we have no unified, specific theory for these latest crimes, the murder of Eliza Vickers and the attempted murder of Elaine LaFleurette last night. In Danny O’Malley’s case, there are strong indications he made contact with the perpetrators. For the two women, the connection to Justice Califano is of course clear, but the killer’s specific motives are not.”

  He paused, looking out over the group. “All right, I want every idea, every speculation you’ve come up with on why Eliza Vickers was murdered, and why Fleurette was shot at. Ollie, you’re nearly busting out of your vest, so you lead off.”

  Ollie Hamish, Savich’s second-in-command in the Criminal Apprehension Unit, cleared his throat. “Okay,” Ollie said, “let’s start with Eliza Vickers.” He sat forward, his hands clasped in front of him on the conference table. “Ben told us about last Friday when he and Callie were in Justice Califano’s office looking for Fleurette, but only Eliza was there, cleaning up things. He said that when he asked her if there was anything he could do, she hesitated. I can’t get that out of my mind.” He paused a moment, focusing his thoughts. “She knew something. Maybe she didn’t realize how important it was, but you know, that’s not very likely. What was it? Was she involved in Justice Califano’s murder? Did she turn on him because he wasn’t about to leave his wife for her?” Ollie shot an apologetic look at Callie. “Rage can do terrible things to people, we’ve all seen it. Eliza Vickers could have found out who Günter was, maybe she’d dated him or met him some other way and hired him or persuaded him to murder Justice Califano—”

  Sherlock shot to her feet. She bent over the table, her hands flat on the piles of paper on front of her. “No, that can’t be right, Ollie. Eliza was solid. Listen to me, it’s true I only met Eliza Vickers twice, then spoke to her briefly at Justice Califano’s funeral, but I felt I knew her in all the important ways. I even admired her. Eliza couldn’t have had Justice Califano killed, she was devoted to him, loved and respected him as both a man and as a Justice. Did she have him killed out of jealousy? No way. She knew there was no future for them. That isn’t it, Ollie. It’s got to be something else.

  “Say you did believe she was responsible, then the logical follow-up would be that Günter then killed her because she was cracking under the pressure. It doesn’t fly. No, this hesitation Ben and Callie saw, it was about something else entirely.”

  “Okay, Sherlock, if it wasn’t about this, then what do you think she hesitated about?”

  Dillon’s calm voice always cooled her down. She said, the emotional edge gone from her voice, “Maybe she wanted to say something about Danny O’Malley, or she was worried about Fleurette, thinking maybe Fleurette could be a target too.”

  Agent Foley said, “All right, let’s go with that. So if Eliza was thinking about Danny O’Malley or worrying about Fleurette, then why wouldn’t she say something to Detective Raven? Why wouldn’t she warn him that Fleurette might be in danger, and why would she think that? Why?”

  Ben said, “The thing is, the place was a madhouse. She was the only one there. The phone rang, and she waved us out. That’s what happened. What was she thinking?” Ben shrugged, then turned to Callie. “You got any thoughts on this? You were there, you saw exactly what I saw.”

  Callie said, “Yes, she hesitated. I saw it. Wondered about it, but just for a moment. Unfortunately, I was focused on finding Fleurette, we both were.”

  Ben said, “I’m thinking that maybe Eliza wondered if Fleurette knew something, but then again, why wouldn’t she tell us?” Ben saw that Sherlock was ready to break in, gave her a half-smile, and added, “No, I don’t think Eliza herself knew anything about Justice Califano’s murder. And I don’t think she’d want Justice Califano dead, for any reason. I think Eliza could have walked in and found Justice Califano making out with Sonya McGivens or Fleurette or Tai Curtis on his big mahogany desk, and still not have reacted with violence. Like Sherlock said, she was too together and on-track with herself. She was too accepting of who and what Justice Califano was.”

  Ollie Hamish said, “All right, I’m hearing you guys. So her hesitation has got to mean that she found out something, or heard something, but she wasn’t quite sure what it meant, maybe didn’t want to say anything to Ben until she was sure, one way or the other—”

  Ben said, “So whatever she heard was from someone she trusted or liked or simply couldn’t conceive of having anything to do with Justice Califano’s murder.”

  Jimmy Maitland spoke for the first time. “Let’s say Eliza Vickers did find out something. In any case, it was the real deal. It got her murdered. And that means, people, that we’re back to tracing her movements. We need to know where she went, who she saw, or talked to, everything, since Justice Califano’s murder. And as far back as we can. Jagger, you and Brewer put your teams on it.”

  Savich said, “We already checked her phone records, no go there. Maybe we’ll get lucky and she actually visited whoever it was. Maybe she asked too many questions, made this person nervous, and that signed her death warrant.”

  Jimmy Maitland said, “The person knew she wasn’t going to let it go, knew she was smart, knew she’d gnaw on it until she figured it out, so the person called Günter. Like you said, Savich, it signed her death warrant.”

  Frank Halley said, “But what did she hear? And where was she? In Justice Califano’s office? Or maybe someone called her, warned her, but she wouldn’t believe it. Maybe there’s someone else here, someone else in the Supreme Court Building, another law clerk.”

  Savich nodded. “Good. Keep going.”

  Another FBI agent said, “But why wouldn’t this other law clerk, or whoever it was, tell us? We’ve been all over them, at least three, four interviews of everyone who works there. And why Fleurette?”

  Savich said, “Okay, we’ve got some good solid ideas on Eliza, but still nothing definitive. Why Fleurette? I’m thinking now the reason Günter wants Fleurette dead is pretty straightforward—he saw her speaking with Danny O’Malley last Friday, and he believed Danny was confiding in her.”

  Callie said, “She walked with him for a block or so when they left the Supreme Court to go to lunch.”

  “And Günter saw them together,” Savich said. “Okay, we need to get back to the law clerks again just in case one of them knows more than they’ve told us. Also, we need to go back to my neighborhood today to canvass a wider radius. When you have your assignments, we’ll head out again.”

  When the conference room cleared, Savich approached Mr. Maitland and Director Mueller. “Thank you for staying. I’d like your permission to let the world know that Elaine LaFleurette isn’t at our house any longer. Two reasons: first, for Sean’s safety, and second”—Savich searched the faces—“I think it’s time we became proactive. We may be able to flush Günter out. We can select a volunteer to impersonate Fleurette, make her visible on the grounds at Quantico. Most assassins would never risk a kill at Quantico, but Günter?”

  Ben said, “For Günter, it would be the ultimate high for him. Trying to kill Fleurette on the grounds of the safest compound in the world? I don’t think he could pass that up.”

  “He couldn’t,” Savich said. “He’d hav
e to use a rifle. Let’s say he’s got only average skill as a sniper. With a good sniper rifle, say a gas-operated semiautomatic, he could hit his target at about twenty-four hundred feet. If he’s an expert, that goes up to three thousand feet. That’s a very long distance, well off the grounds.

  “The new sniper rifles are even more accurate than those we used five years ago. For example, the Yugoslavian M-76 has a longer, heavier barrel and a modified stock that’s more ergonomic. It’s chambered in a much better long-range caliber than the calibers of the rifles it’s derived from. I’d wager he’d use one as good as that. Could he hit a person at three thousand feet? I wouldn’t want to bet against it.”

  Director Mueller said slowly, “We’d be putting agents’ lives at risk. And to have agents and SWAT teams trying to cover that huge area twenty-four/seven, the necessary manpower boggles the mind. There’s lots of egress, roads and trails both. We have to assume Günter is an expert. Have you mapped out the terrain where he’d have his best shot, Savich?”

  Savich nodded. “Yes, we have. Unfortunately there’s more than just one.”

  Director Mueller looked toward Jimmy Maitland, who nodded. “It’s a big risk, Jimmy. But I’d bet on our snipers over just about anyone. Can we have enough of our guys out there to keep a reasonable guard over our agents?”

  “We can try,” Jimmy Maitland said. “I can get the Washington, D.C., SWAT team and the Hostage Rescue Team at Quantico. Also, we can enlist SWAT teams from all the local cop shops. No doubt everyone wants to bring this asshole down. But there’s no way to keep it secret—we can’t expect to hide that many men from view. Günter will know it’s a trap. I don’t think there’s anything we can do about that.”

  Savich grinned at them. “We’re not even going to worry about it. I want him to find out. Don’t you see? Günter will see it as a direct challenge. He’ll want to spend time out at Quantico finding the firing spot he wants, locating the positions of our snipers, figuring out how to get away. Oh yes, I’m counting on Günter to thumb his nose at us.

  “Okay, the first step is to let Günter know exactly where Fleurette will be. Callie, you want to be a turncoat and reveal Fleurette’s hideout to the Post?”

  Callie laughed. “My editor will wet himself. It’ll be in the evening paper.” She punched Ben in the arm. “Hey, you think this might mean a Pulitzer?”

  “Nah, this’ll probably just save your job,” Ben said.

  They all laughed. Director Mueller stood up. He looked at all of them in turn. “I wish us all luck with this.”

  When the conference room door closed behind the director, Savich said, “Okay, we’ve got a plan. We’re finally acting, not just reacting.”

  “Let’s get it done, boyos,” said Jimmy Maitland.

  CHAPTER

  33

  QUANTICO

  LATE MONDAY AFTERNOON

  SOME DEAD LEAVES MOVED, three fingers gave a little wave. Dave Dempsey heard Joe Boyle’s low-pitched voice. “Hey, did you tell your wife you might tangle with Günter?”

  Dave whispered back, “I wanted to, but she isn’t speaking to me right now, said I was a pig.”

  A low chuckle. “Yeah, so what else is new? Hey, do you think this Günter character will really show?”

  Dave said, “Agent Savich told us he’s betting on it. Says this guy loves to take the big risks, and what bigger risk could he take than coming to Quantico to kill Elaine LaFleurette? He said Günter will know it’s a trap and he won’t care. It’ll make him even more determined to come out and play with us. What do you think, Joe?”

  “I’m not as sure as Savich is. I mean, this Günter guy’s survived a lot of years, and that’s gotta mean that he isn’t stupid.”

  Dave whispered, “On the other hand, he went right to Savich’s house in Georgetown and shot it up—is that nuts or what? And he got away. Sounds like he’s got bigger guavas than my mother-in-law.”

  Joe said, “Take a look around. There are lots of low hills, lots of trees and bushes, true, but everything’s bare now. That makes it really tough for him.”

  “But there are still some places to hide. Look at us, nearly thirty of us and we’ve managed it.”

  Joe said, “Okay, agreed, but Quantico itself is safer than the fricking Mint. How can this goon imagine he’d actually get in here, no matter how crazy he is?” He was silent a moment. “I’ll bet he’ll leave us lying out here for a week, just laugh and watch us. I wonder how long Giffey Talbot is going to wander around outside the Jefferson Dormitory before Savich finally calls this off.

  “I was thinking about Giffey—quite a thing, offering yourself up as bait.”

  Dave shifted a bit more underneath a bush that barely covered him, and swept his eyes westward. “Hey, we’re bait too, we’re just armed with sniper rifles. Savich said he could be an expert sniper, who the hell knows?”

  Joe was listening to Dave shifting in the bushes when he heard some branches snapping off to the side. “Did you hear that, Dave? Hey, look at three o’clock. I saw something moving. All of our people are supposed to stay down, but I saw something move. Just beyond those pine trees.”

  Dave Dempsey squinted in the watery sunlight toward the hillock, didn’t see anything. “Who do we have over there?”

  “Luther Lindsay.”

  “I don’t see anything, but call him now, Joe. This isn’t the time for second-guessing.”

  Dave heard Joe whisper urgently into his radio, “Luther, movement in your area. What have you got over there? Luther? Dammit, talk to me. Luther!”

  Both Dave and Joe could hear their own breathing. Luther was a fifteen-year man, married with two teenage girls, solid as a rock, and he could hear footsteps on a carpet. Günter couldn’t have gotten to Luther.

  Joe repeated, “Luther? Dammit, talk to me, Luther.”

  Dave Dempsey was on his own walkie-talkie, calling command. “Captain Ramsey, possible situation. Lindsay isn’t answering. Joe swears he saw some movement over there where Luther’s supposed to be. He can’t raise Luther. We’re moving out.”

  Within seconds six SWAT team members were moving fast, bent over, with only the sound of the branches crunching underfoot as they converged on Lindsay’s location.

  A shot rang out, then another.

  As they climbed the knoll, Joe Boyle could see down into the Quantico quadrangle. Giffey Talbot, her two FBI agent guards behind her, was standing in front of the entrance to the Jefferson Dormitory. She was weaving, looking down at her bloody hands over her chest, the agents behind her were shouting, their guns drawn, jumping in front of her. He watched Giffey fall, one agent catching her before she hit the ground. They both covered her with their bodies as shouts filled the air.

  Joe yelled, “Oh Jesus, Dave, he’s near Luther’s location, and he shot Giffey! Get him!”

  “Luther!” Dave Dempsey dropped to his knees beside Luther, one of the best of the best, a dead shrub half covering him. He was shaking as he pressed his fingers to the pulse in Luther’s neck. His fingers sank into his flesh to touch the silver wire embedded deep in his neck. Luther was dead.

  Within moments, using a general mayday to every SWAT team member, Chief Ramsey deployed them all in twos and threes, to close in on where the shot had been fired. He prayed as he barked out orders that they wouldn’t find any more men dead.

  Six minutes later, Dr. Clyde Peterson, the surgeon stationed at Quantico for the duration of Operation Flower Girl, came out of the small exam room, peeling off his blood-covered surgical gloves, and said to Savich, “Agent Talbot is alive. We’re stabilizing her, then getting her to Bethesda. I won’t lie to you, Agent Savich. It’s a large caliber bullet, slowed down some by her vest, but still real close to her heart. She’s actively bleeding and it’s going to be close. It’ll depend on exactly what it hit. So pray. I’ll keep in touch.”

  Pray, Dr. Peterson wanted him to pray. Savich watched two men roll Giffey by on a gurney on a dead run. She as white as the sheet pulled up
to her neck, an oxygen mask over her nose and mouth, blood running into IVs in her arms. Her own blood was everywhere, surely more blood than a body could lose. If Giffey died, it would be his fault, because he’d been arrogant enough to assume three SWAT teams could control the perimeter, could protect Fleurette—Giffey—from this monster. Dear God, not Giffey. She was a good agent, he’d watched her volunteer for a myriad of assignments, always eager, ready to take on the world.

  Savich stood with his back against a brick wall, aware of all the activity going on around him as the helicopter lifted off the pad right outside the Jefferson Dormitory. He knew that Captain Ramsey was searching methodically, that the captain knew a lot more than he did about how to cover the grounds as quickly and efficiently as possible to find Günter. There was nothing he could do to help out there. All he could do was stand here like a dolt and know that he’d been the one to bring it all about.

  Jimmy Maitland came striding up to him. “I just spoke to Chip Ramsey. Dammit, Luther Lindsay is dead, but thankfully, everyone else is accounted for. Günter penetrated the lines all the way to Luther without being spotted. That means he was in a camouflage uniform, just like the SWAT guys, his face blackened. He obviously knew the terrain well enough to pick a rise he could shoot from.

  “Chip doesn’t know how long he waited there before he took out Luther, but he’s thinking it wasn’t long at all. Someone would have noticed. Günter saw Fleurette flanked by two bodyguards, standing right in front of the Jefferson Dormitory, took Luther out, and took his shot. Dave and Joe heard the struggle and headed to Luther’s location. Günter heard them, and that’s probably what saved Giffey’s life—threw his aim off.

  “The thing is, Savich, why would he think that we’d actually put Fleurette out there in harm’s way? He knew we’d set a trap for him.”

  Savich said, “I saw Fleurette and Giffey standing side-by-side after Fleurette had finished Giffey’s makeup, done her hair this morning, given her one of her dresses and her coat. I swear I couldn’t tell them apart. Could be twins.”