by Gayle Wilson
The tears moved down her cheeks and her nose ran, but she didn’t sniff in case they might hear above the din of the engine. She finally wiped her face with her gloves, her back resolutely to the two men.
To hell with it, she thought suddenly. A man died tonight. A brave man, and I’m sorry. There’s nothing wrong with crying for him.
In spite of that conviction, she wept alone and before returning to the lighted office, she repaired all traces of the effects of her tears. She used her cosmetics like a warrior painting for battle, and when she joined the others, to be handed a steaming cup of coffee by Frank Holcomb, she was once again coldly, unemotionally in control.
Chapter Two
News of the raid by the Colombian authorities that resulted in the death of Pablo Escobar led to a small celebration, and in the midst of their elation, Paul told them the plans for using the information their informant in Virginia had supplied to mop up the remains of the Medellin cartel. The material had been cross-checked against everything they knew and, based on the most careful analysis, it appeared to be not only genuine, but every bit as extensive as Paul had hoped.
“Do we know how the guy got this stuff? Or even where?” Kyle Peters voiced the questions they all had,
Hardesty shook his head. “I know nothing more about the man than I told you,” he denied. And that had been virtually nothing. He hadn’t even mentioned to the group the diplomatic link. “This is obviously from something like the central records of the cartel. I can’t even imagine why this information would be stored in one location.”
“It may not have been. He could have assimilated it from a variety of sources and then mentally organized it into what we’re looking at,” Rae suggested quietly.
She didn’t explain how she knew he would have been capable of that kind of intellectual activity. She was the only one of the force who had spent any time with their source, but they didn’t know that. Paul had told her and Holcomb not to talk about their role in the exchange of information, so, of course, she hadn’t.
“Perhaps what we have is the finished product of his efforts. It seems the cartel would be foolish to keep this kind of information in one place,” Paul agreed.
She privately wondered if the cartel were that organized, but she didn’t dare say that. Paul had warned them again and again about their tendency to underestimate the resourcefulness of their opponents. Just because they were criminals with the barbarity of savages in their methods of reprisal didn’t negate their intelligence. She didn’t want to hear that particular lecture again.
The meeting broke up shortly before lunch and although Rae was invited to join several of the small groups they separated into, she refused. She had her own question for Paul, so she waited patiently, still sitting at the conference table until the room had cleared.
She could see by his eyes that he had been expecting this, and she watched him come over to the chair next to hers and sit down. Like the good interrogator he was reputed to be, he waited for her to speak.
“Tell me about him,” she finally said.
“I don’t know anything more than I’ve already told you. I swear that’s the truth, Rae.”
“I don’t mean who he was,” she said and then hesitated. “I mean…at the end.”
He took a deep breath and looked at the windows across the room. The shades were partially drawn, but the winter sunlight allowed her to see his features clearly. His lips tightened almost imperceptibly.
“He died shortly after we left the house. The doctor was able to give him enough morphine that he wasn’t in pain at the last. I swear that, Rae.”
She had watched the muscles tighten around his eyes and knew something was wrong with what he had just said. He was good, but no one could achieve perfect control. That slight, involuntary movement had some significance, only she wasn’t sure exactly what. She filed that information away for later consideration and listened to the rest.
“He just slipped away. He didn’t speak again after you left. The doctor said it was as if he had nothing else to say. There was no message.”
She smiled briefly, shaking her head. “I wasn’t looking for messages. He was kind to me. I wanted to know that he…”
Paul finally spoke into the silence. “The doctor did everything he could, but the damage was too great. And, Rae, if it’s any consolation…I don’t think he would have wanted to survive, given his condition.”
She looked down at her hands, knowing that was probably the truth. However, she was aware that something in the recital of events Paul had just given her was a lie. Perhaps the doctor had administered too much morphine. Would it not have been a kindness in that situation? Finally she sighed over the unanswerable and got up.
“Thanks for telling me.”
“I’ve been expecting you to ask. I wondered why you waited.” They both knew his comment was a question.
“Maybe I didn’t want to know. As long as it wasn’t put into words, I could pretend.”
“He’s dead, Rae, and that’s the reality. Stop pretending.”
She nodded and went back to her office. There was too much work to do to waste time on the past. She controlled her mind and finished early. She treated herself to Chinese and a paperback romance on the way home, determinedly closing the door on the events that had taken place in Virginia.
April 1995
“HAVE YOU HEARD about Holcomb?” Kyle asked as he propped his hip against her desk, a habit she hated because he always managed to brush against her leg as he did it. He was their resident ladies’ man, and since Rae was the only resident lady except Paul’s sixtyish secretary, she had come in for her share of Kyle’s carefully orchestrated hits. So far she had ignored them, but she moved her knee away from his calf.
“What?” she snapped, not looking up from the report she needed to complete before this day turned into another late nighter.
“Franklin’s disappeared.” He leaned conspiratonally toward her ear, but Rae knew she was probably the only one in the office who hadn’t heard whatever gossip Kyle was about to share. She had been tied up at her desk all day.
“What’s the joke? I don’t have time for this, Kyle. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m working.”
“No joke. He didn’t show up the last two days, and finally Hardesty got off his butt and sent somebody to his apartment. Forced entry, blood, the works. Washington’s finest were conspicuously not called. An in-house investigation is ongoing. Stay tuned for further bulletins.” Kyle gave the whole story sotto voce and then sauntered away before her shocked mind could formulate the questions she wanted to ask.
“God,” she breathed, staring unseeingly at the figures on her screen. She had worked directly with Frank only that one time in Virginia, more than a year ago, but the force was small enough that they were always in close proximity. She sat stunned for a few moments and then went to Hardesty’s office.
She knocked, entering at his invitation. He looked like he hadn’t slept, and she wondered how much he knew that Kyle hadn’t told her.
“I guess you’ve heard by now,” he said, seeing the shock of that knowledge in her face.
“Is it true?”
“I don’t know what details you’ve been given, but he seems to have disappeared. The apartment showed signs of violence. There was no disarray and the blood had been cleaned up, but the struggle he’d put up was obvious enough with the right equipment. His car was still in the lot.”
“What was he working on?”
“Nothing particular. Some background checks on Jamaican immigrants. Small potatoes. I guess he stepped on somebody’s toes.” Paul shook his head slowly, unbelievingly. “It compromises the force—but to what extent, we won’t know for some time. We were so careful to maintain anonymity. I don’t know what he did, but the rest of you may suffer.”
“You don’t think it could be connected with the cartel?” The question seemed logical to Rae. It was certainly the biggest thing they had worked on, their g
reatest success.
“Not after all this time. The Medellin organization is nonexistent, so I don’t think…” Paul said musingly, but she could tell, in spite of his immediate denial, that the wheels put in motion by that idea were all turning.
“Get everyone who’s still here together for me, would you, Rae,” he commanded, apparently rejecting what she’d just asked. “I’ve been postponing the inevitable. If you all know, we might as well discuss the implications.”
The group was subdued, but the conversation centered around the Jamaican Posses, known for their violence, and Rae didn’t again make the suggestion she had voiced to Paul.
The shock of Holcomb’s disappearance faded as the days passed. It was a dangerous profession, and no one had been in it long without losing a colleague. The assumption that Frank had been careless was one they all made, and so his death became in their minds simply the unfortunate result of his own mistakes. They shut it away and worked more carefully.
It was not until Jeff Reynolds’s body was found, totally by accident, that the real fear began to permeate. Rae hadn’t even noticed Reynolds’s absence. He was the youngest of them all, with a reputation he’d brought over from Justice, but she’d never worked with him. His specialty had been the Russian gangs who operated out of New York. Had she noticed he was missing, she would have assumed he was there.
Paul didn’t wait before calling them together this time. The tension in the room was palpable. Rae thought she could almost smell the fear. A coincidence of this magnitude in a group as small as theirs? It was difficult to believe, but Paul put that interpretation on it. She supposed there was nothing else he could do.
She returned to her desk and soon found Kyle at her elbow. For once, she was grateful for his company.
“Did you believe that crap?” he asked, drinking thecold coffee in the bottom of her cup. She had noticed the greasy film before and decided somebody had better wash the coffeepot, but it didn’t seem to bother Kyle.
“No,” she answered truthfully. “But I didn’t believe the Jamaicans were behind Frank’s disappearance. They would have just left him there. They wouldn’t drag his body away. A warning’s more effective with visual evidence.”
“You think this is a warning?”
“I don’t know what I think now. I just didn’t think Frank’s disappearance made any sense. It was sheer luck Jeff’s body was found. I don’t believe that was intentional.”
“A definite screwup on the part of whoever killed him. And his injuries? You did recognize the style? Classic.” Kyle said only what she had been thinking.
“Colombian. The cartels,” she agreed.
“Yeah. Now that scares me. If it’s the cartels and not individual mistakes…”
“If we’re right and Paul’s wrong, then they probably have all our names. Two out of twelve. And the money-laundering operation is the biggest thing we’ve worked on.”
“Let’s get out of here. I’ve had about all of this phony reassurance I can take. I don’t trust Hardesty any further than I can throw him,” Kyle said bitterly.
Although she didn’t distrust Paul, she sympathized with Kyle’s feelings because she felt their boss definitely knew more than he was telling. She was tempted to take Kyle up on his offer. She wanted to talk over what had happened with someone who understood all the implications, someone with whom she didn’t have to guard her tongue. But she had to finish this report. It was due to another agency, and Paul had trusted her to get it out.
“I’ve got to get this done.”
“So how much do you lack?” he asked easily.
“Maybe an hour. More if there are interruptions.”
His laugh was understanding. “Okay. I get the message. If I remove myself from your desk and let you work in peace, could you meet me in, say, an hour and a half?”
She wondered if this might be as big a mistake as she thought, but what the hell. She didn’t want to eat alone, and Kyle was a co-worker. If she kept that interpretation on it, he would be forced to, too.
“Okay. That sounds good. Where do you want me to meet you? I’m not dressed for anything fancy.”
“You look great. Nobody would mind your gracing the best restaurant in town just like you are, but what about the Golden Door,” he suggested, smiling at her.
She mentally groaned at the awkward flattery, but since the Door was her favorite Chinese restaurant, she managed to keep her answering smile in place as they made the final arrangements.
With Kyle and almost everyone else out of the way, she worked quickly, finishing long before her estimate. The building was practically deserted, but as she was preparing for the transmission of the report, she noticed a light in Hardesty’s office. She completed her last jobs, and then found herself standing before his door. She hesitated and finally knocked softly.
“Come in,” he said, so she opened the door and found him leaning back in his chair, hands crossed behind his white head.
“Rae,” he acknowledged. “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
“What I said? About what?” she asked, but she knew.
“If Frank’s death and now Jeff’s could be connected with the cartel.”
“That wasn’t the song and dance you gave us today.”
“Yeah, but you all looked at me like you recognized the tune. Look, I’ve gone back over it all. I don’t know who this could be. We picked up all our targets here, and the Colombians had already gotten Escobar.”
“Oh, come on, Paul. We’re not that stupid. The big ones are always covered. Why are you trying to paint this as coincidence? It won’t wash.”
“Well, when you figure out what the hell it really is, you let me know.” She could hear the anger in his voice at her disbelief that there was no one left in the Medellin cartel to be a danger to them.
She shook her head, starting to leave.
“Rae,” he said softly. The anger was gone, so she turned to hear him. “Be careful. I may not have an explanation, but I don’t like what’s happening. You be extra careful.”
She watched his eyes for a long, silent moment, but there was nothing she could read in their clear blue depths. They looked, as always, guileless as a baby’s. Finally she simply nodded and let herself out, closing the door behind her
WITH TRAFFIC and the difficulties of getting a cab, her arrival at the restaurant was not many minutes off her original estimate. Kyle had already ordered appetizers. They talked about the food and the previous meals they had had here, never together. They shared backgrounds and family information and other innocuous first-date kinds of chatter. It was not until they had chosen the main courses that they got down to what they both wanted to talk about, down to the only motive that could bring two people who were so different together: self-preservation.
Rae asked the first question and then wished she hadn’t.
“What went wrong with the arrangements to meet the courier who provided the information on the money laundering?”
“What do you mean, ‘What went wrong’? I didn’t know anything went wrong. We got the stuff.” Kyle wiped plum sauce off his chin and looked at her with what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.
“Forget it. Maybe I was wrong.”
“Come on, Rae. You can’t just throw something like that out and then back off. What makes you think something went wrong?”
She hesitated and finally decided to share enough of what she knew to let Kyle understand her thinking. “Paul told me that we’d screwed up—his exact words—and that the courier had paid for it. I assumed the pickup team was late, and the cartel got to him first.”
“How would the cartel know where the pickup was to be?”
She hesitated again and finally put the thought that had been festering in the back of her mind for months into words. “Someone told them.”
“Someone being?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who would be in a position to do that other than the pickup team. Or Hardesty.
”
“God, do you realize what you’re suggesting? That one of us—”
“Yes.” She took a deep breath. “I’ve thought about it since…” She hesitated, for some reason reluctant to reveal her involvement that night, and finished, “Since Paul let that slip. I waited for him to act and he hasn’t. So I decided I was being ridiculous. No one’s been—”
“Holcomb and Reynolds,” Kyle interrupted, obviously thinking out loud. And obviously no longer listening to her doubts about her theory. She couldn’t decide whether or not she was pleased by his ready acceptance of what she’d suspected for so long. “Were they the team?”
“Frank was at headquarters. He couldn’t have been. I don’t know about Reynolds, although that wasn’t his usual job.”
“Damn,” Kyle said softly, apparently seeing all the implications. “Can you see Hardesty bumping off his own people?”
“For selling information to the cartel? For almost losing the biggest break we’ve had against the drug lords in years? Yeah, I could see Hardesty doing that,” she affirmed quietly.
“But why so long? Why wait so long before he acted?”
“To be sure who was responsible?” She threw out the possibilities she’d considered. “To make us believe it had nothing to do with the operation? Paul would do whatever he thought was necessary without a second thought.”
“That’s almost as scary as thinking the cartel’s out for revenge, except…if it is Hardesty taking out the pickup team, it should be over. That may be why he’s working so hard on this coincidence fairy tale. If it’s an internal housecleaning, no one else should disappear.”
“Do you honestly believe two people would be involved in a sellout? I told you Frank was at headquarters.”
