by Dee Davis
“Initially we had eighteen names,” Harrison said. “But two of them were dead. Natural causes. And both of them well before any of this broke.”
“And a third retired six months ago. Security clearance would have been revoked.” Hannah hit a button on her computer and a list of names appeared on the screen behind the table. “So we ended up with fifteen possible candidates.”
“Holy shit,” Drake said, dropping his chair back into its upright position. “Those are some heavy hitters. There’s at least two five-star generals there.”
“Not to mention a couple of directors,” Tyler observed, “including Homeland Security.”
“And there could be others. Connections my search wouldn’t have turned up. Someone on the inside helping someone else, that kind of thing,” Hannah said, the orange streaks in her spiky hair catching the light.
“To that end,” Harrison continued, “we’re trying to cross-check DOD employees from the time of Omega with the employee rosters from the contractors Dryker worked for after leaving Defense. But since the companies are private, it’s taking a little time to track down their records.”
“But in the meantime,” Hannah said, moving the conversation back to the list, “the biggest issue here is that if we go public with this list, the culprit will find a way to cover his tracks before we can identify him. So we need to narrow the list down without raising a lot of suspicion.”
“And in an effort to fast-forward that,” Harrison broke in, “we’ve found someone who might be able to help. Her name is Molly James. She spent her entire career at DOD mainly with the administrative arm—assigned to various projects.”
“Sounds good,” Avery said. “If she comes through, we’ll be able to avoid pissing off half the big brass in Washington with accusations of misconduct. But how do you know we can connect her to Omega?”
“We can’t know for sure, but Harrison managed to access her HR record, and we’ve got project assignments throughout her career, including dates, except for a two-year gap about the time Omega was supposedly operational.”
“So she was paid, but her job assignment kept out of the records,” Tyler repeated. “Sounds to me like they were trying to hide something.”
“Agreed.” Hannah nodded. “Which is why she’s our best bet. She’s been retired for years. And remarried. Twice.”
“Which means new names,” Nash noted. “And I’m guessing relocation?”
“Got it in one,” Harrison said. “She’s almost as under the radar as Alexis.”
“And in a lovely bit of serendipity,” Hannah continued, “she’s currently living in Brooklyn.”
CHAPTER 22
Sacramento, California
I appreciate you taking the time out of your busy day to meet with me,” Alain DuBois said, looking out onto the park in front of the capitol building. A group of children played a makeshift soccer game. It was still cool out, although spring flowers were already beginning to fade.
“I don’t see why we couldn’t have had this conversation in my office,” Bastion Carmichael said, eyes narrowed as a couple of laughing tourists made their way past the bench where they were sitting.
“It’s a lovely day,” he replied. “Seemed a shame to waste it spending time indoors.” The location, though seemingly random, had been chosen carefully. Hiding in plain sight, as it were, making it less likely that the meeting would be recorded or even noticed.
“Well, I can’t argue with that,” Carmichael said, “and I’ll admit I’m curious as to why you wanted to meet with me. According to my staff, you’re involved in antiquities. In Montreal. An old family business?”
“Yes, we started out in import-export, in Normandy in the late seventeenth century. Then, after a rather trying time during the Second World War, my great-grandfather immigrated to Canada and brought the business with him.”
“So you come from a family of smugglers?” Carmichael asked, his expression dismissive.
“No more so than your Kennedys.” He gave his best Gallic shrug, swallowing his irritation. After all, holier-than-thou politicians were a dime a dozen. “Anyway, my business with you doesn’t involve my family or our company. I’m here on another matter entirely.”
“One related to me in some way, I assume?” Carmichael sat back, stretching one arm along the back of the bench. “So why don’t you come to the point.”
“Yes, of course,” Alain said. “My business, as you can well imagine, takes me all over the world, and in those travels I’ve been fortunate enough to make alliances with some very powerful people. And stemming from that, I’ve become involved in several coalitions, for lack of a better word. It is on behalf of one of these organizations that I’ve requested this meeting.”
“So are you going to tell me who you represent?”
“I’m afraid I can’t be any more specific, but I can tell you that we’re quite interested in the possibility of you joining our ranks.”
“In an organization you can’t tell me about,” Carmichael said, his tone turning indignant. “I’m a very busy man, Mr. DuBois. And a powerful one to boot. I haven’t got time to waste on you and your riddles.”
“If I were you,” Alain said, enjoying the game of cat and mouse, “I’d find the time. As I said, the group I belong to is comprised of some the world’s most powerful and wealthy men. All of us with common interests. And, at the moment, our goals coincide with yours, which means that we’re in a position to offer you our help.”
“For what?” Carmichael’s irritation was clearly evident, but Alain also recognized a spark of curiosity.
“Your attempt to keep your past buried. Specifically your role in the Omega Project.”
“Who the hell are you?” Carmichael asked, his face tightening with concern.
“I told you—”
“Yes, I heard—antiques and smuggling and all that. That’s not what I’m asking and you know it.”
“I know you’ve been spending considerable time and taxpayer money to capture and/or eliminate a woman you believe has access to the formula for aerosolizing biotoxins.”
Carmichael’s fists clenched, his face going white as he considered Alain’s pronouncement. “And…”
“As I said, there are a lot of wealthy people involved in our consortium. People with access to all kinds of interesting information and the power to use it. ”
Carmichael frowned, then nodded, comprehension dawning. “You’re the ones who have been trying to buy the formula.”
“And the deal would have been concluded by now if it hadn’t been for your interference. Thanks to your muddling, we’ve not only lost access to the formula, but we’ve got intelligence operatives breathing down our neck.”
“A-Tac,” Carmichael said, a slow smile of satisfaction spreading across his face. “Nice to know I’m not the only one. But I still don’t see how I can help you.”
“You can call off your rather inept efforts to keep things under control. Leave Alexis Markham to us.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because we’re in a position to make certain that Omega is buried once and for all—after we’ve acquired the formula, of course.”
“Just for the sake of argument,” Carmichael said, a frown creasing his forehead, “how would you do that?”
Alain reached into his pocket and produced a photograph. “Recognize this man?”
Carmichael gave the picture a cursory glance and then froze, his gaze returning for a longer look. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely,” Alain said. “And I’m happy to report that we’ve currently got the upper hand where he’s concerned. But if you continue to intervene in our business by chasing after Ms. Markham, then I can’t promise we’ll be able to maintain that control.”
“And all you want is for me to back off.”
“It’s as simple as that,” Alain said, offering a coarse smile. “You back off, and we’ll make certain your interests are protected.”
&nbs
p; “How do I know you’ll follow through?” he asked, his gaze turning skeptical.
“You don’t. You’ll just have to take my word. But I promise you, the alternative is far more dangerous. Because if you don’t stop, we’ll have no recourse but to go public with proof of your activities of late. Including the death of your dear friend Peter Dryker.”
Again Carmichael flinched, but managed to hold his gaze steady. “But you’d have to have more than just allegations. You’d have to have proof.”
“And you believe you’ve been very careful. I told you we have access to information at all levels. And that includes your private phone calls.” He paused a moment and held out a small digital recorder, hitting Play, Carmichael’s recorded voice discussing the particulars of Dryker’s murder. “This is just a sample, Mr. Carmichael. We have much more. All of it damning. So can I count on your cooperation?”
The man’s mouth moved as he fought against his anger. “I don’t see that I have any other option. But I do have a question. What happens if I do my part but you still don’t get the formula?”
“To you? Nothing. To him”—he nodded at the photo—“I’m afraid he’ll meet a very untimely end. Along with Ms. Markham. But you needn’t worry about any of that. We’ll handle it all. You just pretend as if we never had this conversation. Are we agreed?” He held out his hand but Carmichael ignored it.
“I’ll play it your way, but you’d better be damn sure my ass is covered. You’re not the only one with powerful friends, Mr. DuBois.”
Carroll Gardens in Brooklyn was a throwback to a more gentle time. Tree-lined streets with rows of brownstones, fronted by unusually large gardens, gave the neighborhood an old-fashioned feeling that was missing from most urban areas.
Molly Dormond lived on the parlor floor of a brownstone on First Place. The garden was full of rhododendrons, peonies, hydrangeas, roses, and a variety of annuals. Snapdragons lined the front walk. An old, iron post box stood at the foot of the front steps, its cheerful red color reminding Alexis of a poster of London she’d seen once.
Tucker walked beside her, as usual searching the area for signs of danger, the beauty of the garden completely lost on him. The team hadn’t been particularly keen on her accompanying Tucker. But she’d held firm, reminding them that she had more invested in this conversation than any one of them, and that she was better equipped to recognize subtle significance in anything Mrs. Dormond might have to say. She wasn’t completely certain it was true, but it had seemed to do the trick. Avery had capitulated with the caveat that Drake accompany them to keep watch.
At the moment he was standing near the corner, his hand resting casually on the jacket that concealed his gun, his attention on passersby both pedestrian and vehicular. As she and Tucker walked up the steps, the door opened. Evidently Drake wasn’t the only one keeping watch.
“Can I help you?” It was the voice of a New Yorker, cautious and polite all at the same time.
“We’re sorry to intrude,” Tucker said, obviously channeling his best NYPD Blue, “but we’re with the government, and if you don’t mind, we have a few questions.”
“The government?” she asked, arching two perfectly plucked eyebrows. “Would you mind clarifying that?”
“Sorry,” Tucker said, realizing his mistake. “Department of Defense.” He flashed the ID Harrison had so painstakingly replicated.
“Ah,” she said, not even pausing to think about it. “I wondered how long it would take. I’ll admit I was off by about twenty years.” She opened the storm door and gestured them inside. “It’s been a long time to sit on a secret. I think there’s a part of me that’s actually relieved. Can I get you tea?” She waved a perfectly manicured hand to a velvet-covered sofa.
“No,” Tucker started, but Alexis interrupted.
“Yes, please. It would be so nice. It’s been a long day.”
Mrs. Dormond smiled and nodded toward the sofa. “I won’t be a minute.”
“What the hell are you doing?” Tucker whispered as they sat down. “She’ll probably make a run for it.”
“She’s seventy-five, Tucker. What’s she going to do? Vault out the kitchen window?” As if in response a window scraped open, and Tucker sprang from the sofa, gun at the ready.
“Put that away,” Alexis hissed, certain that Mrs. Dormond wasn’t going anywhere.
“But she…” he trailed off as the woman in question came into the parlor with a tea tray.
“I’m sorry, it’s just so abnormally hot for this time of year. I can’t seem to get enough windows open.” She smiled and set the tray on the table. “So,” Mrs. Dormond said, offering Tucker a cup of tea, “you’re here to talk about Omega.”
Any levity Alexis had been feeling fled in a heartbeat. This was her father’s life, this woman the only link she had to the real truth and the people who’d killed her father.
“We are,” Tucker agreed, displaying his most charming smile. Mrs. Dormond hadn’t a chance. “I’m afraid the formula has resurfaced, and we’re trying to track it down before it can be sold to the highest bidder.”
“Surely not Randolph after all this time,” Mrs. Dormond said, her snowy white brows drawing together in consternation. “He disappeared, you know.”
“Randolph Baker was my father, Mrs. Dormond,” Alexis said, unable to stop herself. Tucker shot her an angry look. They’d decided not to share that particular piece of information, but Mrs. Dormond had clearly known her father, and so the words had come.
“Call me Molly,” Mrs. Dormond said, her eyes kind. “I knew you weren’t DOD. And I thought I saw the resemblance. You must have been born after he disappeared. I knew your mother and your brother.”
Tears pricked the back of Alexis’s eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had remembered her family.
“Your father was very proud of his family. He had pictures all over his office.” She handed Alexis a cup of tea.
“He’s dead,” Alexis said, again unable to stop the words. “My mother and brother as well. Someone in the government killed them.”
Molly nodded, the reaction not at all what Alexis expected. “It wasn’t a good time to be involved with special projects. They killed Duncan too, you know.” She sighed, her mind fading into the past. “I loved him.” For a moment, Alexis thought they’d lost her, but then she shook her head, reaching for her own cup of tea. “As I said, it was a difficult time. And I always thought sooner or later someone would come. Someone would question what happened.”
“But they never did,” Tucker replied.
“No.” She shook her head, “they didn’t. And life moved on.”
“You had a relationship with Duncan Wallace?” Alexis asked. “I never knew him, but my father always talked about him. And he made him sound so alive. So involved.”
“He always lived and breathed whatever project he was working on,” Molly responded, brightening. “And I was assigned to most of them. That’s how we met. But Omega was different. Most of the projects I worked with at DOD were top secret, so there were always layers of security, but this time it was totally off the books. Which didn’t matter to Randolph and Duncan. For them it was all just an exercise. A theoretical manipulation of nature, chemistry and biology working in tandem.”
“So they believed the research was strictly theoretical?” Tucker asked.
“It was,” Molly said. “Completely. But then we found out there was a second phase planned. A stage intended to move their work from hypothetical to practical. They wanted Randolph and Duncan to use the formula to make a weapon. I don’t pretend to understand any of it.” She waved a hand in dismissal. “I’m not a scientist, but even I knew the danger a weapon like that posed.”
“But my father and Duncan—they refused to go forward, right? They threatened to take the whole thing public.”
“Duncan was horrified. We spent days trying to decide what to do. He wanted to quit. But they wouldn’t let him. He had a contract, and they threatened legal a
ction. So he responded by threatening to go public. I begged him not to do it. I was so afraid there’d be repercussions, and I was right. He was dead three days later.”
“And no one questioned what happened?” Tucker set his cup back on the tray.
“As far as the DOD was concerned, nothing had happened. At least nothing questionable. The explosion was deemed an accident. And shortly after that, the entire project was dismantled. And we were told to pretend it never existed.”
“But what about my father? Didn’t anyone question his disappearance?”
“No.” Molly shook her head. “The general word was that he’d just moved on. And if anyone dug too deeply, they were told he’d disappeared with the formula when he’d heard the project was being canceled.”
“So they painted him as the bad guy,” Alexis said, not even trying to keep the bitterness at bay. Her father had been used as a scapegoat.
“It was a really frightening time. I’d always known there was a dark side to our weapons program, but I’d never dreamed it would affect me personally.”
“And yet you stayed with DOD? Why?”
“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself for almost thirty years.” She sighed. “And I still don’t have a good answer. At first it was because I was afraid. And then I guess because it was easy. And then I discovered what they’d done to your family. Another explosion. Another ‘accident.’ ”
“I don’t understand how you made the connection,” Alexis said. “We had a new name. And the explosion wasn’t exactly national news.”
“I still had security clearance, and I stumbled across a memo with the speculation that the man killed in the explosion had been Randolph. I’ve often wondered if someone arranged for me to find it, a reminder of what happened to people who couldn’t keep their mouths shut. Anyway, accident or no, it worked. But this time I did leave. I just couldn’t take it anymore. And I never stopped looking over my shoulder.”
