by Hunt, Angela
I nod. “That fits with what I know. What happened?”
“They set up a meet, and my mother went into labor. After Mom died, Dad had me airlifted to the convent, and two days later, he was on his way to the meet. But that’s all the agency has on him. The last entry in his file says the local police found his car in a gorge and ruled his death a suicide.”
I swallow hard as tears brim in my eyes. My head is full of them, and each breath tastes of the salty sea. “Not for a minute,” I say, gulping oxygen, “do I believe that Kevin killed himself. He may have been heartbroken over losing Diane, but he still had you. He wasn’t the type to walk away from his duty. That’s why he didn’t walk away from that meeting. And he wouldn’t have walked away from you.”
When I look up, I see tears flowing down Sarah’s face, an overflow of emotion that has bubbled up and splashed onto her cheeks.
Every day she plumbs new depths of feeling. Maybe I do, too.
I drape my arm across her shoulder. “These bad guys—do they know who or where you are?”
She shakes her head. “Their security guys are good, but they’re not that good.”
“Then maybe you should let them stew a few days before you decide how to respond. Maybe Dr. Mewton knows what happened to Kevin.”
“I asked her. If she knows anything else, she’s not telling.”
“And that file you found—”
“Apparently it’s the agency’s last word on the subject. The investigation of Saluda continues, but the chapter on Kevin Sims has been closed.”
I pull a tissue from my pocket and wipe the wetness from her face. “I can’t say I approve of what you did, Sarah, but I’m glad you did it. But don’t do anything else—don’t tell Dr. Mewton what you’ve done, and don’t risk your future for the past.”
“Not even to—”
“Not even,” I finish for her. “Your father wouldn’t want you to spend the rest of your life in prison. He’d want you to live free.”
Chapter Fifty-Four
Sarah
Aunt Renee and I are stepping back into the building when the cell phone in my pocket rings. I pull it out and glance at the ID, then flip it open. “What’s up, Judson?”
“We need you, kiddo. Operations room.”
“Be right there.”
Aunt Renee nods. “I know. Your duty calls.”
“Thanks…for listening.”
“Anytime, Sarah. That’s why I’m here.”
She walks away, going back to her room, and I pause before heading up the staircase. My aunt walks so easily, so gracefully. I don’t think she realizes that she possesses the same kind of grace I see in so many movie stars. What gives her that kind of beauty? It’s more than having a good face, because not all beautiful women have that queenly quality.
I don’t have time to ponder the question because my phone rings again. This time Dr. Mewton’s ID flashes on the screen, so I take the stairs two at a time and hurry into the operations room.
Judson is already at his desk; Dr. Mewton is standing behind my station, one hand on her hip. “Where were you?”
“In the courtyard.” I slip into my chair and log on to the network. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we had a mission scheduled for this morning?”
“Need-to-know,” Judson says, his voice flat. “Dr. Mewton figured you didn’t need to know until the last minute.”
I’m sure he’s being sarcastic, and the look in Dr. Mewton’s eye—narrow gaze, lowered brows—confirms it. I feel a sudden surge of gratitude for Aunt Renee’s lessons as I pull up the sat grid. “Anybody want to tell me who we’ll be surveilling today?”
“Espinosa,” Dr. Mewton says, exasperation in her voice. “He’s finally worked up the nerve to plant the Mona Lisa.”
Judson snickers. “What a weenie. Maybe his girlfriend dumped him and he’s been trying to find another high-ranking secretary to butter up.”
“I don’t care what his reason is,” Dr. Mewton says. “Just line up a KH 12 satellite and let’s keep an eye on the streets while he makes his move.”
“Where’s he planting it?”
“Saluda headquarters,” she answers. “The Valencia office.”
Something cold slides down my back, leaving a faint trail of unease in its wake. “You want infrared?” I ask, my voice cracking.
Jud turns in my direction, but Dr. Mewton doesn’t seem to notice the brittleness in my voice.
“Shouldn’t need it,” she answers. “The man is supposed to walk over to a secretary’s desk and distract her while he uploads the program from a flash drive. A baby could do it.”
I locate the nearest KH 12 satellite and feed it the coordinates of the Saluda headquarters. “For the record—” my voice is far too loud, but I can’t help it “—let me say that I think this is a bad idea. If no one installed the Mona Lisa when we shipped out free copies to Saluda employees, why do we think Espinosa is going to be able to install it now? I’m thinking Saluda must have supertight network security. He’s going to get caught.”
When Dr. Mewton looks my way, her expression is far from pleasant. She’s not frowning, but from the way her brows have lowered, I’d say she’s edging toward fury.
“When I want your opinion, Sarah,” she says, her voice clipped, “I’ll ask for it.”
She pivots toward Judson. “Is that satellite in position yet?”
He taps on his keyboard. “Sarah, you ready to receive images?”
“Ready.”
My screen fills with a black-and-white photo of Valencia’s downtown, courtesy of a camera aboard the keyhole satellite and a Milstar relay.
“Espinosa?” Dr. Mewton speaks into the microphone dangling from her earpiece. “You’re clear to proceed.”
I pick up my own headset and loop it over my ear. I hear a hiss of static, followed by Espinosa’s voice: “I’ve patched a transmitter into the security system. Approaching the main lobby now.”
Dr. Mewton leans on the back of my chair. “Are you getting those shots from the security system?”
“Give me a minute.” I home in on Espinosa’s frequency and capture the images from the Saluda security cameras. Four cameras have been set to cover the exterior entrances, with an additional two cameras aimed squarely at interior doors. I send the satellite photo to my backup monitor and zoom in on the streets surrounding the office building. Between the two monitors, I ought to be able to keep an eye on everything moving in and around the office complex.
Dr. Mewton stands behind me. “There.” She points to the camera in the lobby. We see Espinosa cross the vast empty space, his hands in his pockets, an exaggerated swagger in his walk. He pauses at the front desk and is pointed toward the elevator. He takes a side step, but the guard responds by pushing a clipboard across the desk.
I snatch a quick breath. “He’s been stopped,” I say, translating for Judson’s benefit. “Why is the security guard making him sign in?”
Judson sighs. “Not a big deal. A lot of bookkeepers work from home.”
“But the transmitter at the security feed—where’d he apply the patch?”
“Probably a junction box outside the building.” Judson’s brow furrows as he taps a message to me on his desktop. I glance at him, then watch his tapping from the corner of my eye as I pretend to study the monitors. Why so jumpy today?
“I’m fine.” I answer aloud, not caring if Dr. Mewton hears. “It’s fine, I mean. Everything’s a-okay.”
Judson shakes his head and drops his fingertips to his keyboard. “How’s the sat picture?”
“Five by five. Thanks.”
We watch as Espinosa signs his name and the guard hands him an ID badge. Behind me, Dr. Mewton makes a clicking sound with her tongue. “Can you believe it? Even organized crime bosses make their employees wear ID.”
“Saluda is a legitimate business,” Judson reminds her. “They have to keep up appearances.”
We watch Espinosa step into an elevator. “Do they have a
camera in that car?” Dr. M asks as the doors close.
I cycle through the available cameras on the security system. “Apparently not.”
“Do we know where he’s going?”
“My money’s on the top floor,” Judson says. “That’ll be where the boss has his office. And you can bet there’s a camera aimed right at Rios’s door.”
Sure enough, a moment later Espinosa enters the frame of another camera. “Got him,” I call, zooming in on the shot. Dr. M and I watch as Espinosa walks up to a desk stationed in front of an impressive pair of double doors. He talks to the pretty secretary and leans against her desk. The woman shakes her head in answer to some question he’s posed, but he leans toward her and gestures more fluidly.
“¿Qué pasa?” Judson whispers.
“He’s talking to the woman,” I say. “What do you think he’s saying?”
“Don’t ask me,” Jud says. “My last good pickup line was ‘Hi, I suffer from amnesia. Do I come here often?’”
I smother a smile as I continue to watch the monitor. Apparently the secretary doesn’t want to go along with whatever he’s suggesting. Then Espinosa leans forward, bringing his lips closer to the woman’s ear. She raises her gaze to his face in an oddly keen, swift look, then he drops his hand to her shoulder.
“If that’s his big move,” Dr. Mewton says, her voice dry, “I’ve seen smoother.”
I cover my mouth with my hand as Espinosa pulls back and looks at the señora. For a moment I’m sure she’s going to agree to his suggestion, but then another man, an older man, steps out of the double doors and approaches the desk. He hands the secretary a folder and looks at Espinosa, his eyes narrow and disapproving.
Dr. Mewton makes a sound deep in her throat. “That’s trouble. That’s Adolfo Rios.”
Espinosa lifts both hands and backs out of the picture. Rios retreats, too, leaving the secretary sitting alone in her chair.
If we could see her face, I think we’d see a look of disappointment. What’d he ask her to do, meet him in the custodian’s closet for a quick kiss?
“Is that all he’s going to do?” Dr. Mewton snaps.
Without warning, the security camera pictures begin to flash in a regular rhythm. I lean forward as my uneasiness swells into alarm. “Something’s up. Maybe security detected interference on the line. Someone is manually cycling through the cameras.”
“Wait, what was that?” Dr. Mewton points to another screen, where we see Espinosa slide into a chair at an unoccupied desk. The computer on the desktop is in screen saver mode—The image flashes, replaced by a shot of the lobby foyer.
“The secretary must have stepped away,” I say. “But she’ll be back.”
“There.” Dr. M points to another window in my split screen. “We’ve got him again.”
An almost palpable tension fills the operations room as we watch Espinosa slide the flash drive into one of the computer’s USB ports. I tense, almost certain the screen saver will ask for a password, but before the computer can respond Espinosa yanks the drive and rushes away from the desk.
Dr. Mewton’s hand falls on my shoulder. “What just happened?”
“I—I don’t know. Maybe the secretary came back, or the system detected an intrusion.”
“How is that possible?”
“Anything’s possible if Saluda’s security guy knows his stuff. Obviously, something raised their suspicions. That’s why they were cycling through the monitors.”
Dr. Mewton falls silent and the hair at the back of my neck rises with premonition as we study the flashing image on the split screen. Finally we spot Espinosa again. My heart sinks as I point him out—he’s walking between two men in uniform and his hands have been cuffed behind his back.
“This is not good.” Mewton crosses her arms. “Not good at all.”
Judson draws in a breath, between clenched teeth. “They snagged him?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
Judson curses softly under his breath, and I watch the dark image of Espinosa’s retreating figure.
We have lost too many people to Saluda. Are we about to lose another one?
For the next three hours, I monitor shots from the geosynchronous KH 12 satellite, searching for any sign of Espinosa being led out of the building or driven away from the site. We have dispatched an agent to Valencia, hoping to track Espinosa, but so far we’ve seen no sign of anyone leaving the complex in custody.
“I have a vehicle exiting the property,” I tell Judson. “Dark sedan.”
“Any way to see the license plate?”
“Sorry, the angle’s wrong.”
Judson grinds his teeth and I feel his frustration. Espinosa could be in any vehicle, in the seat or in the trunk, and we wouldn’t be able to see him unless—
“Do you think he has his cell phone on?”
I have no sooner asked the question than Dr. Mewton’s cell phone rings. She unclips it from her belt and shows me the caller ID.
I look at Judson. “Speak of the devil. It’s Espinosa.”
“How’d he get my number?” Dr. Mewton presses her lips into a thin line and hands the phone to Jud. “Why don’t you answer it?”
Without missing a beat, Judson snaps the phone open and presses the button for the speakerphone. “Hola.”
“Listen to me.” Espinosa is breathless, his voice heavy. “I’ve slipped away,” he says, “and I need immediate extraction.”
Dr. Mewton braces her hands on the desk and leans toward the speaker. “Where are you?”
“Somewhere near the beach, I think. But they’ll be looking for me, so you need to come immediately. And you should bring Sarah. I’ve stumbled across a problem only she can solve.”
Judson twists his head so sharply that I hear the pop of a joint in his neck. I stare at Dr. Mewton, whose face has gone blank with shock.
“Whatever you want to show Sarah,” she says, her voice as smooth as oil, “it’ll wait. The important thing is getting you out safely.”
“But it won’t wait, it’s urgent. I’ve found this device, but I can’t access it until I break an encryption code on the front panel.”
“All right,” Dr. M says, injecting her voice with iron. “Keep your cell phone on. We’ll triangulate the signal and send Sarah with the extraction team.”
“When?”
“ETA in one hour.”
She gestures for me to disconnect the call, which I do. Then I stare at her in a paralysis of astonishment. “Why did he mention me?”
“He’s lying,” she says, sinking into a chair. “He would never ask for you if he’d met you, no agent would. But he’s heard your name.”
Judson groans. “He knows you wrote the Mona Lisa program. We talked about your work in our meeting with Traut.”
I prop my chin on my hand and stare at the monitors. “Do you think he’s under duress? Do you think they’re hurting him?”
Judson reaches out to pat my arm, then turns toward Dr. Mewton. “So why does Saluda want our girl?”
Dr. Mewton shakes her head. “Hard to say, but I’m guessing they’ve either examined her work on the flash drive or Espinosa has told them about her.”
Or maybe they’ve realized that I’ve sent an offer to Adolfo Rios.
I shiver as an icy finger touches the base of my spine. I glance from Dr. Mewton to Judson. “So what do we do?”
“We track his cell phone signal,” Dr. Mewton says, crossing her arms, “and we have our agent scout out the area for possible extraction. While we wait, we hope Espinosa is strong enough to endure…or clever enough to escape. “
I turn back to the monitors, but I keep thinking of Judson, his missing limbs, the scars on his face, his blinded eyes. Is Espinosa being tortured for information about me?
As I focus on the image of the streets surrounding the Saluda building, I am glad my face is stony and blank. I wouldn’t want anyone to read the fear behind my eyes.
Chapter Fifty-Five
Renee<
br />
“You two must have had a busy day yesterday. Dr. Kollman and I couldn’t believe how quiet this place was at dinner last night.”
I am addressing Sarah and Judson at breakfast, and though they respond with quick, almost automatic smiles, it’s not hard to read the worry on Judson’s face. Even Sarah seems guarded. She finishes her cereal and boiled egg without a single attempt at conversation, then stands and leaves the dining room without glancing back.
When she has gone, I reach across the table and tap Judson’s arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on, or am I supposed to guess?”
“Aw, Doc,” he says, “you know I can’t say anything.”
“I know it’s classified, but I also know something’s not right with my patient. Sarah doesn’t upset easily.”
Judson’s mouth curves in the faint beginnings of a smile. “I’ll bet you’re a darn good shrink.”
“I am pretty good,” I answer. “But it doesn’t take a genius to figure out when something’s out of kilter around here. Since you’re all obviously worried, why should I pretend not to notice? Tell me what you can, please, so I won’t think I’ve overstayed my welcome.”
“We are worried.” Judson leans toward me and lowers his voice. “We had an operation go south yesterday. The details are classified, but something odd happened—someone on the outside asked about Sarah.”
“Sarah! Whatever for?”
Judson shrugs. “I’m guessing someone applied pressure to our agent. In any case, apparently her reputation is spreading…among people who shouldn’t even know her name.”
I swallow hard as the memory of my last conversation with Sarah rises in my consciousness. Did she underestimate her opponents? Or is Jud right about the agent mentioning her name?
Suddenly I feel exposed and frightened…for Sarah’s sake. Someone needs to move her, place her in a safe American fortress.
Like Fort Knox.
“I have a friend,” I tell Judson, “who’s a brilliant psychiatrist, one of the best in the country. But ever since I’ve known her, she’s refused to publish and has never granted an interview—and she’s had plenty of offers, believe me.”
