by Cate Noble
It was still dark when the two men returned to the marina. Truman kept an assortment of dive gear, including underwater flashlights, in the boathouse. Dante slipped into the water without a sound. Rocco followed. It was critical they get in and out, search the wreckage before the fire department did.
The majority of the boat had sunk right beside the dock. The bow was largely intact; making it apparent the explosive had been planted near the stern. Rocco snapped pictures with the waterproof camera while Dante concentrated on gathering evidence.
It didn’t take long to wrap up. After hitting a fast-food drive-through for coffee and the biscuit special, they went back to the motel.
Inside Dante held up his mesh gear bag. Among other things, he’d recovered what appeared to be the detonator. Bits of wire and part of a watch. “I’m glad I found this before someone else did.”
Rocco grabbed a second biscuit. “You said the fire investigator asked about chemicals on board?”
“Yeah, I’ll make it a point to tell him that I stored varnish and mineral spirits in the back of the boat.”
“Along with some oily rags. Spontaneous Combustion 101.”
“Let’s hope that discourages him from sending off any samples to be analyzed.”
Rocco pointed to his own collection of debris. “I tried to get a variety of charred wood. With luck, at least one of them has traces of accelerant. I’ll get these into a lab. Maybe I can get them to expedite it since it was a domestic bombing, and technically, you’re still an Agency employee. What next?”
“Back to basics,” Dante said. “Cat supposedly died in France. So that’s where I’ll start.”
“I know a guy who can hack into a couple of overseas servers. He’s a complete nerd, doesn’t even own a phone, so as soon as I’m done with this”—Rocco waved his biscuit—“I’ll e-mail him.”
“Thanks.”
“Have you decided where you’ll go now? The offer stands to stay at my place.” Rocco still had his condo in Alexandria, Virginia.
“Appreciate it. But I’m not going to hide. For the time being, I think I’ll stick around here.”
By two that afternoon, Dante was settled into a small, furnished duplex not far from the marina. He’d rented both sides to avoid neighbors. Moving had been easy. Two suitcases. One briefcase. A fast trip to Wal-Mart had replaced what little he’d lost, including his cell phone.
The real work had been locating and installing security enhancements. The duplex had an alarm system, but they’d piggybacked closed-circuit cameras along with a second, more elaborate alarm.
While Rocco worked on locating information on Cat, Dante returned to Paradise Lost. On his way there, the fire investigator called.
“I was at the marina this morning,” Chris Furbs said. “The owner said the boat wasn’t covered under any of his policies.”
Dante knew Furbs was politely probing the question of insurance fraud. “That’s correct. Technically, the vessel wasn’t seaworthy yet. So I hadn’t insured it privately either. Its biggest value was sentimental.”
“Then I’m closing the case as an accident. Probable cause: spontaneous combustion. If you need a copy of the report, call this number.”
At the marina, Dante headed for the bathhouse, wanting to look for clues in daylight. He stopped when he saw the void where his boat used to be. Low tide had exposed part of the mast.
“Hey,” Truman called out a greeting as he walked up. “I was going to call you. The fire investigator came by earlier.”
“I just spoke with him.”
Truman nodded toward the wreckage. “It must be hard. Seeing her scuttled.”
“It’s tough.” Dante squinted at the sun glinting off the waves. “I made arrangements to have her salvaged and hauled off.”
“I appreciate that,” Truman said. “But you didn’t have to deal with it right away. And I know this may be too soon, but I’ve got a buddy who’s a boat broker in Nantucket. I’m sure he’d be glad to poke around and find another like her. It won’t have the same sentimental value, but I hate to see you give up your dream. And Iris is already fretting about you leaving.”
The older man’s words touched Dante in ways he wasn’t ready to acknowledge. It also made him regret the subterfuge. Truman and Iris thought Dante dreamed of sailing around the world. That had actually been another of his father’s dreams. A father-and-son trip of a lifetime.
Dante turned his back to the mangled docks. “I’ll keep your buddy in mind.”
He stayed a little longer, then took off. He’d barely driven away from the marina when Iris called. “Truman said you came by while I was napping.” She coughed. “I’m worried about D-dog. And I feel too dang crappy to go see him.”
“I wouldn’t sweat it. I talked to the vet earlier and he said he’s a tough old mutt to have made it this far.” Dante was paraphrasing a bit. Besides the cut and burns, D-dog had suffered a broken leg, which had required surgery. He hoped that, for Iris’s sake, the dog survived. He hadn’t realized exactly how fond the older woman was of the little beast.
“I know, I called them, too,” she said. “Vet also said the first twenty-four hours were critical.”
“Look, if it will make you feel better, I’ll swing by and check on him personally. I’m not too far from there now. I can call you back.”
“That would be great. But do me a favor first.”
Iris’s favor meant driving through Dunkin’ Donuts. When Dante arrived at the vet’s, the receptionist recognized his name and waved him through the doors, then had to dash back to answer the phone. “Sorry, we’re shorthanded today. Your dog is just down the hall. Third door on the left. I’ll get Brenda.”
“He’s not my dog,” Dante muttered to the empty hall.
He found D-dog alone in the infirmary, in an elevated cage. The dog’s back half was fully bandaged, and he had a large plastic cone around his neck. The dog raised his head when Dante came in, scraping the side of the cage with the plastic.
“Ouch. I take it that means no Conehead jokes.”
D-dog bared his teeth and growled.
“Easy Frankenpup. I came bearing gifts.” Dante held up the donut box. “These are from Iris.”
He flipped the box open as he stepped up to the cage, then he dropped a round glazed hole toward D-dog’s open mouth, his aim perfect. “Not that you’d miss one wearing that funnel.” He offered a second one then set the box aside. “Let’s see how those do on your stomach. You start barfing, I’m outta here.”
D-dog looked at the box, then back at Dante. Actually it was more like pointing his cone. Followed by more growls.
“Just give it a sec.” Dante bent down to eye level with the dog. “I wish you could tell me what happened, boy. You saw her, didn’t you? Probably smelled that sweet perfume and wet yourself.”
The door opened just then. A perky brunette stepped inside. “Am I intruding?”
He straightened. “Hardly.”
“I’m Brenda, Dr. Kramer’s partner.”
“Dan. Hogan.”
She pointed to the donut box. “Don’t tell me you brought those for him.”
D-dog lowered his cone to his paws and started whining.
“Okay, one more.” Brenda picked up a donut hole and opened the cage door.
D-dog gently took the food. Then he licked the sugar glaze from her fingertips. Brenda patted his nose. “You poor little thing.”
Dante winked at the dog, voice low. “Your secret’s safe with me, faker.”
“What was that?” Brenda turned back around.
“I said I think he feels safe here. So what’s his prognosis?”
“His white cell count is still elevated and his red count is down, but that’s to be expected.” Brenda gave D-dog a final scratch behind the ear. “And of course, that he’s eating again is a good sign. He’s not out of the woods, but I feel cautiously optimistic that he’s made it this far.”
They talked for a few minutes, and betwe
en the three of them, they polished off the donut holes. Before leaving, Dante paid the bill and asked the receptionist to keep his credit card information on file.
“I’m going to be in and out of town for a while, but when he’s ready to be released, call here.” He gave Iris’s phone number. “And if the dog needs follow-up or any kind of medicine, charge it to me as well.”
Outside, he called Iris and filled her in.
“I feel so much better.” Her voice grew muffled as she wheezed and coughed. “Now what are you and that hunky friend of yours doing tomorrow night for supper? And what the hell is that beeping noise?”
“Call waiting.” Dante glanced at the display. PRIVATE CALLER. Probably Rocco. “I need to take this call, Iris.”
“Bye then. We’ll expect you tomorrow at six,” she said before disconnecting.
Dante switched to the other call.
“I hear you had a little excitement.” It was Travis Franks. He had obviously talked with Rocco.
“Bad news travels fast.”
“Yeah, the speed of gloom amazes. You free for a late lunch?”
The question caught him off guard. “Lunch? You’re in town?”
“At the airport. Private charter. I know Taylor’s still here. I want to meet with both of you.”
“I’ll be there in fifteen.” After disconnecting, he called Rocco.
“Damn,” Rocco said. “I talked with him earlier and he brushed me off. Said he’d call back. Something’s up. Hope it’s good.”
“I’ve learned to expect the worst. Fewer surprises,” Dante said. “Order pizza for delivery. Travis and I will be there shortly.”
The three men had once worked closely together. Travis had been a senior field agent when Dante and Rocco came on board ten years ago. Their paths diverged when Travis fast-tracked up the management chain.
Before that, though, they had been a team. Equals. Brothers.
In fact, their original band of brothers had been Travis, Dante, Rocco, and Harry. Harry Gambrel came on right after Dante did, but Travis left the group shortly thereafter. Things seemed to disintegrate after that. As if Travis had been the glue. Or cushion.
When Harry and Rocco bumped heads, fists actually, over a personal matter—damn women—Max Duncan had been brought in to ease the situation. That had been what—three, four years ago?
But Max’s presence hadn’t helped. And when that last disastrous assignment in Southeast Asia had required only a three-man team, Dante had suggested Max replace Harry. Instead, he’d replaced Rocco.
And while the decision to leave Rocco behind had never sat well with Dante, in retrospect he felt grateful. And selfish. But at least Rocco was here now. Truth be told, Rocco was probably a hell of a lot more supportive of finding Max and Harry than Harry would have been in a reverse situation.
Both men carried grudges, but Harry’s had an edge. An edge he’d welcome if the SOB were still alive.
At Key West International Airport, Dante spotted Travis curbside. No luggage, briefcase only. He leaned on a cane.
Travis’s leg had required multiple surgeries after his car accident. Dante could empathize with the physical therapy routine the other man undoubtedly had to endure.
“You look good.” The two men spoke in unison as Dante pulled back out into traffic.
“Liar,” Travis said. “I know exactly how feeble I look. On the other hand, the sun and sand obviously agree with you.”
“They agreed better when I had my boat.”
“You should be grateful you weren’t onboard when she blew.”
Dante glanced sideways. “I’ve had it up to here with the you-should-be’s. It’s bullshit. And the only thing that will make it better is payback.”
“Then I might have a proposition you’ll be interested in. But first fill me in on the whole story. Rocco gave me the two-sentence, what-a-cluster-fuck version.”
As he drove to his apartment, Dante explained the events leading up to the explosion.
Travis nodded. “Rocco mentioned you recovered some evidence. Anything significant?”
“Maybe a piece of the detonator.” At Dante’s new digs the conversation ceased momentarily as they climbed out.
“Describe the detonator,” Travis went on.
“You can see it for yourself inside. We’ve got it bagged.”
“I’ve got a lab that can process it overnight. If it’s what I think it is, we’ll want to move fast—”
Rocco opened the door just then. He pointed at Travis’s cane. “Still not ready for a sprint, I see.”
“Depends. What’s the prize? Man, is that pizza I smell? I skipped breakfast and I’m starved.”
Inside, they each got a plate and piled it high before moving into the living room to eat and talk. The kitchen table was better suited to elves.
Dante waited until Travis had polished off three slices, then he handed him the plastic bag containing the detonator. “Finish what you were saying earlier. If the evidence is what you think it is?”
Travis put on a pair of glasses, then held the bag up, making hmm noises as he studied the contents. “The lab will have to confirm it, but this looks like the same-style detonator used in a bomb that killed two MI6 agents five weeks ago. And a Mossad operative a month before that. Both agencies are sniffing around now.”
Dante had worked with operatives from both the British and the Israeli intelligence services. “Can you get any intel from them?”
“No, and I don’t want to make an inquiry because I’d like to keep this incident off the radar. I’m just not sure how long it will stay that way.”
The reason for Travis’s unannounced visit became clear. Dante grimaced. “You still think there’s a leak.”
“I’ve begun to suspect that my car accident may not have been an accident,” Travis said. “I think someone knew I’d sent Rocco to Bangkok. They might have thought I knew more about your imprisonment than I do.”
Rocco swore, and then turned to Dante. “I think he’s trying to tell you not to take this personally.”
“Actually, you both need to take it very personally,” Travis said. “From what I can tell, you’re the last operatives who worked with Catalina Dion that are still alive. The British and Israeli agents who were killed had also worked with Cat in the past.”
“Worked with her?” Dante asked. “Or slept with her?”
Travis met his gaze and shrugged. “That’s one theory. Except Rocco doesn’t fit the bill.”
“If you’re implying the bomb was meant for both of us,” Rocco said. “That puts a different spin on it.”
“Maybe.” Pulling off his glasses and rubbing his eyes, Travis leaned back in his chair and looked at Rocco. “Our perp could have gotten to Dante anytime over the past four weeks. Anyone know you were coming here?”
“Nada. It was so last minute, I didn’t even tell him.” Rocco tilted his head toward Dante.
“Then your arrival may have been coincidental,” Travis said.
“Is anyone on the suspect list besides Cat Dion?” Dante asked.
“I don’t have a list. Yet. If Cat’s really involved, big if, she’s an underling. But she can lead us to the top dog. That’s where we’ll get answers,” Travis said. “I haven’t discussed my suspicions with anyone inside the Agency, by the way, and I intend to keep it that way. Until you help me find the leak and plug it.” He looked pointedly at Dante.
“Me?” Dante snorted. “The least trusted person at the Agency?”
“I trust you,” Travis said. “And the fact you’re already out of the loop is perfect. I know Rocco has been trying to get you back in, but you’re more valuable to me outside. If Catalina Dion is alive, I want you to find her before MI6 or the Mossad get wind of this. Custody will be everything.”
“I want first crack at questioning her,” Dante said.
“Agreed. What else?”
“I want my passport cleared.”
“You know nothing indicates Max a
nd Harry are alive,” Travis said after a moment’s silence. “And believe me, I’ve exhausted every search option at my disposal.”
“Nothing indicated I was alive either.”
“And I’ll carry that SNAFU to my grave.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Dante said.
Rocco shook his head. “I know exactly how T feels.”
“Do this job first,” Travis went on. “And I’ll make certain that you get a chance to go back to Thailand, with the team of your choice.”
“Agreed,” Dante said. “I want Rocco to work with me on this. For starters, we’ll need the old case files. Anything Cat worked on.”
Grabbing his briefcase, Travis withdrew a sheet of paper. “Look over this list and tell me if I’ve got them all.”
Rocco shifted to read over Dante’s shoulder. “It looks complete to me,” Dante said a few minutes later.
“Your memory’s better than mine,” Rocco said. “I’d forgotten some of them, like that fuckup in Belarus.”
“Interesting you should mention that job. Max and Harry were on that one, too,” Travis noted. “If memory serves me right, I believe Belarus was also the last time Cat worked directly for the Agency.”
Shoving the paper aside, Dante exchanged glances with Rocco and Travis. “Your memory is perfect. Cat was offered another job after that, but she turned it down. Once we slept together, we agreed our personal and business lives had to be separated.”
Chapter 11
Minsk, Belarus
September 29
(Thirty-Four Months Ago)
Surveillance stunk. Dante hated it. Especially on mornings like this when the sun was bright and everyone else in the world was outside. Enjoying themselves. Except him. “Pay no attention to the frozen corpse,” he muttered.
He was holed up, alone—save for his bad attitude—on the second floor of an ancient building that the Agency—through a mind-boggling array of channels—owned under a variety of business fronts. The place was currently being renovated, which meant no heat, no electric.
“No coffee.”
He logged the time, then resumed his watch. Though temperatures were only in the forties, the outside patio of the café directly across the street was crowded. Patrons sat with faces upturned, as if invisible solar panels in their foreheads could absorb the early morning rays, storing up the memory for those times when the sun wouldn’t be seen for weeks.
