Blood Trust jm-3

by Eric Van Lustbader

  “Get up,” she ordered. “Get up now!”

  Instead, he lunged at her. She pulled the trigger.

  * * *

  IMMEDIATELY FOLLOWING his speech to the NAACP at the Kennedy Center, President Crawford headed for the men’s room. This had already been vetted by a member of his Secret Service detail, and was staked out, ensuring no one could enter while the POTUS was doing whatever it was he needed to do in there.

  Everyone, that is, except Henry Holt Carson. The president was not happy when Carson strode into the men’s room.

  Crawford gave him a jaundiced look. “A Secret Service agent. Hank, for the love of God!”

  “Calm down, sir.”

  The president stared at him in the mirror that ran along the wall above the sinks. “I will not fucking calm down. Where in all our planning did we ever contemplate murdering a Secret Service agent?”

  It was a rhetorical question. Carson was quite certain it required no answer, so he kept his mouth shut.

  “And Naomi Wilde, of all people. Damn it, Hank, she was one of our best and brightest. I read the reports of how she handled the crisis in Moscow, how she took charge of your sister-in-law. I’ve spoken with her several times—I knew her.”

  Time for rebuttal, Carson thought. “You and I both know it never would have come up, let alone been on the table. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. Wilde had gotten too close. If McKinsey hadn’t acted, she would have blown us out of the water—”

  “Murder of a federal agent. That’s a capital offense.”

  “—and then where would we be?”

  Crawford ran his hand distractedly through his hair. He seemed incapable of looking directly at Carson, but continued to engage his image in the mirror.

  “This has gotten out of hand, Hank.”

  “As far as anyone is concerned, Naomi Wilde is missing. We’ve neutralized her boss, there is no body. Calm down. We’re almost there.”

  “The hell we are!” The president stopped, suddenly aware that he had raised his voice. “This has got to stop, right here, right now.”

  “You know that’s impossible. We’ve come too far; we’ve crossed the line of no return.”

  “I’m telling you, Hank—”

  “Cheer up, Arlen, the Middle Bay audit is almost complete. When it is, we’ll have what we want.”

  For the moment, the president’s eyes had turned inward, and when he spoke it was as if he was addressing himself. “There’s a line you promise yourself you’ll never cross, because once you do, all is lost.”

  For the first time, Carson spoke sharply. “It pains me to have to remind you that we’re both implicated in the Middle Bay merger. If we don’t complete what we started—if we fail—well, it will be a pretty bleak future for both of us.”

  Crawford’s eyes refocused. Leaning forward, he put his hands on either side of the sink. The skin on his face was pale and slack. Suddenly he looked ten years older. “God in heaven, what this job takes out of you.”

  “There are a lot of people who wonder why anyone would want the burden.”

  “Well, right now, Hank, I’m beginning to think they’re right.” The president sighed. “Okay, so what do we do now?”

  “Clean up the mess McKinsey made.”

  “Don’t speak that name to me ever again!”

  Carson nodded. “As you wish, of course.”

  “When you lie down with fuckers, you’re sure to get fucked,” Crawford said bleakly.

  Carson offered a thin smile. “Leave it to me.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “You don’t want to know, sir.”

  “Tell me anyway.”

  Carson crossed behind the POTUS to the line of urinals, unzipped, and began to pee. “I’m going to cauterize the wound.”

  Crawford opened his mouth, possibly to ask what that specifically meant, then changed his mind. Instead, he turned on the taps, pumped foaming soap from the dispenser, and commenced to wash his hands.

  Carson watched him. Like Lady Macbeth, he thought. But the stink of guilt will never wash off, trust me on that. Finished, he zipped up and joined the POTUS at the sinks, washing and drying his hands.

  “She’s going to be buried with full military honors.”

  Carson coughed. “May I remind you, sir. There is no body.”

  “And you better make sure there won’t be one.” The POTUS shook his head. “Damnit to hell, Hank, what’s gone right today?”

  Patting the POTUS on the back, Carson said, “Buck up, Arlen, you just delivered one helluva speech that’ll put the African-American vote in the bag.”

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  “IS HE dead?”

  “As a doorpost.”

  Heroe closed her eyes. “Shit, shit, shit!”

  “He got a name?”

  “Agent Peter McKinsey, United States Secret Service.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  Heroe looked up at him. The pain in her head was distracting her from what she needed to do. “Do I fucking look like I’m kidding?”

  “Okay, okay. But forget about him, Chief, and just lie back,” the officer said. “I’ve called for an EMS evac chopper. I don’t want to chance taking you back to the mainland in the boat.”

  “Officer, I’m on a grave with two bodies. One of them is McKinsey’s partner. I’m not lying back.”

  “My God,” the officer said, “what the hell is this place?”

  * * *

  THE MOMENT the 737 hit the tarmac and taxied to a stop, Edon Kraja come up to Jack and said, “I want to get off here with you. I need to find my sister. I’m afraid something terrible has happened to her.”

  “I’m sorry, that’s not possible,” Jack said as gently as he could.

  Edon’s eyes welled up with tears. “You don’t understand. The chances are my father is going to sell her to Arian Xhafa.” The girl looked desperate. “Liridona is not like Arjeta and me, she’s the youngest, she doesn’t have the toughness. She’s vulnerable. She’ll crack wide open.”

  “Come with me,” Jack said. He led her to the front of the plane, where they could be alone, and sat her down facing him. “Edon, I have something difficult to tell you.”

  Right away she started to tremble.

  “Arjeta has been found. She’s dead.”

  “Oh, my God, oh, my God…” She was shaking, and her head started to whip back and forth, as if she could somehow negate what had happened.

  Jack took her by the shoulders. “Look at me. Edon, look right here, into my eyes.”

  Slowly, the girl did as he asked.

  “It’s all right,” he said softly. “It’s going to be all right.”

  “How?” she wailed. “How can it possibly be all right?”

  The commotion brought Alli at the run. Jack looked up at her. “I told her.”

  Alli sat down next to Edon and put her arms around her. At once, Edon buried her face in the crook of Alli’s shoulder. She was sobbing inconsolably. Alli stared at Jack.

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “You have to let me go.”

  “Alli, I have you to think about.”

  “And I have Liridona.” She stroked Edon’s head. “Okay, I have a solution. Let’s let Annika decide.”

  “What?” Jack was truly alarmed. “No.”

  “Why not?

  “Because it’s nuts to trust her judgment.”

  “You’ve done it before,” Alli rightly pointed out. “Besides, when has she ever, ever tried to hurt us?”

  He said nothing.

  “You know she’d never let anything happen to either of us.”

  In peace as in war sacrifices must be made, soldiers must fall in order for battles to be won. “In fact, I don’t know that.”

  She cocked her head. “I don’t believe you.”

  “That’s unfair. I’ve never lied to you.”

  “Let’s not talk about unfair, okay? I’ll have Thatë to protect me.” She looked at
him steadily, and all of a sudden she seemed terribly grown-up. “Jack, you can’t protect me every second of my life.”

  “I know that, but I can still make decisions—”

  “From now on I’ll make my own decisions.”

  * * *

  HEROE RESISTED going to the ER, but she’d had no choice. They strapped her to a gurney and choppered her to Walter Reed, but not before she called the ME and gave him orders to get out to Roosevelt Island stat.

  At some point, she must have passed out, because the next thing she knew she was in a hospital bed and Alan Fraine was sitting in a chair beside her. He smiled when he saw she was awake.

  “You took quite a beating.”

  “I gave as good as I got.”

  “Better, I’d say. Much better. You’ll be ready to roll in a couple of hours. Just a few more tests—”

  “Fuck the tests, I don’t need tests. How long have I been out?”

  “A couple of hours, more or less.”

  “Jesus. Any word yet on the cause of Naomi Wilde’s death?”

  His smile quickly faded. “On that score, I’m afraid I have some bad news. The bodies of Wilde, McKinsey, and the unknown vic have been taken from us.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  Fraine sighed. “Nona, I think you know.”

  “The Feds.”

  He nodded. “A whole platoon of them appeared at the island and commandeered the crime scene. Our people were summarily dismissed.”

  “So we have nothing?”

  “Less than nothing.” Fraine couldn’t meet her fiery gaze. “I’ve been given orders to forget the incident ever happened.”

  “Forget? How can I forget—?”

  “Nona, I’m very sorry.” Fraine shook his head. “As of now, you’re on leave.”

  “What? You mean I’m relieved of duty?”

  “I mean you haven’t taken a vacation in, what?”

  “How about never.”

  “Okay, then.” He brightened. “No time like the present.”

  “This is total bullshit,” she said.

  “This is my decision, and it stands.”

  She sat up straighter. “How could you?”

  “Nona, I want you out of harm’s way. Now. Before something really bad happens.” His eyes met hers at last. “I chose column A. Was I wrong?”

  She was so angry sparks should have been shooting out of her eyes. “Alan, this blows.”

  “I hear you.”

  “Scylla and Charybdis.”

  He cocked his head. “This is what comes of being so well read in a dumbed-down world.”

  “Trapped between two monsters. There is no good choice.”

  He shrugged. “Life works that way sometimes.”

  “Tell that to Naomi Wilde.” Her voice had turned savage. “Who’s going to be her advocate? Who’s going to speak up for what was done to her now that it’s going to be swept under the carpet?”

  Fraine leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Nona, listen to me. I understand what you’re feeling—”

  “How can you?” She looked away for a moment. “Sorry. It’s unfair to snap at you.”

  “Nothing about this situation is fair.” He lowered his voice. “There are some very big fish involved in this mess. The best thing for you now is to disappear, at least until it blows over.”

  “Yeah, I could go to Sicily like Michael Corleone.”

  “I’m deadly serious. Nona, you’ve got to forget about Naomi Wilde. You got the guy that killed her. Leave it at that.”

  She looked at him for a long time. She hated the sickly sweet medicinal smell of hospitals. She couldn’t wait to get out of here. At last, she nodded. “Okay, okay. You’ve gotten through to me. I’ll take that long-delayed vacation.”

  “Thank God.”

  She lay back and closed her eyes. “Maybe I’ll head down to New Orleans, see some old friends.”

  “Sounds good.”

  At that moment, two federal suits entered the room. One was Midwestern blond, the other dark-haired, old-school Ivy League.

  “Chief Detective Nona Heroe?” Ivy League said.

  She opened her eyes. “Who wants to know?”

  They both revealed their IDs. They were DoD, not to be trifled with. Fraine rose and immediately realized the gravity of the situation.

  “This can wait until Chief Heroe has fully recovered.”

  Blondie nailed him with a glare. “For our purposes, Chief Heroe is fully recovered.”

  Ivy League brushed past Fraine. “Chief Detective Heroe, you are formally charged with the capital offense of the willful murder of a federal agent. You are hereby directed to come with us immediately.”

  “But—” Fraine began.

  Blondie swung on him. “One more word and you go, too.”

  “No buts,” Ivy League said to Heroe. “No ifs, no ands. Get up now or I do it for you.”

  Heroe rolled out of the bed, gathered up her clothes, and went into the bathroom. As she dressed, she fished out her cell and sent the following text message to Jack: MIDDLE BAY BANCORP. Hurriedly, she continued drawing on her clothes. She was just about to step into her shoes when a rude knocking rattled the door.

  “Let’s go.” She heard Ivy League’s voice. He sounded irritated.

  She opened the door and stepped out. As she brushed past Fraine, she handed off her cell. He gave her a quick look and she gave him a tentative smile back.

  “Don’t worry, Nona,” he said.

  Blondie smirked as he took her into custody. “Those are the last words the condemned always hears.”

  * * *

  “NOT TONIGHT.” Vera wrapped her raincoat around herself.

  Gunn stirred on the bed. “Why is tonight different from any other night?”

  “My medical leave is over.” Vera stepped into the new Louboutins he had bought her. Actually, he’d bought her two pairs. He could be generous like that. “I have to get back onto campus before midnight.”

  Rolling over, Gunn checked the alarm clock on the bedside table. “There’s still an hour and a half.” He wore underpants and nothing else. That’s how he slept.

  “Andy, I don’t want to get into trouble my first night back.” She picked up the shopping bag with the second pair of Louboutins. “Besides, I’m dead tired. Even you’ve got to admit it’s been a long fucking day.”

  He took her hand and began kissing it, rising up her arm. “Tish,” he said with a fake Spanish accent, “you know how your words inflame me.”

  “Poor Gomez,” she said with Morticia’s cool, regal voice. “You’ll just have to take care of yourself tonight.”

  * * *

  OUTSIDE, THE night air refreshed her and she began to walk. The stink of blood and brains remained in her nose, and she snorted like a bridling horse. At a brisk pace, she walked three blocks west, then one block south, where she paused to look around, as if getting her bearings. As she did so, a black Lincoln Town Car appeared around a corner and cruised slowly toward her. She ignored it until it began to slow, then watched as it stopped abreast of her. It had smoked windows, so it was impossible to see inside. The front passenger’s window slid down and the driver, leaning her way, said, “Would a hundred dollars do it, doll?”

  She leaned down. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  The driver shrugged. “Five, then. How about that?”

  “Yeah, how the fuck about it?”

  She pulled on the handle of the rear door, it swung open, and she climbed in. The moment she plunked herself down on the backseat, the Lincoln took off. She noticed that the partition between the front and back was up. It, too, was opaque.

  “How’d it go today?” Henry Holt Carson said from the other side of the seat.

  Vera gave him a vulpine smile. “You know, Daddy, you really are a sonuvabitch.”

  * * *

  JACK WAS briefing Paull on the situation back in D.C.—minus Annika’s involvement—when he received the text messa
ge from Heroe. Reading it, the hairs on his forearms stirred. Middle Bay Bancorp. Could this be the nexus point that linked all the disparate elements together?

  Wondering why Heroe had texted him instead of calling and explaining herself, he punched in her number. The phone rang four or five times before a man’s voice answered.

  “Who’s this?” Jack said.

  “I’d ask the same of you,” the voice said.

  Something was very wrong. “Jack McClure. Where’s Chief Heroe?”

  “This is Alan Fraine, Chief of Police. I’m Chief Heroe’s boss. Unfortunately, Nona has been taken into custody by the Feds. She’s been charged with the murder of Secret Service Agent Peter McKinsey.”

  “What the hell happened?”

  Fraine told him about Heroe’s trip to Roosevelt Island and the discovery of two bodies, one being that of Agent Naomi Wilde.

  Jack’s heart sank. He took a deep breath, steadying himself. “That second body is without doubt Arjeta Kraja, an illegal alien and part of the white slave trade business that Heroe and I and Naomi were investigating. McKinsey was involved in the ring in some way none of us yet understand. But it’s clear that he murdered Naomi Wilde because she got too close to identifying certain individuals connected with the ring.”

  “Your enemies are exceptionally powerful and well connected, Mr. McClure. Nona’s in serious trouble. When it comes to the Feds these days … well, I don’t have to tell you how difficult it will be even getting to talk to her let alone finding her top-flight representation.”

  “Hopefully it won’t come to that. My boss, Dennis Paull, is on his way back to D.C. I want you to hook up with him the moment he steps off the plane and brief him completely. Then I’d like you to compile a list of Middle Bay Bancorp personnel—”

  “Funny you should say that,” Fraine said, “Nona had compiled just such a list. Hold on a moment. Ah, yes, here it is.”

  “Would you read off the names, please?”

  Fraine did. Seventeen names, but none of them rang a bell. Jack wondered what he was missing. “Is there anyone else?”

  “Well, you said bank personnel. As you may know, Middle Bay is in the process of being acquired by InterPublic Bancorp.”

  Henry Holt Carson’s bank. Jack stood still as a statue while his brain, working at the speed of light, placed Carson and InterPublic alongside Middle Bay at the nexus of the conspiracy universe and began to follow the tentacles reaching outward. He was riding this wave of thought so completely that he almost missed what Fraine said next.