by Dee Davis
“Oh, my God.” Tyler blew out a breath, her heart still racing.
“I know,” Hannah said. “But there’s more. Seems Smithwick called his old friend several times, the first occurring three days before your dad requested your presence on the transport team and the last the morning of the day he died. How’s that for connecting the dots?”
CHAPTER 14
Boulder, Colorado
So what have you got?” Owen asked, juggling his cell phone as Tyler signaled she was going inside the minimart to pay.
They’d flown from D.C. almost as soon as Hannah had given them Smithwick’s location. It had been everything they could do to convince Mark to stay put. The man was almost as single-minded as his sister. But he’d finally agreed to stay behind and help make final arrangements for Della and the general. And he’d also be available if they needed something else from Tyler’s father’s house.
So now all that was left was tracking down Smithwick and making him talk—with a little help from Harrison, they hoped.
“Quite a bit, actually,” Harrison said, after an aside to Hannah. “I hope you know we’re working our asses off up here.”
“At least no one’s shooting at you,” Owen countered.
“Well, I guess there is that.” Harrison chuckled. “Anyway, I’m afraid Mr. Smithwick has some serious problems.”
“The kind that might tempt one to sell state secrets.”
“Unfortunately so,” Harrison acknowledged. “His wife has stage-four colon cancer.”
“That’s not good.” Owen frowned, waving away Tyler’s attempt to interrupt. “But I’m not seeing the temptation to turn traitor.”
“Well, apparently, none of the traditional approaches were working for Mrs. Smithwick. So her doctor prescribed a controversial new chemical cocktail instead. The drugs individually have all been approved but this particular mix is too new to have made it past the FDA.”
“Let me guess,” Owen said. “It’s illegal.”
“No, just off the books. Which makes it expensive. Close to a hundred grand a treatment.”
“That’s absurd. No drug should cost that much.”
“Yes, well, I don’t suppose you can put a price on a life. Anyway, the point is that she’s been receiving the new treatments on and off for just over a year now.”
“So Smithwick’s budget is stretched really thin,” Owen said, anticipating Harrison’s next words.
“Actually, more like tapped out. He stopped making payments to the hospital four months ago. So, as you can imagine, the money owed has been climbing, to the point where the hospital refused to continue treatment.”
“Let me guess,” Owen said, “suddenly the payments resumed?”
“About two weeks ago.”
“Just before the detonators disappeared. Have you been able to identify the source of his windfall?”
“Not specifically, but Hannah managed to get hold of his bank records, and starting about the time the payments resumed there were three cash deposits made, totaling close to a million dollars.”
“Nice payday. And a pretty solid motive. Sounds like we’ve found a key piece of the puzzle. Anything else I should know?”
“Only that Smithwick hasn’t been in to work for the better part of the week. They figured he was taking care of his wife. Anyway, we’ve done our part, now it’s up to you and Tyler.”
“We’re in Boulder now. We just got petrol. So assuming our directions are accurate, we ought to be there shortly.”
“Hannah’s insisting that I ask you about Tyler. How’s she holding up? They’re all really worried about her here.”
Owen could see her through the store’s windows, discussing something with the clerk as she paid. “Tell them she’s fine. She’s a strong woman. And right now she’s focused on finding the people responsible for killing her father. It’s keeping her going—for now.”
“And have you had the chance to check in with your boss?” Harrison said, leaving no doubt who he was referring to.
“Not since last night, but between the two of us, I think he’s having a little trouble seeing the forest for the trees. He’s so bent on taking down A-Tac, I’m not sure he’s really getting the bigger picture.”
“But you are?” It was clear that Harrison had his doubts about Logan, and now he was feeling his way with Owen.
“Seeing the whole thing? I’m doing the best I can. Unfortunately, until we have more answers there’s no way to prove Logan right or wrong. So anything we’ve got is just supposition, although I’ll admit Tyler’s father seems to have been in it up to his neck.”
“And if he is, then it follows that Tyler is as well?” It was a question, not a statement, and for some reason Owen found that he was pleased that Harrison hadn’t jumped onto Logan’s bandwagon. “I don’t know. The circumstantial evidence is certainly there. But, Harrison, she’s really been shaken up by all of this. And I was there last night when someone took a shot at her. Hell, the more we dig the murkier it seems to get. So keep your eyes open, my friend. And watch your back.”
“Will do. You be careful, too.”
“Count on it. I’ll check in as soon as we know anything more.” He snapped the phone closed, watching as Tyler walked back across the parking lot.
She moved with the ease of a woman comfortable in her own skin. There were circles under her eyes, part and parcel of her grief, but her eyes were clear, her stance determined. There was a fire there he recognized. A zeal to separate the wheat from the chaff. To separate good from evil. A noble pursuit. One he’d believed in once upon a time.
That is, until he’d figured out that sometimes it was damn near impossible to tell the difference between the two.
“Mr. Smithwick?” Tyler asked, stepping back as a man opened the front door.
The years hadn’t been kind to her father’s friend. His skin was pallid, his face bloated from too little sleep and probably one too many stiff drinks, although, considering the situation with his wife, perhaps his looking haggard was understandable. Not to mention the fact that he was most probably guilty of treason. That kind of thing had a way of wearing on one’s soul.
“Can I help you?” he asked, his gaze shooting from Tyler to Owen and then back to her again, a flicker of alarm cresting in his eyes.
“We’re here to talk to you about my father,” she said, careful to keep her tone friendly. They’d agreed in the car to try for a low-key approach. “Zachary Hanson.”
The man visibly paled. “I heard about his death. It’s tragic. But why would you want to talk with me? It was a robbery, right?” Thanks to timely intervention by the powers that be, the press had been convinced that the murders were the result of a robbery gone bad.
“That’s what the papers say,” Owen said, “but we’re not as sure. And we’re hoping that you can help us. We believe you were one of the last people to talk with the general.”
“I’m afraid now isn’t really a good time.” He edged back from the door and would have managed to close it except that Owen managed to get a foot inside.
“We’re really not prepared to take no for an answer,” he said, lifting his jacket to expose his gun.
Smithwick blanched but released his hold on the door.
“You’re the only one who can help us find the people who did this to my father,” Tyler said, holding out the photograph of the two of them. “You saved his life once. And I don’t for a minute believe that you meant for this to happen. We just need your help.”
Smithwick opened his mouth to refuse them, but then his eyes fell to the snapshot in her hand. With a sigh, his shoulders sagged, and he stepped back from the door, gesturing them inside.
The house was dark, draperies drawn, newspapers and half-eaten takeout littering almost every available surface. It was clear that Smithwick’s life didn’t consist of much more than subsisting. Despite the circumstances, Tyler felt a wave of sympathy for the man. No matter what he’d done, his wife’s illness wa
sn’t an invention.
“You look like your father,” Smithwick said, as he cleared away the clutter to make room for them to sit at the dining room table. “I can see it in your eyes and your smile. Your dad was a good friend.” A wave of sadness washed across his face. “Sometimes I wish we could go back to those times, when we were young and anything was possible.”
“You were in the middle of a war,” Owen reminded him, his mouth drawn into a disapproving line.
“Yeah, well.” Smithwick shrugged, his gaze falling to an abandoned pizza box on the floor. “It’s all relative, isn’t it?”
“Look, Mr. Smithwick,” Tyler began.
“Call me Smitty, that’s what your dad called me.” His tone was almost hopeful, as if somehow by using that name he could wash away all the horrible truths.
“Okay,” she said, struggling for the right approach. “But before we go any further, you should know that we’re not just here for my father.”
“I know,” he nodded. “You’re here on behalf of the CIA. I know what you do, Ms. Hanson.”
“Tyler,” she offered. “And if you know that, then you won’t be surprised to find out that we know about your wife’s illness, and the financial problems resulting from the cost of her treatment. We also have bank records that prove that almost a million dollars was recently deposited into three separate bank accounts. All of them yours. And all of the money was deposited in cash.”
He shook his head in protest, but she raised her hand, Owen shifting so that he could easily reach his gun.
“We also have phone records showing that you called my father at least three times. Once two weeks before the detonators you designed were stolen, and then again just a few days before my father asked that I be part of the transport. And as Owen mentioned at the door, we know you called him the morning he died.”
“I didn’t—”
“Don’t bother denying it, I have the records right here.” Tyler pulled the copy of the LUDs Hannah had faxed her and dropped them on the table.
“I wasn’t going to deny it. I was going to say that I didn’t know that I was putting him in danger.”
“But you knew you were putting me in harm’s way, which is almost the same thing, isn’t it?”
“They promised me they wouldn’t hurt you,” he rushed to assure her, then stopped as he realized what he’d done.
“So, we were right, you were the one who leaked the information about the time and location of the transport.”
“You don’t understand. I had to do it.”
“To save your wife,” Owen said. “We get that.”
“They offered me money, yes. And I was tempted to take it. The hospital was refusing treatment, and it was our only hope. But Vivianne wouldn’t let me. She said it was wrong. That it was blood money. So against my better judgment, I turned them down.”
“But clearly you changed your mind,” Tyler suggested. “We saw the deposits.”
“It wasn’t me. It was them. They threatened to kill Vivianne if I didn’t do what they wanted. You have to believe me; I didn’t have a choice.”
“That’s exactly what my father said. That he had to help. Because it was a debt of honor. That’s why you sent him the Bronze Star, wasn’t it? To remind him what he owed you.”
Smitty looked down at his hands, his face tightening with emotion. “I asked him first. On the phone. But he refused to help me. He acted as if he didn’t know who I was.”
“That’s because he was sick, Smitty,” Tyler said, fighting a surge of anger. “He had Alzheimer’s. If your call came on a bad day, there was no way he could remember you.”
“Oh, God.” Smitty shook his head, his face crumpling as he considered the fact. “I didn’t know. Look, you have to understand, I was desperate, and I knew that the medal would remind him that he owed me. It never occurred to me that something was wrong. I just needed him to agree to arrange for you to be part of the transport team.”
“Why?” Tyler asked, still fighting against her anger. Whatever the reason, this man had cost her so much. “Why me?”
“I don’t know,” he said, his eyes brimming with tears. “I swear to you, I don’t. They just told me to find a way to get you on the team. And if I didn’t they… they’d kill Vivianne. You have to understand, she was my whole world.”
“Was?” Tyler asked, her anger vanishing in the wake of his obvious anguish.
“Yes,” he said. “Vivianne died yesterday. We waited too long. The cancer had taken hold again. The doctors said there was nothing to be done. And now, she’s gone. And everything I did—I did for nothing.”
“Then help us stop the people who did this, Smitty,” she begged. “Tell us what you know.”
“I only wish I could. But there’s nothing to tell. I never talked to anyone in person. Everything was dead drops and email. A blind account. I tried to trace it once, but it just doubled back to me.”
“But you said they threatened your wife,” Owen probed. “Surely there had to have been something more direct than just email.”
“Yes. There was.” He nodded, chewing on his bottom lip. “When we resumed the treatments, Vivianne had to be admitted to the hospital. And whoever these people are, they managed to gain access to her room and tamper with her medications. They could have killed her. But they used it as a warning instead. A way to prove they could get to us, even in the security of the hospital. Don’t you see, there was nowhere for us to hide.” He laced his fingers together, his thumbs moving nervously. “So I did what they asked. I gave them the information about the transport. And I used the medal to get your father to help me pull you into it.”
“And everything was done by email?”
“Yes. Or instant message. With the occasional dead drop. You know—things taped under a park bench, or with a key to a locker at the bus station. That’s how I got the money.”
“In three installments.”
“Yes.”
“Do you have the bags the money was in?”
“No.” He shook his head, regret coloring his expression. “I burned them. Just as they told me to.”
“What about your computer? Do you still have a record of the emails?” Owen asked, his frustration evident as he gripped the edge of the table.
Smitty shook his head. “I had them. But two days ago when I turned on my computer it wouldn’t boot. There was power, but nothing else. The hard drive had been wiped clean. I tried everything I could think of, but it was all gone. All of the emails. All my data. All my research.” It was evident that the latter upset him the most, the importance of tracking down the culprits clearly not registering.
“There were three payments,” Tyler mused. “Were they specific for work done?”
“Yes.” Smitty nodded. “The first was for giving them the timetable and the second was for getting you on board.”
“And the third payment?” Owen asked.
“That was for giving them my schematics. The blueprint for using the detonators in conjunction with a suitcase nuke.”
“But I thought all work on nuclear weapons had been banned?” Tyler frowned.
“It was,” Smitty sighed. “At least in theory. But scientific curiosity isn’t as easily eliminated. And as the work in nanotechnology became more advanced I became interested in the possibility of designing something new. Something better. All of it theoretical, mind you. Until the government got wind of my work. That’s when I was invited to join the team here in Boulder.”
“The U.S. government sanctioned your work on a miniature nuclear weapon?” Tyler asked.
“Not politically, no. That would be international suicide. But, if you’re asking if they played a part in what I was doing, the answer is yes. They funded it—discreetly. Along with the British.” He cut a look in Owen’s direction. “The project for the detonators was meant as a smoke screen. The real research was the weapon itself.”
“But there were no nuclear weapons on the transport,” Tyler said.
“I checked them myself.”
“I told you, the work was theoretical. We weren’t building the bomb, just designing it. The detonators came out of that research.”
“And because there was a practical use for them without political consequence, you actually manufactured prototypes.”
“Right. And that’s what you were transporting.”
“But the people who stole them wanted more than just the detonators?”
“Yes. They wanted the plan and schematics I’d developed for the bomb. The detonators were just icing on the cake. I held on to the plans until they paid me for everything else. Anyway, the reality is that now, thanks to me, they have everything they need to build and detonate a suitcase nuke.”
“And you believe this was their overall goal?” Tyler asked.
“I have nothing to substantiate the idea except what they told me, but yes, I believe they’re planning to build a bomb.”
“Jesus, man,” Owen said with a scowl, “what were you thinking?”
“I wasn’t.” The older man shook his head. “I was just trying to save my wife.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Tyler said, holding up a hand. “There are more important things to worry about than what you’ve done. If there is a bomb, that raises the stakes exponentially. Whoever these people are, they’re playing hardball. They’ve already killed my father. And they’ve tried to kill me.” She waited for the significance to sink in.
“You think they’ll try to take me out, as well,” Smitty said.
“They’ve already managed to wipe out your computer,” Owen agreed. “Tyler’s right, they’re eliminating loose ends. And you’re a liability.”
“It isn’t safe for you here.”
“But this is my home,” he said, waving his arm at the dilapidated room.
“It won’t do you much good if you’re dead,” Owen said. “Besides, there’s still the matter of your giving up government secrets. I’m afraid we can’t just leave you here.”
Smitty sighed with a resigned nod, pushing away from the table. “I suppose not. I knew that sooner or later this would all catch up to me. It’s not like it’s something that can be whitewashed away. And now that Vivianne’s gone, it doesn’t even matter. The truth is that there’s nothing left for me here, anyway. I just wish I had something more to give you.”
