by Cat Connor
I rounded up my bizarre thoughts about singing Christmas cards and creepy Santas. Where they came from, I had no idea. Once I’d dispatched the Santas, I determined the card situation was serious and more than likely related to the bombings. Caine must’ve thought so too if he called Misha.
Doug started speaking again. “The Russian, Misha Praskovya, got one too, a few days ago. Someone in his office opened the card … there’s a sticky hole where his assistant and her desk used to be.”
Robin and Batman stepped out of the wall and a speech bubble grew from Robin’s mouth.
I read it aloud. “Holy people-goo, Batman! That’s a job for crime scene cleanup.”
Robin turned to Batman with a theatrical flick of his crusader’s cape, and they ran through the opposite wall.
Mitch suppressed a smile.
Doug’s eyes widened, he wisely ignored my people-goo comment and carried on, “There was a C4 theft in France over a year ago. It’s possibly some of that. We’ll know more when the lab has finished.”
That could take anything from a week to six months. Our laboratory backlogs are legendary and now we had even more pressure on the system. I’d heard about the theft, everyone who had anything to do with security knew about the seventy-eight pounds of missing C4 and the missing detonators, presumed stolen from a depot in Lyon, France. C4 was often the terrorist explosive of choice and especially true if it didn’t contain taggants. This left an explosive with no smell that was hard to detect, stable, shapeable, and super easy to use. Just ask the survivors of Pan Am flight 103, back in nineteen eighty-eight.
Some of the missing French C4 had turned up in IEDs in Afghanistan over the last six months or so, targeting troops and civilians alike. I knew that because the French C4 contained taggants. It conformed to current protocol regarding the marking of plastic explosives.
“The stolen C4 contained taggants.”
“I’ll look into it and make sure.” Doug wrote in his notebook.
“Poke the lab … we need to know if there is a detection taggant in the musical card C4. Because if there is one in there, how did it get through the mail centers and airline screening?”
More writing in his notebook.
“Also, I’m interested in the identification taggant. Let’s find out who manufactured this shit if we can. It might not be the French C4.”
“Anyone got any ideas as to why Misha and I are targets?” A cold sick feeling crawled around my stomach looking for a corner to hide in. It told me my gut was right all along.
This was about us. Why? That was the body-exploding question. Me, sure I can see that. It’s not the first time some fucktard has targeted me, but all of Delta and Misha too?
Doug’s expression turned super-serious and he quietly asked, “You think Hawk could be back? Could he be behind the bombings?”
I willed myself not to smile.
I shook my head. “No.”
“You’re sure?”
“Oh, yeah. Trust me,” I replied.
Very sure, the Abbasi brothers have left the mortal realm.
I had a feeling convincing the FBI that Hawk/Abbasi wasn’t back might prove a problem. I came up with a possible solution.
“I’ll give Caine a call and get together with him to go over the possibilities,” I said. Mitch gave another minute shake of his head. Yep, supposed to be resting. I got it. I can do this. I’m good here.
“Delta C reopened the file on Hawk/Abbasi,” Doug informed me. He sounded as if there was no doubt Hawk was responsible. Wrong. This isn’t about Hawk. Dead men don’t exact revenge.
“Director O’Hare know?” I oozed nonchalance as I spoke, while leaning my head back and trying not to let the pain take over.
“I wouldn’t think so.”
She will as soon as I can get hold of her. Apart from me, she was the only other person from our agency present that day to witness his demise. I moved in some scary circles at times
I had a few things that needed taking care of and a call to O’Hare was now first on my list.
“My money’s on Semtex for these explosions,” I said, more to myself than to Doug.
“Could be,” Doug replied. “We haven’t had anything back from the ballistics lab yet. Still sifting through wreckage at all the sites except the Navy Yard. Let me check.” He made a call while I thought about Semtex and where it could be sourced.
“Ellie?” Doug’s voice reverberated. “There were no markers in the Navy Yard explosion. None. It wasn’t C4.”
Or maybe it was old, pre-marking. Or maybe it was manufactured especially for someone without any taggant at all.
“Dogs found a small amount of explosive at the Hard Rock Café …” Thoughts spilled from my mouth unchecked. “Whoever is doing this could be using a mixture of older Semtex and newer stuff. If you wanted a bomb found … you’d give clues and use something the sniffer dogs could find. Decoy. If you wanted to kill people and cause utter fucking chaos and had access to older stock of Semtex, you’d use that, right?”
Doug nodded.
The room tilted to the left, knocking the conversation out of my head. I watched my words fall to the floor and melt into small puddles. They shone like liquid silver. In one of the silver puddles, I saw Mitch’s reflection. A vibration disturbed the pool. His image blurred. My eyes searched and found him, standing at the end of my bed.
He took my breath away.
Mitch looked worried. Made me wonder why. His head turned as if he was looking at someone else for a moment. He spoke but I couldn’t see the words, they flew away from me. Maybe we weren’t alone?
Then I heard him. His hand touched my arm. I felt myself relax.
“El? You okay? Did you hear Doug?”
“No. Yes. What?”
It took a great deal of effort to drag my mind back to the present situation, concentration a deliberate act.
“Did you hear Doug?” Mitch’s voice was gentle but firm.
“No.” I struggled to remember why Doug was in the room. Bits and pieces of our conversation came back. “Gimme a minute.” I breathed as deeply as I could while the missing pieces jumped into a scrabble tray. All of a sudden, they were little yellow ducks. It was impossible not to smile as my ducks lined up. “Okay, my ducks are in a row, continue Doug.”
“There have been some rumblings about that woman Delta A rescued,” Doug said without question. “An anonymous tip came in a few days ago, it was only just now deemed of interest.”
Not surprising – a lot of things are of interest now we have acts of terror inside D.C. A duck quacked.
“I’m listening …”
“The tip-off suggested she isn’t Croatian.”
The room revolved. I heard Cher singing ‘Woman’s World.’ Confused, I listened to the lyrics as the song played, complete with images rolling past my eyes. I might be strong enough to rise above being torn up, busted, and taken apart but I suspected someone wasn’t. A woman? The woman? The revolving increased. With a bang, the room stopped dead and flattened. Inked thick black lines appeared around everything in the room. A comic strip enveloped me. The glass door opened and Chance sauntered into the room.
“You okay?” he said, perching on my bed.
“What do you think?”
He grinned. “I think you’re lucky.”
“What do you know, Chance?”
“I know she’s not Croatian. Explore Czech Republic or Slovakia as options. And that she’s being used by someone set on revenge.”
“Seriously? That’s not just my drug-addled brain?”
“Sorry, Ellie. It’s the truth.” He glanced sideways. “But what’s with the ducks?” I followed his gaze. Little yellow rubber ducks all in a row.
“At least they’re in a row,” I muttered. “How am I supposed to announce the woman might be Czech or Slovak and is somehow being used by someone?”
He grinned. “It’s you, you’ll figure it out. You have to. You need to get them looking in the right
direction.”
“You know I have a head injury, right?”
“Probably accounts for the ducks,” he replied. “You can do this.”
Chance grinned and faded into the background. The color faded, the black lines ran, then spiraled into the ground.
“Ellie?”
I cleared my vision and focused on Mitch’s voice.
“Yes.”
“Okay?”
“Yes.”
She was a Czech or Slovak and Chance was back again. Completely normal. Yep. Completely normal.
I tended toward Czech, simply because the card came from the Czech Republic. My gut agreed. To be honest, it would probably agree with anything. It hadn’t been fed for what seemed like days. It occurred to me that realizing I hadn’t eaten meant I felt better.
“I want someone to do a thorough background on the woman, she might be Czech. She might also have some kind of link to us,” I said to Doug.
“Czech?” Doug questioned. “A link?”
“Humor me, Doug.” Sometimes I even surprise myself. Some random facts jumped to mind. “I happen to know there are about a hundred and twenty thousand pounds of unmarked Semtex still in Czech armories. Their security can be a bit shit.”
“I’ll get on it, Ellie. When are you expecting Davenport and Jackson back?”
“Any time now, I think.” I glanced at Mitch, who nodded. I was right. Good. “You better get back, Doug. Thanks for the heads up and for helping us out.”
“We’re all in this together, Ellie. I’ve never seen agencies pull together like they are right now.”
Good to know.
I watched Doug leave before I asked Mitch for my phone and called Cait O’Hare.
“It’s me. They’re re-opening the Hawk case.”
“I’ll have it quashed. How you doing?”
“I’m okay and thank you.” I had another question. “Did you know Misha and I were both sent exploding cards?”
“No. I did not.”
“Shit just got way closer to home.” Having the war so close made it that much harder to deal with.
“Was close enough to start with. What do you need?”
“A body that isn’t so banged up. To get out of this hospital. To go back to work.”
I heard the amusement in her voice. “You’re too like me for your own good. Work from your hospital bed if you have to but do not leave until you’re discharged. Got it?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Kurt is to stay with you. As soon as we get some spare bodies I’ll assign a security detail.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need protecting.”
Cait laughed. “It’s like looking in a mirror.”
She hung up.
Mitch took my phone and put it out of reach. His eyes met mine, a fire burned deep within me.
“Enough. You need to rest,” he said.
Probably, but that wasn’t what I wanted. Not at all what I wanted.
“No, I need … I want …” I chewed my lip. The state I was in I doubted it was even possible. Kurt’s pain relief cocktail had blurred the edges of reality. Something else popped into my head and momentarily overrode my desire. “I have a question.”
“Let’s hear it.”
“Did you see someone walk in while Doug was here and sit on the bed and talk to me?”
“No. It was you, Doug, and me. No one came in.”
“Okay, good.” I didn’t want to question why Mitch couldn’t see Chance. “Moving right along. You’re a little too far away and wearing way too many clothes …”
“Really?”
I smiled. “That was supposed to be inside my head, it wasn’t was it?”
“Nope.” Mitch smiled. “You need rest.”
Mitch closed the glass door. Beyond the glass, the ICU was a hive of activity. I was a prisoner in a goldfish bowl. A tired prisoner with a mind that wouldn’t stop thinking about being alone with Mitch. Alone. Mitch pulled the curtains then disappeared to the other side of the curtain with a piece of paper in his hand. I heard the door open and then close. A few minutes later Mitch reappeared smiling.
“We won’t be disturbed for an hour. I told the staff you’re resting and want to be left alone. I told Kurt too, he’s not far away. But he won’t come in, think he’s pleased you’re actually resting.” He dimmed the light, by turning off the main lights and dimming the light above the bed.
I smiled. “Thank you.”
“Don’t mention it …”
I blinked, he sounded so much like Chance.
“Mitch?”
“Yep, last time I looked,” he replied, as his fingers wrapped around mine. “All right?”
I wanted to put my arms around his neck, lose myself in his touch and forget everything.
“Yes.”
I was higher than the clouds. It was possible that none of this was real. But I wanted and needed to be lost with him.
Mitch sat down at my side, his legs stretched out beside mine. I could feel the heat from his body through the covers.
His eyes shone in the dimmed light. Mitch’s lips hovered a fraction above mine. I wanted to reach up and pull him closer but my left arm was uncooperative. He kissed me softly.
“Rest. I’ll be right here.”
My head rested on Mitch’s chest. He held me close.
“If I keep talking I think I can get you to fall asleep,” he said, his fingertips stroked my arm.
“Maybe.”
Breathing in his warm scent, wrapped in safe arms. I listened as he talked. His voice low and soft, lulling me to sleep. My eyes closed. I could hear his breathing, his voice, the warmth in his words as they flowed, washing over me. Filling the crevices of my mind with smiles and laughter, and nothing else mattered.
Twenty-Seven
Angel Of Death
I woke to the sound of deep voices rumbling around the room like thunder in a spring storm. Aware that Mitch was still next to me in the bed, I didn’t move. I didn’t want to move.
He was talking. I could feel the vibrations of his voice. My head still lay on his chest.
Nice.
The rumbling around me sounded like Sam, Lee and Kurt all comparing notes.
“All right there, Conway?” Kurt asked.
“Yep. What’s happening?”
“You missed most of the briefing. We have a few names for you. Think you might find them interesting,” Sam said.
A duck quacked. I couldn’t see a duck.
“Names, give ’em to me.”
“You want to sit up a bit and take part?” Kurt asked.
Did I? Not really. Well, no, I did but I didn’t want to sit up. I was comfortable and for the first time in what felt like days was not in pain.
“No, I’m good. Names?”
“Trudi Welsh and Susan Hollows,” Lee said.
Ah, crap.
“What about Danni Lane?”
“Her name never came into it,” he replied.
“And Welsh and Hollows did what exactly in relation to the heads in New Zealand and what we’re dealing with here?”
“Trudi Welsh was the crew member paid to ensure the heads were in the cargo and not on the manifest. We traced the money back to Susan Hollows.”
“Okay, they’re the same people we’ve dealt with here? New Zealand citizens here on a research trip with Danni Lane?”
“You tell me,” Lee said, handing Mitch his phone. “Gallery, NZ folder.”
Mitch found the photos. He showed me. Impossible.
“That’s from the ship?” I asked. I was looking at a head shot of Trudi Welsh.
“Yes. Crew records.”
“How? She’s here.”
“She wasn’t on the ship when it sailed. She was supposed to be but never showed.”
“She was an actual crew member? The captain knew her, other crew members knew her?”
“That’s where it gets interesting.”
“It’s pretty freaking interesting already
…”
“Four crew members swore they knew her and that she had worked on the ship for two years.”
“Four? Two years and only four crew knew her?”
“Most of the crew was new. The four who knew her had been on the ship for six or seven years.”
“And?”
“They were paid to vouch for her.” Sam grinned and rocked on his heels. “We’re good at what we do.”
I flicked to the next picture and sighed.
“And Susan Hollows?”
“It looks like she transferred the money from an account in Switzerland. She was never in Indonesia, as far as we can tell. In fact, as far as we can tell, neither of them were ever there. Still waiting for confirmation from Interpol about the Swiss account and if Hollows has ever traveled to Switzerland and if she has an account with the bank in question.”
I needed a fully functional brain and body. The case just twisted the shit out of itself.
“Well, fuck.” I moved against Mitch trying to sit up a little.
“Hold on, I’ll help,” he said reaching for the bed controls. “How far?”
“Sixty degrees.”
The bed moved slowly and with it a wave of pain. My breath caught in my throat.
Mitch stopped the bed moving. “That’s far enough. Okay now?”
I exhaled with care. “Yeah.” I looked up. Kurt was on his feet reading my chart. He glanced at me over the clipboard.
“I’ll get you something for that,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“And here’s me thinking I’d tango down the corridor …”
He left.
Mitch chuckled. “Tango?”
“I tango.” I replied with a smile. I do a lot of things. I turned my attention away from Latin American dances and back to work. “Sam, did Faye have anything to say about the women?”
“If you’re ready to hear the rest?” Sam replied opening his notebook.
“Tell me.”
“Susan Hollows and Trudi Welsh are New Zealand citizens and volunteer firefighters with the NZ Fire Service. Trudi is a Station Officer and Susan a senior Fire Fighter. They have day jobs as well. No criminal records not even speeding tickets. Danni Lane is a NZ citizen but there was very little information about her. Fay found a record of her holding a Private Investigators license but nothing to say she worked as a PI.”
