by JP Ratto
“Okay, I can now vividly understand your concern. Of course, we won’t allow the product to be handed off. We only need the thief to lead us to the drop.”
“How do you know Brandon will be there?”
“We don’t.”
“I don’t like it.” Celeste leaned against the back of her chair and folded her arms across her breast. “This is a deadly product, and I’m not comfortable with your wait-and-see-where-it-leads plan.”
“We have no other choice if Gates’s grandson is to be recovered alive.”
“I understand, but I have a responsibility to avoid a catastrophe.” Celeste finished her wine, and a waiter was at the table in seconds to serve another.
I also wanted to avoid a disaster. “What about switching Windstorm with a decoy before the theft?”
Boxer relaxed and seemed to mull it over. Based on our initial conversation, I was surprised by her reservations that I would be able to thwart the spread of a plague and rescue Brandon. Maybe it was my ego rearing its swollen little head.
“Lucas, let’s say I agree with the plan to use a decoy. How would you proceed?”
“You agree the theft is an inside job. Correct?”
She took time to consider and then nodded. “Yes, and I’m the only one I trust to make the switch.”
“Perhaps it would be a good idea if I were there when you did that.”
Celeste raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust me?”
“Just a precaution. You have an objection?”
“No, not really. I’ll do it tomorrow before any of the staff comes in. You can meet me at the lab.”
“Sounds good. We’ll need to know the whereabouts of all your employees until the theft takes place. I have to know who the thief is—he’s the one who can lead me to Brandon.”
Shaking her head, Boxer sat back in her chair and scoffed. “ADL is not a prison. We don’t keep tabs on all our employees throughout the day. The only areas under twenty-four hour surveillance are the labs. If we arbitrarily implement more security, whoever is planning to steal the product will know we’re on to them.”
She had a point. “Then we need to narrow down the list.”
“Yes. And that shouldn’t be too hard since the number of people who have regular access are few. Still, it’s only you and I, and we can’t be everywhere. In fact, you shouldn’t be visible at all.”
“That’s true, and I plan to keep a low profile that day. In any case, I’ve already made a list. There are two people on it.”
“Just two?” Celeste asked. “That’s impressive. Who are they?”
“One is the new technician in lab six, Alexander Hoffman.”
“Because he’s new? You think he was planted at ADL as part of a plan to steal Windstorm?”
“Yes, that’s a real possibility.” I folded my arms on the table and leaned in toward Celeste. “But he’s not my favorite in this race.”
“Really? So who’s your money on?”
“Robert Vilari.”
***
We finished our entree, a superb sautéed Dover sole, and instead of coffee and dessert, Celeste suggested we move our party of two down to the hotel’s subterranean bar. While she settled onto a scarlet upholstered corner banquette surrounded by caricatures of D.C.’s political elites, I ordered drinks from the bartender. A pear martini for her and a scotch for me.
As we drank, I noted the soft light cast from the ornate white and gold ceiling onto the red walls made for more of a romantic setting than a discussion of national security.
I found it amusing that for the second time in a few short months I’d had a business relationship with a smart, beautiful woman. On the opposite end of the spectrum from Celeste Boxer, who did nothing to hide her sensuality, Madeline Grange was all business when I first met her. Dressed in her uniform, buttoned to the neck, thick red hair pulled back from her face, she exuded authority. It was a pleasant accomplishment to break through her tough exterior to the warm, caring person inside.
“What has you smiling?” Celeste asked.
I raised my glass. “Good scotch.”
“And the company?”
“Excellent.”
“Liar,” Celeste said, smiling into her drink.
Woman’s intuition never ceases to amaze me.
Trying to keep to light conversation, considering the dire nature of the theft of a lethal toxin and the kidnapping of a young man, was difficult. I laid out my plan to enlist the help of a trusted former Delta comrade. She listened and made no objection. When she excused herself to go to the ladies’ room, I called Mac and asked him to meet us at the bar.
Twenty minutes later, Celeste finished her drink and our conversation abruptly halted. She peered at something behind me, her expression a mix of concern and pleasure. I turned to see Mac sauntering toward us.
“Don’t worry,” I told Celeste, “I can guarantee he’s up to the task.”
“Hmmm, I have no doubt.”
Over six feet and fit with roguish good looks, I viewed Mac as the ladies might for the first time since I’d known him. He approached the table and shook my hand, his eyes on Celeste as he did so.
“Mac, this is Celeste Boxer, CEO of ADL. Celeste, Gerard McFadden. Call him Mac.”
Celeste held out her hand. “A pleasure, Mac. Please sit and join us.”
Before sitting, Mac glanced at the bar and at our empty glasses. “I’ll grab a drink first. Can I get you another pear martini, Ms. Boxer? Holt, are you drinking Scotch?”
“I’m good, Mac, thanks.”
“No, thank you,” said Boxer.
Mac got himself a beer and slid into the banquette next to Celeste. I smiled, thinking it wasn’t taking him long to make his moves. If this had been more than a business meeting between Celeste and me, I would have had to take Mac outside for a talk.
I brought Mac up to speed. Once we had the plan down pat and the conversation once more drifted to chitchat, Celeste rose to leave. Mac gallantly helped her with her coat and offered to see her outside. She declined, bid us goodbye, and left. Mac watched her go. “She’s beautiful and intelligent—not your type,” I teased.
He wasn’t amused and snorted into his beer glass. “Dangerous combination, anyway.” Giving me a serious look, Mac shook his head. “You know Gates is not going to be too keen on this plan.”
“It’s the only way to find out where Brandon is. There’s no time to plant someone inside or do a thorough investigation of the staff. I had to go with my gut instinct. This is a time-sensitive, barebones operation.”
“The commander would never have sanctioned a mission so full of holes if we were back in Iraq or anywhere. What if the thief gives us the slip? Then the delivery is made and there’s no guarantee they release Brandon.”
“You and I will have the place covered.”
“Since you’ve met our prime suspect and have been seen in the building, let me tail him.” Mac leaned back and laid his arm on the top of the banquette. “If you’re spotted, you’ll spook him.”
“Okay, I’m good with that.”
Mac stared past me. Something was on his mind.
“Any other concerns?” I asked.
“Just one. What if Vilari is not your guy?”
Chapter 21
Robert Vilari sat at his desk, curtains drawn, trying to pour coffee from an empty urn. Did I drink the entire pot?
It was late and he should have been home hours ago. He returned his attention to a presentation for the DOD on why the comprehensive approach ADL had taken was best. He found it difficult to focus, given that in two days he was going to steal Windstorm.
Vilari rose and walked to the window. He parted the curtains. The road below, lit by the glow of streetlamps, was empty and glistened with moisture from intermittent rain. The bare branches of trees shivered in the wind. Vilari wrapped his arms around himself and longed for the island beaches of Aruba, where he and his family had spent what might have been their last vacation tog
ether.
Maybe he won’t call. It would be a miracle if it were canceled. He sat at his desk and opened the bottom drawer. The burner phone blinked and vibrated. Shit.
Vilari answered it. “Hello?”
Abboud’s strident voice responded, “Is something wrong? You should have that phone available in the event I call. I have been trying to reach you for thirty minutes!”
“I apologize. The phone was on silent while I was working. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you.”
“We have moved up the schedule. You must be ready.”
“Ready? When?”
“Tonight.”
Bile rose in Vilari’s throat and his body shivered with nerves. Tonight. “But why? I wasn’t expect—”
Abboud cut in, “No questions, Dr. Vilari.”
“But I don’t understand. I’m not prepared.”
Vilari could hear Abboud’s impatient sigh. He was glad the man was thousands of miles away.
“New developments dictate, and you have no choice but to be ready. Listen carefully. I don’t want to have to repeat anything.”
“Yes, go ahead,” Vilari whispered.
“Go downstairs, leave the building. Turn left. There is a black sedan. Under the passenger-side rear wheel is an envelope. Get it. Do it now and call me back.” Abboud hung up.
That was the moment, Vilari would remember later, when the night closed in and dread choked him.
***
Following Abboud’s instructions, Vilari retrieved the envelope and returned to his office. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it on the couch. Sweat bled into the cotton pores of his shirt. Ripping off his tie, he undid the top buttons.
He took the crumpled envelope from his pants pocket and tore it open. A keycard fell out. The plastic ADL security card belonged to Alexander Hoffman. He remembered Holt’s questions about the lab technician and it made him uneasy. Upon closer examination, Vilari could tell the card was a duplicate. The image of Hoffman, who bore a resemblance to Vilari, was soft and slightly out of focus, as if someone photographed the original.
Vilari wondered if the new technician was somehow involved. Perhaps another unwilling participant. Abboud never told him the entire plan, revealing pieces at a time, which added to Vilari’s pent-up stress. My blood pressure must be through the roof.
The keycard was the next step. If anything were to go wrong, Security would look to Hoffman first, allowing Vilari enough time to make the delivery. But what about the cameras?
The burner phone buzzed.
“What took you so long?” Abboud hissed. “Did you get it?”
“Yes.” Vilari wiped his damp forehead.
He heard Abboud inhale and exhale. Vilari could almost smell the dokha. “Good. And the other item?”
Vilari touched the zippered black tote. “I have it.”
“Here is what you will do…”
***
Mac was right. Gates hated the plan. Even though his grandson’s life was at stake, the commander struggled with a duty to protect ADL’s asset and avoid a national security disaster. Since Marnie was abducted, I had long ago learned to separate specific and greater-good obligations. When on a case to recover a kidnap victim, I sometimes had to work on the fringe of the law or take what might appear as imprudent risks to attain my goal. This was one of those cases, but I didn’t take the risks lightly. I had to have faith that Mac and I would be able to save Brandon and avert a catastrophe.
We sat in Gates’s study, the commander on one side of the desk and Mac and me on the other. His opulent home aside, I was reminded of my tour in Iraq where we congregated in a makeshift office inside a tent and received our mission assignments.
The commander entered his camouflage tent and six bodies jumped from folding chairs and stood erect.
“At ease, men.” The chosen six sat silently and focused their attention on Gates. “At 2300 hours, the US Marines are going to take Kuwaiti Airport and chase those sons-a-bitches back to the hell they came from.
“Our mission, and you don’t get to decide if you will accept it,” he said as soft snickers and smiles came from the men, “is to rescue the son of a Kuwaiti ambassador. He is seventeen years old, thin, and can be further recognized by a scar over his right eye. He is missing half his eyebrow. You’ll enter from the south side of the airport runway while the marines enter from the north. You go in at 2310. Sergeant Holt is in command. Any questions?”
One muscular commando stood up. “Sir. Is this a search-and-snatch or do we get to kill some cockroaches? Sir.”
“Where did you learn to talk like that, Mac? Just get the kid. If you want to kill cockroaches, I’ll assign you to the mess tent.”
I smiled inwardly at the recollection and glanced at Mac’s serious face. No longer an overzealous commando eager for the kill, he listened intently to Gates’s words of caution. This wasn’t just any search and snatch. The commander’s own flesh and blood was on the line.
***
Vilari obsessively checked his watch. He took the pages of his presentation, organized them, and moved them from the center of his desk to the left side. His mind raced, attempting to anticipate any flaw in Abboud’s plan. He couldn’t find one, but it didn’t relax him. Vilari thought of Francesca. What would her life be like if Abboud made good on his threats? At times, he had wondered how he could be sure Abboud wouldn’t harm his family.
How would I protect them? Hire security? Send them on an extended vacation?
In the end, any solution he came up with seemed inadequate or faulty. He loved his family as much as he loved life. Vilari prayed they would all be safe.
Eight-forty-five. It’s time.
With his heart pounding in his chest, Vilari rose from his chair. He gripped the edge of the desk as he fell back into the seat. He closed his eyes, wiped his damp, clammy palms over his slacks, and breathed—deep long inhales and exhales. When the palpitations passed he rose again, leaning on the desk to maintain his balance. He stood still a moment to steady himself, grabbed the small black case, and left his office. All other ADL employees had gone for the day. No one stayed late without authorization. In his position, Vilari didn’t need permission.
Timing was everything.
Carrying the black bag, he used the keycard to access the stairs and took them down to the lobby so as not to alert the guard with the sound of the main elevator. He slipped into the restroom, and finding what he needed in a cabinet under the sink, he donned a white lab coat and wig. Vilari glanced at his image in the mirror and smiled. The change in his appearance was remarkable. He held up the fake ID. The resemblance was uncanny. Vilari slid the ID into his pocket along with a jar of petroleum jelly, two pairs of latex gloves, and the small, black fabric case.
He bypassed the security scan. The guard was not within distance to see or hear Vilari enter the staircase down to the research labs.
So far, so good.
On the basement level, he eased open the door. Vilari stepped into a long hallway that turned at a forty-five degree angle, leading to the Science Center. Vilari thought the distance to the lab never seemed so great. He glanced at his watch.
Since ADL was a secure building, the cameras recorded around the clock and were not manned at night. Vilari prepared to implement the simple solution Abboud had given him to avoid being caught on camera. It was fortunate that the ceilings in the basement were low and he was tall.
Vilari slipped on a pair of gloves and pulled the petroleum jelly from his pocket. Lowering his head down and away from the discreet camera to his left, he reached up. He smeared a glob of the sticky substance on the center of the camera lens. Vilari couldn’t help admiring Abboud’s ingenuity. He proceeded down the long corridor to the next camera and covered it with jelly.
***
Johnson brought a tray of sandwiches piled high with Virginia ham and imported Swiss cheese. I wasn’t hungry, but Mac and Gates ate as we discussed possible scenarios once the theft was complete.
We had to be ready for anything. The best scenario would be if the thief led us to Brandon. We accounted for the possibility that the delivery location was somewhere other than where Brandon was held. In that case, we would have no choice but to accost whoever took possession of the product and persuade him, by any means, to bring us to Brandon.
There were so many unknown factors that the more we talked, the more disheartened Gates became. The commander left his half-eaten sandwich and paced the floor, telling us over and over that the plan was doomed to failure. I hadn’t seen this side of Gates before. I could empathize with the anger and the overwhelming doubt and pessimism that accompany the fervent need to save a loved one.
The tension in the room mounted when Gates’s cellphone rang. Mac and I glanced at each other and waited for what might be word from the kidnappers.
“Sanders, what’s up?” Gates asked. Sanders, I knew, was one of GGP’s dispatch supervisors. “What?” Gates listened and shook his head in annoyance. “Tell him to do his business and make it fast. And find out what happened to Harrington. This is not like him. He’d better have a hell of an excuse or he’s through. Send someone else and keep me posted.”
Gates disconnected and tossed the phone on his desk. He looked at us as if he were surprised we were there.
“Everything okay, Commander?” I asked.
He dropped onto a leather sofa and grabbed a pipe from the end table. “Okay? I guess that in the scheme of things it’s minor. Nothing Sanders couldn’t have handled himself. But I told him to let me know about anything to do with ADL. I’ve had my fill today.”
“What happened?”
Gates lit the pipe and puffed. “Harrington was supposed to relieve Connors over an hour ago. Now I’m damn worried.”
Chapter 22
Vilari exhaled a breath of relief that the guard from Gates Global Protection was not at his post. According to Abboud, he only had minutes.
