“Oh, we’ll get more for you. Who’s next on the list?”
“Strachan; he’s the junior. Let’s see how he’s faring. He’s conscious and able to speak, I understand.” She indicated the way to another small room.
Mark led the way in. “Strachan, I understand you want to talk to me?”
The prisoner backed away, his face pale. Mark reached out and touched the agent’s hand. Strachan stopped his movements. Gabrielle stepped forward and placed her hand beside Mark’s. He asked the same questions he had directed at Parrish. At the end of the short, one-sided interview, he made the same comments about a written statement and witness protection. The prisoner nodded his head.
Goodwin led the way out back to the office. “I’m not telling anyone how this happened. No one would believe me.”
While Goodwin was out of the office to deliver pens and paper to her detainees, Mark said, “Well, Gabrielle, what do you think?”
“We almost have enough information for Maeve. She’ll be delighted when she hears. I have an image of this man in Arlington but I don’t think I can draw his picture.”
“Me, too. I think the DI will let us use one of her police artists and we can send a scan of the result to Maeve.”
Goodwin returned with a happy expression on her face. “Come on, I want to see how you deal with the third agent. He’s a tough bastard.”
“Oh, Scarface. I’m surprised he’s not more seriously injured. I tried.”
“Our surgeon agrees. Now he’s awake and complaining. Come and see for yourself.”
Mark and Gabrielle followed Goodwin into the next room. Again, there was an armed guard on the door. This patient was also handcuffed and had a restrictive leg chain. He growled at his visitors. “Get the fuck outta my space.” He looked startled when he saw and recognized Mark. “You? You’re the son of a bitch who cracked my skull open.”
Gabrielle walked up to him and said, “You’re hurting. Let me remove your pain.”
The agent growled again and Mark stepped forward, shielding Gabrielle. He stared at Scarface. Gabrielle was correct—the agent was hurting, but not from his injury.
Mark said, “Relax, buddy. Stay still, now.” He reached out and touched the man’s arm and got another almost animal-like response. However, the agent didn’t move. Gabrielle placed her hand next to Mark’s. The agent shook violently, his eyes rolled up, and he fell back, unconscious.
Mark and Gabrielle released the prisoner’s arm. Mark turned to Goodwin. “He may not ask you for a pad and pen but he’ll be a lot more tractable. We’ve done all we can for now. Let me know if he causes any more problems. It’s unfortunate he got too close to one of your men. I trust he’ll recover quickly?”
“How did you know? Yes, my officer’s recovering—just superficial injuries. It looked a lot worse.” Goodwin led the way out of the patient’s room. She turned to Mark when they were out of hearing of the guard. “Now tell me, damn it, what’s this all about?”
Mark shrugged. “I told you and that’s all I can say. We don’t understand the process, either.”
She had a doubtful expression. “I’ll be interested when you can tell me more.”
Mark nodded. Perhaps some time in the future he would do so, if his involvement with Cerberus UK deepened. “Shall we return to the hotel now? The crew is waiting for us.”
***
Chapter 21
Anna found Reb on the small balcony off her hotel room. It provided a view of the Tower Bridge and the boats on the Thames. Reb was deep in thought. Anna was almost reluctant to interrupt. She pushed open the sliding door and Reb turned, flinching as her shoulder reminded her she was still healing.
“Aren’t you cold out here?” Anna asked. The sun was hidden behind gray clouds and the breeze was razor sharp. She could feel dampness in the air from the London mist.
Reb looked abashed. “I like to watch the river activities. It reminds me—”
“Of being on board Hammer?”
“Well, being on a yacht. That yacht has some sad memories for me.”
“Really? I thought being at sea was what you liked.”
“Oh, it is. That’s where I want to be, out at sea, heading to—oh, I don’t know—anywhere.”
“But you had problems on the yacht?”
“I shouldn’t have said…” Her voice faded and her expression showed pain. “I was abused. The Chairman. He was a very nasty person.”
“But how—I mean, you’re as strong as Mark, almost. And I’ve seen you practice with those knives.”
Reb smiled but it was a sad expression. “Sometimes strength is not the answer. Anyway, you were looking for me?”
“What? Oh yes. I wanted to spend some time with you. Stay there. I’ll get my jacket.” She returned in seconds, wrapped up against the cold. Reb had moved to one side to allow Anna to sit beside her. She sat and let the seconds stretch into minutes.
“What did you want?” Reb asked at last.
“I suppose girl talk,” Anna said. “You know how I feel about your brother?”
“Yes.” Reb smiled and this time it lit up her eyes. “I envy you, you know. Your relationship with Mark will grow, I’m sure. Me—I’ll head back out to sea on board another yacht. I’ve contacted the agency I used before, to see if they have any vacancies. I suppose it sounds exciting but it can be dangerous. Or it can be boring. It depends…”
Anna reached out to Reb at the same time Reb reached for her. They held hands, providing each other comfort.
~~~
Andrew Wentworth waited somewhat anxiously for his scheduled meeting, although he had no reasons for his anxiety. He was in a mid-sized coffee shop in a part of DC he had never visited. The environment was comfortable and the coffee acceptable. The constantly changing crowd seemed amenable. He had seated himself at a small table in the corner, where he was able to see both doors into the shop. He sipped his coffee. The voice from the adjacent table startled him.
“Good, you were on time.”
Mercante, Wentworth realized, must have arrived early. “I didn’t see you there.”
“Obviously. Tell me why your people haven’t destroyed the New Hampshire evidence?”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Wentworth replied. “You sent a shitload of mercenaries into New Hampshire, they set fire to and destroyed a house and other buildings, got their vehicles all shot up, plus six are in hospital with serious gunshot wounds, and you expect to see all the evidence removed from our files. The local police, the emergency services, and FBI agents outside my control, all have details of what occurred. As does the hospital where these people are still being treated.” Wentworth realized his voice was becoming louder and he reduced its volume. “Midway provided the FBI and the local police with a video of the entire operation, from when they blew the gate to arrival of the emergency services. They have to be the stupidest freelancers, ever.”
“Now, now,” Mercante said. His smile reminded Wentworth of a snake, a deadly one. “My sources didn’t know about the defensive equipment Midway had installed. Devious.”
“Dangerous, more likely.”
“What can you do?”
“You mean apart from having all fifteen of the mercenaries shot and buried at sea? Nothing.” He did not add that Mercante should be included in the sea burial.
“Have you heard anything about Schmidt?”
“He’s critical.” Realization hit Wentworth. “You didn’t—it wasn’t you—”
“I can’t tell you anything.” Mercante shrugged. “I have no idea who was behind the attack. The result’s good for us, though.”
Wentworth was not convinced. “If you set up some Russian spies who were illegal residents, got them a missile to take out Schmidt, you’re a bigger—”
“Don’t say it,” Mercante growled.
“Damn, it was you.”
“Improbable, my friend. I had other ideas. Useless now.”
“Well, Schmidt might not recover.”
“No and no. A Cerberus security team is monitoring the ICU and the hospital twenty-four seven. They’re top members of Cerberus, military and even some FBI.”
“Pity. Well, if you get any ideas, let me know.”
Wentworth nodded. He finished his coffee. “I need to go.”
“I’ll call you if I have any good ideas.”
“Sure, sure. Have a good one.”
Mercante smiled to himself as he watched the senior FBI agent leave.
~~~
Neither man had paid any attention to the little old lady sitting by herself at another table. She had a large handbag, inside which was sophisticated recording equipment. After both men had left the coffee shop, she, too, left and caught a taxi. She contacted Maeve’s analysts; they expressed interest in the tape and asked her to bring it to their office.
~~~
The analysts had conducted their tasks with a thoroughness that matched the urgency Maeve conveyed in her meeting. They had identified the mercenaries who raided the Midway property using the facial images Mark had forwarded. The men were known members of a Georgia militia unit with ties to an extremist religious group called the Southern United Fundamentalists. There was, according to the analysts’ data, a link to a Reverend Barker, a man associated with a previous attack on Midway, and who was known to be involved in the leadership of the religious group. The analysts unearthed records suggesting the CIA had used the militia for at least two black operations in South America. Reports from police and FBI after they had interviewed the militia members simply added confusion.
The analysts had detailed statements forwarded by the British Counter Terrorism Command from the ICE agents now under arrest by the Metropolitan Police. Maeve’s team was waiting for the police artist’s sketch of the person who had confirmed, by video to London, his instructions to eliminate Midway. They were also running voice analyses to identify the person.
Separately, FBI investigators and DC police had discovered the suspected launch site for the missile that had taken out the helicopter carrying Schmidt and Dempsey. They had found five bodies, subsequently identified as Russians, on the roof of the building. FBI crime scene reconstruction supported the theory the men had been killed by a single person. The killer’s weapon had been left at the scene. The approximate time of death of the Russians matched that of the helicopter attack, and the evidence indicated the Russians had fired the missile. The analysts were also coming to the conclusion there was a link of some kind between the attack on the helicopter and the attack on Midway’s property.
Two of the senior analysts met with Maeve to discuss the data threads they were exploring. Linda Schöner said, “It’s intriguing us. One of the dead Russians at the missile launch site has been identified as Colonel Alexey Grigoryevich, a junior Assistant Air Attaché at the Russian Embassy. The other four were FSB shadows; they were on our watch list.”
“The Russians were used. That’s why they were shot and the bodies so easy to find.”
“We’re in agreement. The missile has been tentatively identified as a Russian Strela, either a 20 or 21.”
“Do you have any idea how a new version of their top missile got to Washington?”
“Not yet. We’re still working on that.”
Maeve said, “Details of the Russians haven’t been given to the media. The President has placed a hold on the news release. The sensitivity of possible Kremlin involvement is high, given other recent Russian missteps.”
“We wondered about that. We suspect Grigoryevich was SVR. They and FSB are political enemies in Russia. It’s unusual for them to be working together here. Someone must have applied a lot of pressure to motivate that. We’re trying to discover what would cause them to even consider a joint task. FBI agents are interviewing family members of the deceased FSB members to see if they know anything. We’ve made sure our Cerberus people are doing the interviews.”
“We’ve been back tracking Grigoryevich,” said the other analyst, his eyes glowing with excitement. “He was good at covering his trail but we think he was meeting with a senior CIA officer. We’ve also uncovered a Zurich bank account in Grigoryevich’s name, with substantial deposits. He was recently paid a large amount. We’re tracing the source. It’s almost as though someone has left a small trail of paper to lead us to a possible traitor. The obviousness makes me suspicious but the trail is too interesting to ignore.”
“Continue exploring and let me know,” Maeve said. “Have you any thoughts on the London hotel raid?”
“Some of the team are convinced this is all driven by Ricardo Mercante,” Schöner said. “He’s high in the CIA chain of command, about three from the top. A nasty record, when you dig deep. The problem is, he’s Agency while the London people are ICE. Our voice analysis gives us a 50 percent probability he was the authorizing officer for the attack in London. The probability might increase once we have the police artist’s sketch Midway promised to arrange. We haven’t yet linked Mercante to these militia people but we’re optimistic. We suspect some Agency people are prepared to attack both Cerberus and Midway, and Mercante may have decided to get down and dirty. Someone wants both and Schmidt and Midway dead and Cerberus eliminated. In any case, for now we must regard Mercante and the Agency, as potential enemies for us, Schmidt, and Midway until this is resolved.”
“Can I have hard copies of your reports? I might take a selection with me, tomorrow for my meeting with the President.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’ll get a full set to you,” Linda confirmed.
After her two analysts left her office Maeve sat back in her high-backed chair, deep in thought. Someone was trying to create anti-Russian reactions in the government, and when the White House released news of Russian involvement, the media would go into a feeding frenzy. Someone wanted Schmidt out of the way. He’d accumulated a number of powerful enemies and it wouldn’t surprise her if one or more of those enemies had taken action. Cerberus was likely a target, as well. And Midway. Someone would earn a lot of points with the neocons if they took out Schmidt, Cerberus, Midway, and the Russian shadows. It was even possible she was a target. The probability of that would only increase if, as she suspected, the President asked her to run Cerberus in the US, given Schmidt’s current incapacity.
***
Chapter 22
Mark was running late; he had far too much to do. He and Gabrielle had been driven back to the Tower Hotel by the SO15 driver, and Mark rushed to settle the hotel bill. The crew was waiting in the ten-passenger tour bus ready to travel to the safe house. The interior of the bus was dimly lit and the darkened windows would make their journey private. They wouldn’t be able to do much sightseeing—the windows, light rain, and approaching evening gloom would all combine to hide the scenery. A Cerberus security guard was in the front passenger seat; Mark hoped the man’s services wouldn’t be required. Scott and Sera were seated in the back. Gabrielle sat down next to Reb and Niland while Mark took his seat next to Anna. She grabbed his hand and squeezed it. “We were wondering,” she said. She kept hold of his hand. It was a comforting feeling.
“It took a little longer than I anticipated. London traffic—a phrase that’s going to stay with us, I’m sure.” Mark nodded to the driver. “We’re all here, now.”
The driver used his radio to call their lead security vehicle and the small convoy set off. Their luggage van was the last vehicle.
The driver handed Mark a thin folder when they stopped at the first traffic light and said, “Sir, the DI said to give you these details. Our destination’s near Sparrows Green, East Sussex. It’s pretty countryside, in the daytime. It’ll take abaht one and a half hours.”
Mark thanked the man and turned his attention to the folder. He asked the others, “Did you all get a copy of the property description?” He received a hail of affirmatives. According to the page he was reading, they were going to an old manor house, built some hun
dreds of years ago. It was three-storied, with six bedrooms on the second floor and a long attic as the third floor. In addition to the main house, there were two cottages and a number of outbuildings. The property had a separate four-car garage. There were thirty-five acres of wooded land, most of it to the rear of the house. According to the small map, some buildings were close to the house while others—barns, from the descriptions—were farther away. They would be difficult to defend, he thought. Although, if Cerberus provided a capable security team, it should not be a problem.
As the small bus moved along with the traffic, Mark reflected on his outstanding tasks. He needed to arrange a session with a police sketch artist to build a picture of the senior ICE agent who had confirmed Parrish’s assignment, then send a copy to Maeve’s team. He needed briefings on the Cerberus UK organization and its client base, to understand its business operation. Perhaps DI Goodwin will tell him who to contact to obtain the details he sought. He had not received lab results for Reb’s DNA and the gunshot residue tests on her parka; the reports may have been overlooked with all the other events impacting Cerberus US. He would contact Maeve’s analysts to check the results. On Friday—today was Wednesday—he, Reb, and Anna would visit the three children in London. If they wanted to join him and his crew, their new residence would be crowded. Mark fell asleep counting bedrooms.
Anna woke him as the bus approached their destination. Waves of rain and sleet were sweeping across the front of the vehicle, caught in a late winter storm. The main visible feature was trees bending in the wind. The bus reached the end of a private road and slowed to a stop at a lighted entrance to the manor house. Two people were waiting in the shelter of the front entry. Their reception committee, Mark supposed. Everyone climbed out of the bus, attempting to stretch and avoid the rain at the same time. They followed Mark’s lead and headed for the front door.
“Good evening, sir,” said the nearest person at the door as Mark entered the house. “My name’s Richard. Richard Carroll. This is my wife, Mary. Welcome to Bankton House.”
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