by Brad Thor
Throw in what appeared to be open-air elevator shafts big enough to swallow 747s, along with a terrifying thirty-two-foot-high statue of a rearing blue horse with glowing red eyes that airport officials claimed was necessary to ward off evil spirits, and you had a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream.
It was almost too much in Matthews’s eyes, which was exactly what made him suspect that was the government’s intent. So many crackpot theories had exploded around DIA that every single one of them was laughed off by anyone with half a brain. Little green men could walk out of baggage claim and hail a cab, and the whole thing could be reported on the front page of the Denver Post, complete with photos, and not a single sane person would believe it.
It reminded him of Edgar Allan Poe’s “The Purloined Letter” in which a stolen letter, packed with sensitive information, is hidden right in plain sight. In Ben’s estimation, whoever was responsible for what was happening beneath Denver International was either absolutely nuts, or incredibly brilliant. Though he was unaccustomed to attributing brilliance to the government, he had a feeling in this case that it might be merited.
Which brought Ben back to what he and his partner were doing right now. When Vicki Suffolk had become known to the Denver FBI field office, courtesy of one of Pence’s local informants, the elder FBI man had suggested they try to flip her, to double her back against the Russians. The SAC, or special agent in charge, a woman by the name of Carole Mumford, hadn’t been so keen. She didn’t want her career tarnished by greenlighting some elaborate op against nothing more than another Facebook-obsessed, low-level Russian Mata Hari. The spy ring the Bureau had recently rolled up in New York was an embarrassment, both for Russia and America. Permission for Pence’s op was denied. Permission to surveil the subject, though, was authorized, and Pence and Matthews had been given the job.
Over the course of their surveillance, they had learned very little about Victoria Suffolk. All they knew was that she was interested in Denver International Airport.
That was enough for Pence. His gut told him that there was something special about this case; something big. He felt certain it was going to make both of their careers. Mumford, though, didn’t see it that way. She remained unwilling to allocate further resources to Victoria Suffolk unless Pence and Matthews could bring her something substantive. This left the two FBI agents in a difficult position.
They had been approved only to surveil Suffolk, nothing else, but the surveillance wasn’t producing. After three weeks, Pence sold Matthews on expanding their efforts by putting some teeth into what they were doing. That’s when they began pushing the envelope. And as many people who fall from lofty heights eventually realize, the sins begin small, but from little sins, bigger sins soon grow.
Pence was the one who had bugged her apartment and her car without a warrant and without the FBI’s approval. But from that, they learned that Suffolk was looking to place someone in DIA. That was why Matthews had studied up on all the conspiracy theories surrounding it. Pence had a pretty good feeling that if they dangled Ben in front of her, she’d take the bait, which was exactly what she had done.
Warrantless eavesdropping was the first of Dean Pence’s sins. Ben Matthews’s sins began when he first took Suffolk to bed. She had made so many advances, he was worried she was getting suspicious. He told himself that if he didn’t sleep with her, it might blow the entire operation. It was a lie and he knew it, but he couldn’t help himself.
Not only did he know it was wrong, he also knew what Pence would do to him if he confessed, so he lied to his partner as well. This entire operation felt cursed, and part of him wished that he had never met Victoria Suffolk.
Dean Pence looked at his watch. “If she can lead us to her handler, there could be a whole network of Russian spies we could take down.”
Once again, Ben shook his head and repeated. “I’m telling you, she’s good. I don’t think she’s going to make that kind of mistake.”
Their meeting was pretty much over. If Matthews was going to get out to DIA in time for his shift, he had to get going.
After an uncomfortable pause, Pence said, “Ben, I need to ask you something.”
Ben was now looking at his own watch. “What is it?”
“Are you having sex with her?”
“Who?” replied Matthews. “Suffolk?”
“Who else?”
Ben looked his partner right in the eyes. “I am not having sex with Victoria Suffolk.”
“Not that anyone would blame you,” said Pence. “She’s extremely good-looking.”
“Dean,” Ben insisted. “I’m not having sex with her. Okay?”
“You’d tell me if you were, right?”
“Of course I would.”
Pence shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe this is a bad idea. You’re still raw from your divorce. Dropping you into a situation like this isn’t fair.”
The elder FBI agent was right. It wasn’t fair. Ben’s divorce had been beyond messy. His ex had kicked him in the teeth so hard and so many times it was a wonder he didn’t need to eat all of his meals through a straw.
His wife had been the one who cheated, but throughout the bitter, scorched-earth proceedings, she had blamed all the problems in the marriage on Ben.
All things considered, was he vulnerable? Absolutely, but divorce or no divorce, there weren’t many men who could say no to a woman like Victoria Suffolk. The fact that Ben Matthews hadn’t even caught as much as a second look from a halfway attractive woman in the eight months since his divorce had begun to nudge him dangerously close to the desperate column.
Women like Suffolk didn’t happen to men like Ben Matthews, at least that was what he believed. Sleeping with her was wrong on multiple levels and he knew it. It was something that had been bothering him more and more. Nevertheless, he had yet to find the strength to bring it to a halt.
Determined to shield himself and the relationship from criticism by Pence, Ben lied a final time. “I’m not having sex with that woman.”
His partner studied him. “That’s almost believable,” he joked. “Wag your finger and say it like Bill Clinton this time.”
“I’m going to be late for work,” replied Matthews as he opened the door and stepped out of the car.
Pence put the Mazda in reverse and followed him. Rolling down the passenger window, he said, “Ben, for what it’s worth, I do believe you.”
“You don’t sound like it,” replied Matthews as he pulled his keys from his pocket and unlocked his truck.
“You’re a big boy, Ben. You can make your own decisions. Just be careful, okay?” cautioned the elder FBI agent. “I’ve got a bad feeling that Victoria Suffolk is going to turn out to be a very dangerous woman.”
CHAPTER 16
Jogging in the Arapaho National Forest was one of Vicki Suffolk’s favorite things to do. Today, though, she wondered if maybe it hadn’t been such a good idea. She had a very bad feeling that someone or something was following her.
It was the same trail she always took and one she had never seen anyone else on. The feeling coming over her was not one of regret that her private corner of the world had suddenly been discovered. This was a visceral feeling of being stalked.
She had already doubled back twice, trying to flush out whoever was behind her, but that hadn’t worked. Part of her mind wondered if maybe her imagination was in overdrive, but her instincts quickly shut down that dissenting opinion.
The one thing she had been taught was to always remain calm. The moment she let fear take over would be the moment she lost. That was easier said than done. Her heart was pounding and the adrenaline was coursing through her bloodstream. She could almost sense the thoughts of the thing pursuing her. It was powerful, hungry, and extremely cunning. It had to be a bear.
Unlike her beta-male, conspiracy-obsessed “boyfriend,” Ben, Vicki Suffolk didn’t have a problem with guns. While she kept hers a secret from him, she never went jogging, especially in a national f
orest, without it.
Unzipping her runner’s pack, she withdrew her Glock Slimline 36. It held six rounds of .45 caliber ammunition in a single-stack magazine. Would six rounds plus one in the chamber be enough?
She drew the pistol and turned to face whatever was pursuing her. The forest grew quiet, all of its creatures seemingly holding their breath in unison. It was as if someone had just hit the Mute button.
Was that really it? Or was her mind playing tricks on her? She waited, straining her ears for any sound of approaching danger. She peered into the forest around her, hoping to catch a glimpse of what was following her. She heard nothing and she saw nothing, so she did nothing.
She stood frozen for what felt like an eternity. Whatever was out there was patient, very patient.
A wind blew down along the path and teased the hairs on the back of her neck. Her skin, which had been covered with a thin film of sweat from jogging, was now cold and clammy to the touch. She could feel a chill spreading throughout her body.
The anxiety she was experiencing seemed to be playing itself out in the clouds above the tops of the trees. They were gray and telegraphed a rapidly approaching storm. A storm meant rain and rain meant acoustic cover for whatever was following her.
Taking her eyes off the path for a moment, Vicki glanced uphill. There was an abandoned miner’s cabin only a few hundred yards away. She couldn’t see it from where she now stood, but she knew it was there. It would keep her dry. It would also give her a tactical advantage over whatever was out there stalking her. Cautiously, Vicki made her way toward the cabin.
Fifty feet from the door, she heard a branch snap somewhere behind her. The rational part of her brain told her that if there was a bear back there, she’d never outrun it. All she could hope was that her shots would all find their marks and that seven rounds of .45 would be enough. She gripped her pistol tighter than she ever had in her life and picked up her pace. She needed to get to safety.
The trail gave onto a clearing beneath the trees. It was covered in pine needles and fallen branches. Up ahead was the abandoned cabin, its windows broken and its roof falling apart. Vicki didn’t want to look over her shoulder, but she knew she had to. If a bear was indeed after her, she’d need to turn and shoot.
Vicki risked a glance back. There was nothing there. No bear, no nothing. Part of her said she was overreacting. Another part, her primal instinct, screamed at her to run. Run!
Vicki listened to that primal voice and ran like never before. She barreled into the front door of the cabin and sent it exploding inward, almost knocking it off its rusted hinges.
As soon as she was inside, she slammed the door and flattened her back against it. Her eyes scanned the room for something to place against it. Something. Anything. There was nothing. The cabin had been stripped bare.
She knew she’d be no match for any bear that wanted to come through the door. She wouldn’t be able to hold it shut. She simply wasn’t strong enough.
Bolting to the other side of the tiny cabin, she slid to the floor and placed her back against the wall. If it came through the front door, she’d have a clean shot. It could come through one of the broken windows as well, though it would have a much harder time of it.
Sitting there on the floor, her heart thumping and the sound of blood rushing in and out of her ears like the ocean, she knew she had to calm down. She had to get control of herself. Deep breath, she thought. Start with one deep breath.
She took in a long, deep breath and held it for a count of three and then slowly, silently let it out. She counted to five and then repeated the process. From above the dilapidated roof, there was an ear-splitting crack of thunder. The cabin grew dark.
Outside, the wind moved the branches of the heavy trees. It also moved the cabin door. As the door creaked in on its hinges, Vicki Suffolk caught a glimpse of something on the threshold and her heart caught in her throat.
CHAPTER 17
Lying just beyond the open cabin door was a bouquet of Rocky Mountain Irises. Gathering them up, Suffolk stepped outside, her heart beating even faster than before. Where is he? she thought to herself.
With her gun an afterthought as it dangled in her hand, she stepped outside. The trunks of the trees near the cabin were too narrow to hide behind. She tried to lick her lips, but her mouth was dry.
She spun quickly around, but there was no one behind her. Walking to the corner of the cabin, she peeked around it, but there was no one there either. Her legs were weak and her stomach was churning, but she pressed on. She walked behind the cabin, but saw nothing. Finally, she came the rest of the way around to the front door. As she did, the rain came down in a torrent.
Her heart was pounding against her chest. “Hello?” she called out into the storm. “Hello?”
There was flash of lightning as the bolt struck somewhere close by. Barely a second had passed before thunder rocked the ground. That was the moment she felt the hand on the back of her neck. He had come from behind, from inside the cabin. He must have slipped in while she was walking around the outside.
As his grip tightened on her, his other hand reached down and took away her gun. She didn’t struggle. Slowly, he drew her back inside.
She knew what would happen next and she resigned herself to it. She had no idea if the man was wearing a mask or not. Just in case, she knew it was better to keep her eyes shut tight; to not look at his face.
His backpack lay cast aside. On the floor he had hastily unrolled his sleeping bag. He laid her down and once she was lying flat on her back he raised her arms above her head. He grabbed both her wrists with his powerful left hand as if he knew that she was going to fight him when he began to undress her. And fight she did.
When his right hand slid underneath her jog bra, she brought her left knee up hard into his side. He muttered some sort of curse and threw himself on top of her, straddling her legs. She fought hard and snapped her teeth wildly, hoping to get a piece of him.
When she heard the click of his knife locking into place, she froze. He kept her arms pinned above her head and he waited. Outside the lightning flashed, the thunder roared, and the rain poured down.
He drew the flat of the blade along her lithe, tight stomach and then slowly moved it upward. She didn’t fight. She lay still. The entire time she kept her eyes tightly shut, not wanting to risk seeing his face.
He cut the jog bra from her body and cast it to the side, exposing her breasts. He did the same to her running shorts.
She felt him slide out of his trousers and then and only then did she open one of her eyes, but only part way. He was wearing a ski mask. He had remembered.
CHAPTER 18
They lay on the floor of the cabin panting, working to catch their breath as their heart rates came back to normal.
“You can take the mask off now if you want,” said Vicki.
Peter Marcus pulled the mask from his head and tossed it toward his backpack. His hair was drenched with sweat.
“I could have shot you,” she said as she drew herself closer to him.
Marcus smiled. “But you didn’t.”
“But I could have.”
“And that’s what made it exciting,” he said, and then added, “for both of us.”
“Do you remember the first time you gave me Mountain Irises?”
“I do,” he replied. “I also remember showing you how their roasted seeds could be used as a coffee substitute.”
“Ummmm,” she said, closing her eyes.
They lay in silence next to each other, listening to the storm rage outside. The gusts of wind were so strong they shook the little cabin.
Vicki ran her fingers across his chest. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any Power Bars in your pack, do you? I’m starving.”
“Why don’t you go check?”
She gave him a long kiss on the mouth and then pushed herself to standing. Even in the almost pitch-dark he could see how beautiful she was.
She picked up the
pack and looked inside. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Are you kidding me?”
“Did I do well?” he asked.
“I love it!” she cooed as she pulled a bottle of wine and a small cooler bag from his backpack. “It’s a little early in the day, but who cares, right?”
“Bring the whole pack over,” he told her. “There’s silverware and dishes and a picnic cloth in there.”
“Picnic blanket,” Vicki corrected.
“Picnic blanket,” Peter repeated dutifully.
Suffolk handed him the bottle of wine along with the corkscrew she had found at the bottom of the pack with a few other items. He laid out some candles and lit them.
“Can you find my cigarettes, please?” he asked.
“You’re smoking again?”
“Victoria, you’re not my mother.”
“Of course not. I’m way too young to be your mother,” she responded. “Seriously, Peter, I thought you had quit.”
“Please, Victoria. May I just have my cigarettes?” he asked.
Suffolk rummaged around in the backpack.
“They’re in the outside pocket,” he said.
When she found the pocket in question, she unzipped it and pulled them out. “I really thought you had quit. You said you were going to do it for me.”
Marcus shrugged.
“You know what? You’re going cold turkey. Right now.”
“What if I get a craving?” he said with a smile.
Vicki smiled back at him and said, “You let me worry about your cravings.” With that, she crushed the cigarettes and pitched them over her shoulder.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” he said.
“Peter, please. How stupid do you think I am? You trained me, after all. Do you really think I would leave something like that behind? We’ll take it all with us when we leave. Speaking of which,” she said as she gestured to her naked body, “you better have brought an extra set of clothes for me.”
