Act of Betrayal

by Matthew Dunn

  “He got burned?”

  Bell nodded. “It was impossible to do anything for his family, but Antaeus tried. It was the most tremendous act of courage. But now he has a droopy eye, a face that is mashed by unsuccessful plastic surgery, a body lacerated by burn and shrapnel scars, and he has to walk with a cane as tall as his head.”

  “Where was Cochrane?”

  “The other side of the city. He didn’t know what had happened until much later. Had he been there, he’d have done everything to help Antaeus.”

  “Antaeus’s age?”

  Bell smiled. “Same as me. Fifty-eight.”

  “Your bodies are different but your minds are the same. You both sit in the center of your webs.”

  Bell shook his head. “This is the remarkable thing. Cochrane used incredible subterfuge to get Antaeus to defect to America. But, and there is a but, Antaeus responded because of his thirteen-year-old American daughter, Crystal. He decided not to sit in the center of the web any longer. He cares for his daughter in Virginia and writes groundbreaking archaeological papers for Harvard and Stanford.”

  Ash walked to him. “You’re still a spider.”

  Bell was silent.

  Ash wished she could penetrate Bell’s thoughts. “Antaeus is also still a spider. Whoever’s going to see him knows that.”

  Bell noted the glint in her eyes. “Of course. So who’s going to see him?”

  “I told you, I don’t know.”

  “You may not know the person’s identity, but think it through. What is the type of person?”

  Ash’s mind raced. “Antaeus is disabled, he—”

  “He walks twenty miles a day. He’s anything but disabled.”

  Ash was unperturbed. “Nevertheless, he has limitations. He needs a doer.”

  Bell smiled.

  “Someone much younger and agile.”

  “Go on.”

  Ash tried to picture the person. “A man. Not American. Not Western, in all probability. Someone with a track record respected by Antaeus. Someone who has a connection to Cochrane. A man who Cochrane would listen to.” She looked at the bullet holes on the wall. “Why did you do that?”

  Bell held her gaze. “When my wife died, I received no help from the Agency. I’m not a big drinker, but after her wake I came home and consumed two bottles of merlot. I took out my gun and wrote on the wall what I despised. Since then the anger’s gone and I’ve adopted different strategies. I run my own show.”

  “The man seeking Antaeus is a spy.”

  Bell brushed his fingers against a bullet hole. “Was a spy and was an assassin. That’s my bet. Put Antaeus and that man together and we have formidable opponents.”

  Ash frowned. “Then we have a problem. Because Cochrane said they might be on our side.”

  Chapter 17

  One of Jason Flail’s men watched the house through thermal binoculars. Secreted in a hedge in darkness, he was convinced no one could see him. It was six a.m. The birds and crickets that usually added ambience to the Virginia countryside were mute. A fine rain drizzled over his green Nomex coveralls, strapped over which were, among other things, a Glock handgun, webbing containing rations, and plastic bags with his feces, water, spare ammunition, and audio equipment.

  He’d been here for twelve hours and was pissed off. Howard Kane had told him and the other ex-SF men to watch the house for two days. Each of the four-man unit had taken it in turn to do the task, and none of them knew why he was doing it or what was so special about the house. But Kane had given them a very specific instruction: photograph anyone coming or going from the property.

  In one hour the sun would be rising. An hour after that, another of Flail’s men would take over duties.

  He positioned his long-range camera at the house and continued watching the abode through the camera’s lens.

  Wolf Trap.

  An area in northeast Virginia that had approximately sixteen thousand inhabitants. Among the houses there was one on the outskirts that belonged to Colonel Haden.

  Will Cochrane parked his car nearby and went to the place on foot, seemingly oblivious to his surroundings, though that was a lie. Wearing the only suit now in his possession and an overcoat, he took in everything.

  He rang the doorbell of the huge white wooden house that was far removed from others in Wolf Trap and waited. Around him, leaves from trees drifted slowly to the ground, and a fine rain sprinkled over an immaculate meadow that encased the property and ran for as far as the eye could see. Occasionally a car would pass on the adjacent road leading to suburbia, spraying water as tires moved through puddles, headlights on because of the dim light. The scent was rich with pine, the noise of vehicles accompanied by a woodpecker that was drilling holes in a nearby oak tree. Everything else was peaceful and quiet.

  A woman answered the door.

  Will asked, “Mrs. Elizabeth Haden?”

  The woman was tall, svelte, maybe late forties, and had a platinum bob encapsulating a classically elegant face that did not detract from the sparkling allure of her eyes. In flared heavy cotton black slacks, classy shoes, and a crisp white shirt that would have been fashionable in the thirties and maybe was fashionable again among wealthy ladies, she looked every part the civilized yet cheeky party hostess who could charm her guests.

  She looked him up and down. “When I saw you, I pressed a panic alarm in my house. It has a ten-minute delay and only I can turn it off. But I won’t do so if you’re here for anything other than good reasons. I’m Mrs. Haden. Who are you?”

  Her voice was refined and from the South.

  Will smiled. “My name is Edward Pope. I’ve worked with your husband. Is he here? May I speak with him?”

  Will expected her to frown.

  She didn’t. Just held his gaze, exuding self-confidence. “Are you government? If so, which department do you work for?”

  “Like your husband, we get moved around a lot. And that’s why I’m here. I haven’t seen him for three years. I wanted to tell him something private, if that’s okay with you?”

  “Something private?”

  “Something private.”

  They both stared at each other.

  “You expect me to let in a complete stranger?”

  “Not if your husband’s away. I can come back at a more convenient time.”

  A trace of a smile appeared on Mrs. Haden’s face as she kept her eyes on Will’s. There was something about her that intrigued him. She was too in control.

  In the background, a maid and a handyman passed through the corridor to attend to their morning duties. Will saw them without moving his eyes.

  “No need for panic alarms,” Mrs. Haden said. “I’m guessing you now know I’ve got people here. But my husband isn’t one of them.”

  “That’s a shame, because it’s been a long drive.”

  “Then where’s your car?”

  Will gestured. “Up the road. I needed to stretch my legs and get a bit of fresh air.”

  Mrs. Haden’s expression didn’t betray a thing. “All right. Come in.”

  He followed her into the house.

  “You want tea or coffee?”

  “That’s kind, but no thank you.”

  “Your Virginia accent is good. Where did you learn it?”

  Will smiled. “One time I lived near here. My father was from these parts.”

  “But you’re no longer rooted here.” She spun around. “Part of you is English.”

  “Part of me isn’t. English mother. American father.”

  “And you think being part American gives you the right to ask about my husband?”

  “No. We were former colleagues. I’m here because he’s been missing for a long time.”

  “Yes.” Mrs. Haden walked into the kitchen. “Colonel Haden is missing. And you want to know why.”

  Will watched her pour homemade lemonade into a glass. “I want to know what you know.”

  “You’re not a government employee anymore. I c
an tell.”

  “How?”

  “Your voice is too soft-spoken. You’re alone. You’re not throwing your weight around.” She frowned as she took a sip of the drink. “But your hands are covered in scars. You’re a brutal man.”

  “Not to you.”

  “Mister, men say that to gals all the time.”

  “I’m different.”

  She placed her drink on the work surface. “You a reporter?”

  Will dropped his Virginia accent. “You wouldn’t have let me in if I was.”

  “You speak nice in your own accent. It’s musical.”

  “I like playing the lute. Its strings inform my vocal cords.”

  She grinned. “You play an audience.”

  “I lull them to sleep.”

  Mrs. Haden glanced again at Will’s hands. “I can see that.” Her expression turned. “Just before you kill them.” Mrs. Haden cocked her head. “Do you know much about bees?”

  Will playacted dumb.

  “Let me show you. They love the sunrise.” Mrs. Haden escorted Will into the vast backyard.

  Yew trees were there, also lavender bushes, birdhouses, and oaks dripping rainwater as if they were sweating. Now, it wasn’t raining. The sun was doing its thing.

  She pointed at a beehive. It was small, a waist-high wooden rectangle positioned on top of uncut lavish green grass covered with dew and traces of frost. “The queen bee waits in the middle.”

  “Her minions servicing her.” Will crouched in front of the container. “Why do you keep them?”

  “To recollect.” Mrs. Haden put a hand on the hive. “They won’t hurt me. They’re docile this time of year, plus all they care about is waiting for spring to pollinate lavender and avoiding wasps.” She pointed at a nearby tree. “I had to destroy a wasp nest two months ago. They’re predators. Bees give back to society.”

  Will stood. “The point of all this is the queen bee.”

  “Yes.”

  “She is incredible, so long as she has the love of others around her.”

  Mrs. Haden laughed. “She’s a woman. What do you expect?”

  “The unexpected.” Will lifted a docile worker bee onto his finger. “He is lost without his woman.” He gently laid the bee back onto the surface and watched it fly into the hive. “Colonel Haden is lost without you.”

  For the first time, Mrs. Haden looked shaken. “You know nothing!”

  “You showed a stranger your hive. It is a mechanistic exemplar of productivity. No humans are harmed. To the contrary, they coexist. But what happens if the queen bee is left exposed? The wasps get her.” Will swiveled to face Mrs. Haden. “That’s how you’ve felt for three years.”

  Mrs. Haden strode right up to him. “What’s your name and who are you?”

  “I told you. Edward Pope. Once I had dealings with the Pentagon. That’s when I encountered your husband.”

  “Encountered? That’s a word open to interpretation.”

  Will could almost feel her intelligence. “I never met him in person. We spoke on the phone.”

  “But you once worked for the government?”

  “Yes.” Will chose his words carefully. “Your husband and I collaborated on a project. The project was successful. Then he disappeared. Do you know where he is?”

  Elizabeth Haden started walking back to the house. “No, I don’t.”

  Inside the house, Will asked, “Have you seen him at all during the last three years?”

  Haden drained the remains of her lemonade. “Do you know why I’m talking to you without the slightest evidence of your credentials?”

  “The thought occurred to me.”

  She slammed the glass down. “It’s because my husband couldn’t keep his dick in his pants! To my knowledge, he screwed three Pentagon women. The only reason I found out about the cheating bastard was because one of the women turned up here and told me she was pregnant with my husband’s child.”

  Will knew she wasn’t lying. But something was nagging him. “Is he with one of the women now?”

  Haden shrugged. “One of them, maybe. Or with another slut. Who cares?” She placed a finger on Will’s jaw. “If you do track him down, you have my permission to punch him off his feet.”

  Will moved away from her and glanced around. “Do you have employment?”

  “I look after my bees and this huge place. That’s employment enough.”

  “I’m sure it is. Colonel Haden’s salary couldn’t have afforded a place this size and so distinguished.”

  “I . . . The money came from me. Inheritance. My parents were in the oil business.”

  “Ah, that makes sense.” Will grabbed his coat. “You’ve been extremely gracious to talk with me. I must lay my cards on the table. If I track your husband down, I may do worse than punch him off his feet.”

  Elizabeth Haden smiled but said nothing.

  “Three years ago, your husband brought me in to do a job in Berlin. He did so via a CIA officer called Unwin Fox. I watched Fox die days ago. Just before, he told me that he was killed because of your husband. What would you do if you were in my position?”

  Haden looked hesitant. “I’d want to speak to my husband.”

  “Precisely. But what else?”

  For the first time, Haden looked confused. “I’ve never heard of Unwin Fox. My husband never spoke about his work.”

  Will gestured to the meadow outside the kitchen. “There were worker bees involved in the mission I was brought in to execute. Probably not many. Nothing on the scale of your hive. The problem I have is I don’t know some of them.”

  “The workers are protecting their king bee.”

  “There is no such thing as a king bee.”

  “Then have you considered the possibility of dissension in the ranks?”

  “I have. Plus I’ve considered one other possibility.”

  Haden paled. “Get out of my house!”

  Will nodded. “Good day to you, Mrs. Haden.”

  Outside, he glanced around urgently. Across the road, there was an escarpment covered in bushy foliage. Two hundred yards away from the main house was a garage the size of a cottage.

  He walked casually in that direction.

  Flail’s colleague watched Cochrane through the lens of his camera, taking photos. Cochrane approached the garage and used a jimmy to force its lock. He looked oblivious to his surveillance, jamming open the garage door and entering. He disappeared from view.

  Inside, Will saw three cars, all of them covered by dust sheets. He took off one sheet. Underneath was a Ferrari worth at least $400,000. Under the next was an Aston Martin in mint condition. The last was a Bentley. None of them looked like they’d been driven for some time, and in any case Mrs. Haden had a functional SUV parked outside the front of her house. These cars were boys’ toys. Either the colonel had bought them using his wife’s money, or there was another explanation.

  He left the garage, walked behind it, and vanished.

  Flail’s special operative called Howard Kane. “I’ve just spotted the same snooper we met at Fox’s house. I’ve got photos. Want me to do anything?”

  Kane asked, “Why do you think he’s there?”

  “You’re the one who should know the answer to that. You’re making us watch her place. And I don’t even know who she is!”

  Kane was silent for a moment before replying, “She’s Colonel Haden’s wife. There’s every possibility Haden will make contact with her.”

  The asset said, “Okay. I’m due to be relieved by my boss shortly. I’ll upload and send you the shots from my camera now.”

  “Good. I want to have a look at this snooper.”

  An hour after the operative sent the pictures to Kane, the operative started packing up his things in anticipation of being relieved of his duties. He knew the snooper had long gone and there was little chance of catching anything new on camera. Plus, Kane was paying him only $500 per day for this short assignment. It was a lot of money on Civvy Street, b
ut little when you were freezing your balls off in hedgerows for half a day.

  But Kane had now explained his interest in Elizabeth Haden. The ex–Green Beret wondered if she was aiding her husband. The operative liked that notion. He’d always wanted to outcompete a former Delta Force commander. And he dearly hoped he’d be the one on observation duty when the colonel returned to his wife.

  He picked up his phone to call Jason Flail.

  But Cochrane punched him in the back of the head first. He pulled him up by the collar of his over suit. “Who do you work for?”

  The operative swung a leg in an attempt to put Cochrane on his ass, but Cochrane jumped and the leg didn’t engage.

  Cochrane maintained his grip. “I knew you were watching me. It’s my business to know. Who sent you?”

  The operative punched at Cochrane with immense force but Cochrane dodged the blow, grabbed the fist, and flipped the man onto his front while maintaining a grip on his arm. With his mouth by the prone operative’s ear, he whispered, “Who do you work for?”

  His mouth buried in soil and grass, the operative spluttered, “You’d better let me go. I’m a cop.”

  “You and your colleagues tried that line when we met at Unwin Fox’s house. It didn’t work then. It isn’t working now.” Will wrenched the man’s arm into a more painful lock.