by Justine Davis, Amy J. Fetzer, Katherine Garbera, Meredith Fletcher, Catherine Mann
“Didn’t your grandfather tell you?”
“We’ve never talked about it. But there’s a plaque on the wall at the CIA headquarters for a fallen operative and the date matches when Dad…”
Tory hugged him tight to her. It seemed the Forsythe men had a history of fighting for their country though no one else would ever know.
She didn’t want to talk about families. She didn’t want to give herself or him the illusion that what they had would last longer than it took to air this story.
“What about your family? Any secrets hidden there?”
“Nope. I grew up on a ranch in Florida. My brother and I roamed all over like we owned the world.”
“Are you close to your brother?” he asked, dropping her hand.
“Yes, Derrick and I are very close. But that’s because of my folks—mostly my mom. She’s always calling us and making us call each other.”
“Sounds…nice.” Ben closed his eyes.
Tory dabbed a little more at his nose. She didn’t want to hurt him. And his face looked pretty bad. “You could be closer to Alex if you came clean. She’s trustworthy, you know.”
“I know. But she’s not a very good liar.”
“That’s not a bad thing.”
“It could be for my cover. Right now Alex plays a big part in that. She’s so exasperated with the man I am supposedly that no one thinks to look beyond that image.”
“I never did,” Tory admitted. But having seen the real man now, she knew she’d never be fooled by his apathetic man-about-town image again.
“And you’re no dummy.”
“Wow, watch out with all those compliments—you might turn my head.”
He ran one finger down the side of her face. She tipped her head into his hand. “It’d take more than words to turn your head.”
“You think so?” She wasn’t sure what it took. Her relationship skills weren’t that great. For a minute she was reminded of Perry’s betrayal and she felt that maybe she wasn’t as smart about people as she’d always imagined she was.
“I know so. You’re a tough character, Tory Patton.”
“Ha. Not hardly.”
“You intimidate everyone you meet. I think you know it and like it.”
She thought about what he’d said. Ben was more insightful than she had given him credit for being. “Maybe I do. But I’m short so I have a lot to make up for.”
She cleaned his nose and applied pressure to stem the bleeding. Ben wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her down on his lap. He tossed the ice-filled washcloth into the ice bucket. And pushed her hand off his face.
“Who delivered your warning?”
“A guy with a knife on the elevator.”
“I had two thugs with brass knuckles. I’m supposed to warn you that if you don’t stop asking questions they’re going to kill you.”
“I’m sorry, Ben.”
“Don’t be.” He ran his thumb along her bottom lip.
“Are you going to heed their advice?”
“Hell, no. If I knew who they were, I wouldn’t have to ask any more questions.”
“Are you sure you want to pursue this? It’s getting dangerous.”
Tory thought about it for a minute, but in her mind nothing had really changed. This story wasn’t just about her career anymore. It was about truth and honor. Two things that she had feeling the person behind her threats knew nothing about. “I’m not giving up.”
“What is in that water at Athena Academy?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
Ben had a chip on his shoulder about Athena. Why? “The same thing that’s in the water you drank. Would you give up?”
“That’s different. I’m a trained operative.”
“So am I.”
“I know it. Listen, I’ve got to get out of here. I want to check in with Ruben and make sure he wasn’t followed.”
“Okay. Call after you talk with McKinley’s aide. I finally got an appointment with Terrence for tomorrow.” She’d gotten confirmation earlier when they were at the network.
“Terrence?”
“Paul Terrence. He is the current U.S. drug czar.”
“Be careful, Tory.”
“Hey, I always am.”
Ben walked out the door. Tory put the night chain on and went to bed, trying not to be sorry that the night had ended this way instead of as she’d planned. Making notes and pursuing her story was enough to keep her busy tonight. She didn’t miss the man who’d just left her. Not one little bit.
Tory woke at 6:00 a.m. when her phone rang. She stretched her arm for the receiver. She’d ordered a wake-up call after Ben left. Today she was going to get some answers. No matter who she had to hound to find them.
“Hello,” she said.
“Tory Patton?”
“Yes, who is this?”
“Don’t worry about that. I have some information for you. Some of Whitlow’s campaign funding came from the Puerto Isla coca-leaf farmers.”
“What?”
“Track it down and see for yourself.”
“Who is this?”
“An interested third party.”
“Can we meet and discuss this?”
“No.”
The caller hung up. Tory rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She got out of bed and got dressed. Campaign contributions could be the missing puzzle piece to explain why it had taken so long to rescue Tom. If Whitlow was taking a kick-back from Puerto Isla, then he probably had promised to keep the DEA and military out of the country. But was it Whitlow who’d taken the money and made the deal, or someone close to him? Did the president of the United States have knowledge about those events? It left a lot of information in the that gray area between what was right and wrong.
She called Ben on the cell number he’d left her, but only got his voice mail. “It’s Tory, call me.”
She dressed with care, making sure that every hair was on-air perfect. She’d brought an entire suitcase of power suits with her. You couldn’t come to D.C. and not dress appropriately. This place had been founded on tradition, and flouting that tradition wouldn’t open the doors she needed to have opened.
She wasn’t sure what to make of her early-morning wake-up call. Still trying to determine if it was just a crackpot with an agenda against Whitlow, Tory got out of her cab at Paul Terrence’s office at ten minutes to nine.
A woman in her early twenties arrived next. She didn’t invite Tory to wait inside. Tory didn’t mind. Her wool overcoat was a good one, and she scarcely noticed the chilly November air.
Security was tight at the building, which was what had taken so long for her to get the interview. Everyone who entered the building had to be cleared.
A black sedan pulled up twenty minutes later. A couple of U.S. marshals got out of the car and escorted Terrence into the building. Tory waited until he was inside before she herself entered.
Paul Terrence didn’t really look like his press photo from the Internet. He wasn’t as tall as she’d expected him to be. He’d probably been an attractive man at some point, but he’d started putting on weight around the middle and his hair was thinning.
She entered the building and gave her name at the security desk. She was searched and sent up for her appointment.
She arrived in the office of the National Drug Control Policy and had to wait another fifteen minutes before Terrence was ready to see her.
She was escorted to his office by his personal assistant. Terrence’s office had an American flag in one corner. The decor was very masculine, all dark woods and big chairs.
“Hello, Mr. Terrence. I’m Tory Patton with UBC.”
“Good morning, Ms. Patton. Please have a seat, and call me Paul.”
“Thank you, sir. Call me Tory,” she said. Most people would be comfortable in the guest chair, but Tory was petite and felt as if she were being swallowed by it.
She perched on the end of her chair, ready to ask her questions. The wall held the usu
al assortment of framed pictures, a Harvard degree and a few awards. Tory skimmed her gaze over the pictures, not really observing, but preserving them in her mind.
“Can I offer you some coffee?”
“No, thanks. Since you are pressed for time I’d rather get to it and ask you some questions.”
“Of course. How can I help you?”
“How familiar are you with the hostage situation on Puerto Isla earlier this year in which Tom King and his SEAL team were ambushed?”
“Just what I’ve heard you report. Very nice work, by the way.”
Flattery, how nice. Too bad she wasn’t buying it. She knew she shouldn’t be in this office asking questions.
She’d been warned, her brother had been shot and the person whom she’d made nervous wasn’t in the mood to play games. Terrence might or might not have knowledge of the illegal campaign contributions. But whoever did might get wind of this interview and then she’d be in hot water…again.
She wasn’t sure which questions she should be asking. “Is the coca-leaf eradication process moving more smoothly there now that Alejandro Del Torro has taken office?”
“I believe so. I think you should speak to our public-affairs office. We put out a press release just last week on Puerto Isla. But I believe the program has been successful. We’re hoping to mirror the operation and results we had in Peru.”
“Have you been to Puerto Isla?”
“No.”
“Has anyone from your office?”
“What are you getting at, Ms. Patton?”
“Nothing,” she said. She realized she might have overstepped her boundaries by coming here. Had she made a mistake?
“I heard some disturbing rumors when I was on the island last week about Del Torro being involved in coca-leaf farming.”
“We’re aware of that. If he doesn’t stay in line with our policies, we’ll be forced to stop all financial aid to Puerto Isla. You’ve been there, so you know firsthand how desperately they need our government’s help.”
“Yes, I do. Why is our government backing Del Torro if he’s in the coca-leaf business?”
“He’s the lesser of two evils.”
Terrence’s phone rang and he reached for the handset. He listened for a minute and then lifted his gaze to Tory. “If that’s all…? I have a call I need to take.”
“Of course. Thanks for your time.”
Tory left his office and was escorted back to the elevators, and she knew she was watched until she left the building. What had Terrence told her? Nothing, she thought. The same as Addler the day before.
She lifted her arm to hail a taxi. She gave them the address for the UBC studios in D.C. She wanted to check out McKinley, Terrence, Addler, Whitlow, Del Torro and Pearson and see if there was a connection anywhere.
She also needed to go through Whitlow’s campaign contributions and see where the money came from.
Chapter 16
Tory spent the rest of the day on the Internet and talking to contacts. Whitlow’s campaign funding was a spreadsheet that was a mile long and had more entries than she could keep straight. So far she hadn’t found a connection to Puerto Isla.
It was almost lunchtime on Tuesday and she still hadn’t heard from Ben. She wasn’t going to worry about him. He could take care of himself. Telling herself that didn’t stop the bad feeling she had in the pit of her stomach.
The phone rang and she answered it. “UBC, Tory Patton speaking.”
“Hi, sweetie.”
“Hi, Mom. How’s Derrick?”
Tory could hear the radio playing in the background. She pictured her mom standing in the kitchen of their big ranch house probably making sandwiches for lunch. “Much better. He’s out of the hospital. Dad went to pick up his family and bring them to the house for Thanksgiving. Will you be able to break away and join us?”
Since it was Tuesday and her story was finally coming together, Tory doubted it. “I don’t think so.”
Her mom made that sound that always indicated she was disappointed in Tory. “Mom, I’ve got enough guilt going on about what happened to Derrick. Please don’t make me feel guilty about not coming for Thanksgiving. I promise I’ll take two weeks off at Christmas and come home.”
“Sweetie, making you feel guilty is my job. And if you ever get married, nagging you about giving me grandchildren will be my chief focus.”
She laughed. God, she missed her family. She’d love to be on her way to the airport and then on her way home. Feeling her parents’ love and support. But the tingling feeling in her gut warned that time was of the essence and leaving now might mean missing out on an important detail. And if someone was gunning for her, she didn’t want to be anywhere near her family.
“Thanks, Mom.”
“For what?”
“Just being you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie. If you need us you know where we are.”
“I’ll call on turkey day.”
Her mom hung up and Tory leaned back in her chair. She reached for her cup of tea and found that it had grown cold. She went to the break room to get another cup. The television, which was tuned to UBC’s all-day news station flashed a photo of the Potomac River. The news ticker at the bottom said an unidentified man’s body had been pulled from the river that morning.
The footage was grainy and not close enough to identify anything about the body. Tory prayed it wasn’t Ben. Why would it be? But the warnings she’d been given lately lingered in her mind.
Tory went down the hall to the newsroom. Marsha Cranston, a forty-five-year-old with the kind of news experience Tory hoped to have at her age, sat behind her big desk. Marsha monitored all news wires, as well as the other networks to see what they were running. “Did they identify that John Doe they pulled out of the Potomac yet?”
“Our sources haven’t, but apparently ABS has.”
“Who was it?” Tory asked, heart in her throat.
“I don’t know. Shannon Conner is doing a report on it right now.”
Tory leaned over the desk, and Marsha handed her a pair of earphones. “A former army helicopter pilot’s body was pulled from the Potomac River early this morning. Ruben Jimenez left the military earlier this year after serving in Central America. I’ll have an exclusive interview with Ruben’s father and fiancée on tonight’s evening news. This is Shannon Conner, broadcasting live from Washington, D.C.”
Tory handed the earphones back to Marsha. Her stomach felt tight and bile rose in the back of her throat. Had she caused Ruben’s death? Of course she had. It was too much to be just a coincidence.
She knew she needed to figure out the clues in this damned story before anyone else died. She was glad she’d decided not to go home for Thanksgiving.
Her phone was ringing when she entered her office. Tory stared at it for a minute, afraid to pick up. But she’d never been a quitter and she was pissed off. Whoever was behind this mess was going down. “Patton here.”
“It’s Ben. I’ve got some bad news.”
“Is it about Ruben?” she asked. Oh, thank God he was okay. She didn’t dwell on it. Didn’t want to spend too much time thinking about the feelings that had flooded her when she’d first heard his voice. He was just a guy she knew. There was no emotional connection between them.
But the frantic beating of her heart said otherwise.
“You know?” he asked, his normally deep voice even more gruff than usual.
“I just saw it on TV.” She thought about Ruben as she’d last seen him and said a prayer for his soul. Not sure if Rainy could really hear or not, she asked her old friend to watch out for this man who’d helped her at the cost of his life.
“Don’t leave the network until I come and pick you up.”
“I don’t want a bodyguard.” Tory knew the only way to get this story done was to stay alone. To keep anyone else from getting involved. She didn’t know how she’d find answers on her own, but she’d do it. She wasn’t going to risk anyone e
lse’s life.
“Too damned bad. I’m taking you to Middleburg until after the Thanksgiving weekend. We can work from there.”
“I don’t want to go to Forsythe Farms.”
“I’m not asking, Tory,” he said, and there was a steely tone in his voice she’d never heard before.
Tory wanted to go with Ben. She needed to think, and to do that she needed to feel safe. And D.C. didn’t feel safe anymore. “What am I going to tell Alex?”
“That we ran into each other in D.C. and I invited you down for the holiday.”
“I don’t want to put your family in danger, Ben.”
“You won’t. No one will follow us and even if they do, there’s enough security around that place to keep out the National Guard.”
She reluctantly agreed and made arrangements to meet Ben in less than an hour’s time in the lobby of the network. Tory sent an e-mail to Tyson Bedders advising him of the progress she’d made and telling him she’d be available via her cell phone.
Ruben Jimenez’s face kept flashing through her mind. She was responsible for his death. Granted, he’d decided to talk to her, but she’d known that danger was stalking her.
“Ready?” Ben asked from her doorway.
“Yes. I need to go by the hotel and pick up my suitcase.”
“I already did.”
“Should I say thanks?”
“I should think so.”
She smiled at Ben, happier to see him than she’d ever admit. His lightness relieved part of the burden in her heart.
Forsythe Farms was nestled in the middle of Virginia horse country. Tory leaned back against her seat and closed her eyes as Ben drove. She still wasn’t sure coming home with Ben on Thanksgiving was such a great idea.
Maybe because it felt right in her soul. That secret place she’d hidden and protected so well in other relationships. But with Ben she seemed to have no barrier. She suspected it was because of the circumstances of their meeting.
She warned herself not to place too much importance on this. And he was sticking around due to some kind of…what? She knew he didn’t feel brotherly toward her.
