by Taylor Smith
“She risked her life to tell us about those weapons, Frank,” Mariah said. “How did we let the KGB get her? Why didn’t we protect her?”
Tucker stood by the bedroom window, looking out. “She knew the risk she was running.”
“Oh, come on, Frank! She was a sweet, kindhearted young woman!”
He turned to face her. “I’m not trying to be cold-blooded, Mariah, but Tatyana Baranova is lost—probably dead. You don’t have to like it, but it’s a fact you have to accept. If you’re not careful, you could be next.”
She stared at him angrily. “Get him in here, Frank.”
“Who?”
“George Neville.”
“Did I hear someone calling my name?” Mariah spun around to see Neville standing in the doorway of the bedroom. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him. “You people are missing a good party,” he said. “What seems to be the problem?”
Mariah stared at the operations deputy, unsure of herself in the face of his cool smile and calculating eyes. But then she remembered the attack in her house and the photos and Lindsay, and her fury rose anew.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mr. Neville,” she said. “Maybe you can explain to me why my husband and daughter were attacked in Vienna and I was told it was nothing but a traffic accident. And why someone is playing psychological terror games with me now, threatening my family again here and sending me incriminating photos of my husband with a former East German spy. And why someone tried to kill me this afternoon.”
“Photos? Frank told me you were attacked,” Neville said, frowning at Tucker. “I don’t know anything about photos. And surely you don’t believe—”
Mariah pulled down the collar of her sweater, revealing her bandaged throat. “I spent my afternoon with six inches of cold steel cutting into my neck, Mr. Neville, while a disgusting creep tried to rape and murder me. You’ll forgive my disregard for protocol, I hope, but I’m in a really bad mood and I want to know what the hell you people think you’re up to!”
“Mariah!”
“No, Frank, it’s all right,” Neville said, holding up his hand. “Mariah, I know what you’ve been through is terrible. You have a right to be angry. But you have to believe me when I tell you that we had nothing to do with this—absolutely nothing, I swear.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Why not? Because that Chaney fellow is looking for conspiracies under every rock? Come on, Mariah! You know how the media feel about the work you and I do.”
“Oh, no,” Mariah said, shaking her head. “Not you and I, Mr. Neville. I don’t know what you do, but I’m just a simple analyst trying to make sense of a confusing world. What I do doesn’t get a child mauled and a brilliant man destroyed. It doesn’t get a young woman like Tanya Baranova kidnapped and probably murdered for trying to do the right thing.”
“What are you saying?” Neville asked incredulously. “You joined up with our troops when you went to Vienna, Mariah. You recruited Baranova, for chrissake! What did you think you were inviting her to do, if not put her neck on the line?” Mariah stared at him, then sighed and closed her eyes briefly. “And as for your husband and daughter, well, hell. I’m sorry about your little girl. I mean it,” he added as she glared at him. “I’ve got kids, too, you know. But you should be asking yourself what part your husband played in this.”
“He was set up!”
“He had free will, Mariah. He could have walked away from that woman.”
“Oh, God,” Mariah said, slumping onto the bed. “Why didn’t he?” She glanced up at the two men. “And don’t tell me it was about sex. He didn’t even like her when Chaney brought her around. It used to give him the creeps when she fawned over him—he said so. And we had a good marriage. I’ve thought and thought about it, and I can’t believe he’d have done what he did if she weren’t holding something over him.”
Neville pulled up a chair and sat down opposite her. “Did your husband know you had recruited Baranova?”
“I never discussed my work with him—especially on this case. It would have put him in an awkward position. Although,” she added, reflecting, “he might have seen us together, that first time, at the IAEA office party, and then when she came to the hockey rink.”
“So he could have guessed.”
“I suppose, if someone had suggested it. But otherwise it wouldn’t have occurred to him, I don’t think. He never mentioned her to me.”
“What about Chaney?”
“What about him?”
“Did he know about Baranova?”
Mariah shook her head. “I don’t think so. He was playing that day at the rink, but she left before the game was over. They never met.”
“He introduced David to Katarina Müller?”
“Yes, but we thought Elsa—Katarina—was just another one of his girlfriends. He had a few,” Mariah said dryly.
“Was Chaney in love with the Müller woman?”
“He says not—just the opposite. He knew she was a former East German agent and he was looking for a story.”
“Why is he still dogging this?”
“Because he and David were good friends. And because—” She hesitated.
It was Tucker who finished the sentence. “Because he’s in love with you. Has been for a while, hasn’t he, Mariah?”
Neville peered at her closely. “Is he?” Mariah shrugged. “This is important, Mariah. If he’s in love with you, he might have set up David to get him out of the way.”
“There was nothing between us. I never encouraged him in any way. He had no reason to believe I could be interested in him, even if David weren’t around. In fact, just the opposite. He was convinced I couldn’t stand him. And he was genuinely upset about David—they were friends. When he discovered it was no accident, he wouldn’t let it drop. Now it looks like he’s been fired for his persistence.”
“He has?” Neville said, sitting up straighter.
“This morning, apparently. At least, he seems to think that’s why he was fired. Look, never mind Chaney. I want to know who sent me those pictures. And what they’re supposed to mean.”
“Have you got them with you?”
She looked at him with utter disgust. “They’re not the kind of family snaps I keep in my wallet. I left them at home.”
“What was in them?”
“David and Elsa—Katarina Müller.”
Neville nodded, no further explanation was necessary. “I’d like to have them. I’ll have them analyzed, see what we can find out.”
“Are you saying you don’t know anything about them?”
“Of course that’s what I’m saying. For crying out loud, woman, think! Tatyana Baranova disappears. The Müller woman is assigned to compromise your husband. Frank here tells me David tried to talk you into leaving Vienna. That didn’t work, so someone tries to kill you instead—” Mariah’s eyes went wide. “Yes, you. I’ve always believed it was you they were after. Now Chaney starts reopening old wounds and suddenly they try again. What does all this suggest to you?”
Her gaze went from Neville to Tucker and back again. “KGB—or their successors.”
“Bingo!” Neville said, sitting back in the chair. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”
“Don’t patronize me!” Mariah said angrily.
“Well then, stop acting like a sophomoric CIA conspiracy theorist. Why the hell would we do something like this to one of our own?”
Mariah glanced up at Tucker, who was watching Neville closely. She turned back to the deputy. “My daughter was given those photos at school yesterday. The creep who attacked me has been stalking me at least since Thursday night—he admitted it. Why would they try to blackmail me into silence if they had already decided to do the job permanently?”
Neville frowned. “It doesn’t make sense,” he agreed. “Unless your stalker is just that—your basic, all-American, murderous pervert who has nothing to do with this Vienna business.”
&nb
sp; “A little too coincidental, wouldn’t you say?”
“I don’t much like it as a theory, either, but in the absence of more evidence, it’s all I can figure for now. In any event, they won’t get a second chance, Mariah. I’ve assigned protection for you and your daughter until we get to the bottom of this.”
Mariah shook her head. “I already told Frank I’m not going into hiding.”
“Good. I don’t want you to,” Neville said. “We’re going to be very discreet. I’d like to flush out whoever’s behind this.”
“You’re hoping they’ll try again?” Mariah said.
“For your sake, no. But if they do, we’ll be there.”
Mariah went to the window and stared out for a moment. A light snow had begun to fall, shimmering against the backdrop of bright Christmas lights strung on homes up and down the street. On the roof of a house across the street, tiny white lights spelled out the perennial message of Christmas hope, Peace on Earth—as if the mere act of stringing up the lights could make it happen. “Maybe I should send Lindsay to David’s parents in New Hampshire,” she said quietly.
“You might want to consider it,” Neville said. “You might also want to consider losing the reporter, Mariah. At best, he can’t do you any good. And given what’s happened since he showed up this week, I’d suggest that his company is positively dangerous for you.”
Mariah turned to study his face, but it was a mask. “Can’t do me any good, Mr, Neville? Or the Company?”
But Neville had risen and headed for the door. “We should get out to the party now, before someone misses our charming company. Are you two coming?”
Mariah glanced at Tucker and she saw that he was watching Neville darkly. Frank nodded almost imperceptibly, and then followed him out the door.
13
Mariah circulated through the party for a while, but her heart wasn’t in it. Leaving Chaney in a group debating the subject of media responsibility, she went in search of Lindsay to say good-night. Carol was sitting on a chair in the corner of the living room, rocking her sleeping baby, and Mariah’s daughter was nowhere in sight. She moved from room to room until she finally discovered Lindsay in the den with Stephen Tucker. The two of them were hunched over Frank’s computer, eyes transfixed on the screen, their faces bathed in its flickering bluish glow. Lindsay’s hand was toggling a joystick to direct the action on the monitor.
“There you are, you two.”
“Hi, Mom,” Lindsay said, glancing up brightly. “Look at this, it’s Stevie’s new game. He’s letting me test it!”
Stephen sat up straighter in the chair and watched Mariah approach, his eyes dropping to her bandaged hand. When he looked up, Mariah met his frown. She smiled and waved her hand, attempting to make light of the injury. She had spotted Stephen earlier, deep in conversation with Frank’s secretary, and Pat’s anxious glance in Mariah’s direction had left no doubt as to what they had been discussing.
Lindsay sat back, beaming at the medieval parade of dragons, knights and wizards on the screen. “This is even better than Wizard’s Wand,” she said excitedly. “Wait’ll my friends hear about it!”
“Sounds like you’ve got a hit on your hands, Stevie,” Mariah said. Lindsay nodded in rapid agreement. From the girl’s rapt expression, Mariah could see that Stephen had moved up into a category usually reserved for rock stars in the adolescent hierarchy of idols—a plump and unlikely heartthrob, maybe, but no less a hero for that.
The hero blushed profusely, the effect vaguely purplish under the computer’s blue light. “Still a few kinks to work out,” he mumbled. He glanced at Lindsay and his discomfort was apparent. Mariah thought back to the boys on the school steps with their skateboards and wondered whether, if he were younger or she ten years older, Stephen, too, would be doing handstands to earn the approval of those pretty dark eyes. The next few years are not going to be easy, she thought ruefully, regretting that David wasn’t going to be there to intimidate the inevitable parade of suitors.
After watching the game for a short time, she kissed Lindsay good-night. Stephen followed her out into the hall.
“You’re all right?” he asked. Mariah nodded. “Did it have anything to do with that operation in Vienna?”
She glanced around quickly, then shrugged. “I’m not sure, but your dad and some other people are looking into it. I didn’t tell anyone about the file,” she added, noting his sudden tension, “and I won’t, Stevie, I promise. But now I’m really grateful that you got it for me.” He looked dubious.
“Mariah?” They turned to see Paul Chaney coming down the hall. “Hi,” he said. “Sorry to interrupt. I was just escaping a conversation in there that was showing signs of turning into a lynching. Some guy’s had a bit much to drink.”
“That’s okay. I’m about ready to leave. This is Frank’s son, Stephen Tucker,” she said. “Stevie, this is Paul Chaney. He’s a friend of David’s from Vienna.”
Stephen averted his eyes, mumbling some indistinct greeting as he shook Chaney’s outstretched hand, his shyness painful to watch. He stepped back and followed at a distance as Mariah and Paul moved toward the front door.
Frank was already in the entrance, standing by the closet with her coat in his hand. He spun around as they approached. Mariah’s eyes narrowed and she reached out for the garment. “I was just coming for that. We’re going to head off now, Frank. It’s a great party, but I’m beat.”
Tucker glanced at Chaney and then held up Mariah’s coat. As she turned and directed her arms into the sleeves and he lowered it onto her shoulders, she was struck by the heaviness of it, as if it were being dragged down by lead weights. She slipped her hands into the pockets and froze. Her eyes locked on to Frank, who was fixing her with a dark warning look.
In the left pocket, her hand wrapped around something hard, metallic and rectangular, the top side of it open. Along the open edge she felt the first bullet spring-loaded in a clip. She depressed the bullet with her thumb—by the resistance she felt, she knew the magazine was fully loaded. The fingers of her bandaged right hand traced the outline of the pistol that Frank had planted in the other pocket of her coat—a 9 mm semiautomatic, by the feel of it. He knew she didn’t own a gun and under any other circumstances would have refused to have one in her house. But he also knew that she’d received enough basic training to be able to use the weapon if the need arose.
“Are you sure you won’t reconsider and stay here?” Tucker asked. She shook her head firmly and his frown deepened. “Be careful.”
Chaney stepped forward and cupped his hand under her elbow. “I’ll keep an eye on her,” he said. Tucker’s frown shifted to Chaney, then to his hand on Mariah’s elbow and back to her face.
“I’ll be fine, Frank. Let’s talk tomorrow,” she said soberly. “I’m exhausted right now.”
Chaney shook hands with Frank and Stephen, and he and Mariah headed out the door. At the bottom step, as she glanced up at Tucker and his son, Mariah was struck by the identical dark frowns on the faces of the two big men watching them leave.
She was silent as they drove back to McLean, feeling physically exhausted and buzzed at the same time, thinking about the conversation with George Neville. As much as she distrusted the smooth manner that belied his reputation for ruthlessness—you didn’t get to be head of covert operations by being a Boy Scout—she knew there was some truth in what he had told her in Frank’s bedroom. He was as mystified as she was about some of this. But at the same time, she realized, he hadn’t told her what he did know regarding the whole ugly business.
Katarina Müller’s targeting of David looked to be a simple case of blackmail to get him and Mariah out of Vienna. How David had let himself get into such a compromising situation, though, was something she couldn’t begin to comprehend. Mariah’s refusal to leave the post when David had pleaded with her to pull out early had probably pushed Müller’s employers to up the ante, leading to the attack in front of Lindsay’s school.
; But now it was starting all over again. Why?
She glanced over at Chaney, frowning at the road ahead of him as he drove, clearly lost in thought. His persistence in dogging the case obviously had something to do with it; someone wanted them both to back off. But she knew by his stubborn expression that he had no intention of doing that. She also knew that he alone had been straight with her, and that the two of them were allies now. The realization was tinged with more than a little irony, given the way she had felt about him in Vienna.
“Are you okay?” he asked quietly. Mariah nodded. “Did you tell Tucker about the envelope?”
“Yes.” She couldn’t mention Neville.
“And? Does it make sense to him?”
“No. But I have to believe that whoever ordered Elsa—Katarina Müller—to set David up for blackmail is obviously trying to shut me up, too. And you, as well, I guess.”
“Did Tucker tell you that Katarina Müller is dead?”
“What?”
Chaney pulled up to a stoplight and faced her. “Her body washed up on the banks of the Danube three months ago—what was left of it, anyway. My friend in the German embassy told me about it. I looked for her after the attack on David and Lindsay, but she had disappeared. They identified her by her dental work—she’d been in the river for quite a while.”
Mariah shook her head. “No, he didn’t tell me,” she said, turning away to watch the road. “I can’t say it breaks my heart to hear it, though.”
When Chaney drove up to her house, they were surprised to see two Fairfax County police cruisers and an ambulance parked at irregular angles against the curb. The command van that had been there earlier that afternoon was back, as well as a vehicle whose side door was marked “Coroner.” A small crowd had gathered once again, their faces and the surrounding houses and trees flashing in the red strobe of spinning lights. A new pathway of police barrier tape had been strung, but this one extended from the curb to her front door and along the asphalt walkway leading toward the center of the condominium complex.
