Cold Harbor (The Gibson Vaughn Series Book 3)

by Matthew Fitzsimmons

  Gibson would have thought that he’d graduated from hurt feelings at this point in his life, but he’d have been wrong.

  “Why the hell not? Do you think I—”

  “You’d done enough.” She reached out and touched the scar at his throat. “We both thought you’d let it go.” Jenn smiled at him. “But you’re so damned stubborn. God, how Dan used to bitch at me about how he could set his watch by your calls.”

  “Great. I’m glad I was good for something,” Gibson said bitterly.

  “It meant a lot to me.”

  “Well, you’re welcome.” Gibson poured himself more coffee and took it over to the fireplace. He stood gazing into the flames. Jenn came and stood next to him. She nudged him with her shoulder.

  “I should have told you,” she said.

  Admitting mistakes was not in Jenn Charles’s blood; it surprised Gibson, but he wasn’t inclined to be so easily placated. “You’re damned right you should’ve.”

  “But I didn’t, so quit pouting.”

  “Pouting?” Gibson said, not believing his ears.

  “Yeah, you’re pouting. Knock it off, already. I haven’t seen you in two years, you big baby.”

  He looked at her, bracing for a fight, but she was grinning at him.

  “Look, I said I was sorry.”

  “No, actually, you didn’t.”

  Jenn thought about it. “Well, I meant to.”

  Gibson waited, but that was as close to an apology as Jenn got. And she was right, they hadn’t seen each other in two years, and he didn’t want to start with a fight.

  “It’s good to see you,” Jenn said.

  “Yeah, you too.”

  “So what happened to you?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, knowing exactly what she meant.

  “I mean, you vanished. One second Dan can’t get rid of you, and the next your ex-wife’s house burns down and you’re nowhere to be found. We thought you might be dead.”

  “I could say the same for you.”

  Jenn began to press the issue, but then her phone buzzed in her pocket. She frowned at the number and went into the next room to take the call. When she didn’t return, Gibson wandered back to the kitchen to refill his coffee. Exploring, he stuck his head through a nearby door and found the dining room. Jenn had converted it into an office. A large white architectural map of Dulles International Airport had been taped to the dining room table. Arrows, circles, lists, and notes had been scrawled across the map in a variety of inks. A stack of legal pads sat beside a laptop. Gibson would have needed a laser to line up the row of multicolored Sharpies that precisely.

  Casually, he reached out and jostled one of the Sharpies a quarter of an inch with his fingernail. That he knew someone well enough to mess with them like this made him happy. It felt more human than anything he’d done since his release. He cast around for another prank to play, but Jenn came back from her call.

  “See you found my war room.” Something in her voice told Gibson she would have rather he’d stayed in the living room.

  “Tell me this airplane isn’t flying out of Dulles.”

  “Is that a problem?”

  “Dulles International Airport? Little bit, yeah.”

  “I thought you liked a challenge,” Jenn said with false bravado. “Come on, let me show you the rest of the house.”

  She seemed eager to get him out of there, so he let her lead him on a tour of the upstairs. Of the four bedrooms, she’d taken the smallest for herself.

  “You can take any of the others, but I had them put your stuff in here,” she said, opening the last door.

  “My stuff?”

  Two black garbage bags and Toby’s cardboard box had been set against the far wall. Gibson opened each one—it looked to be everything from his basement room.

  “When?” he asked.

  “An hour before you got here.”

  That meant they’d cleaned out his room while he’d been meeting with Calista. Further evidence of her calculating confidence. To beat him here, her people would have had to start packing him up as soon as he’d gotten into the SUV this morning. Calista had known she’d won before he even walked into her office.

  “So I’m moving in?”

  “That’s Calista’s intention. Until this is over.”

  “And my car?”

  “It’s in the garage,” Jenn said.

  “She’s unbelievable.”

  “Doesn’t miss a trick, does she?”

  Something in Jenn’s tone bothered him. He stopped rummaging through the garbage bags and looked up at her framed in the doorway. He wasn’t sure how to say it.

  “So I got to ask you something . . .”

  “Just ask,” Jenn said, a hardness creeping into her voice.

  “How long have you been in bed with Calista Dauplaise?”

  Jenn’s eyes narrowed. “You mean, was I with her in Pennsylvania?”

  “Just answer the question, Jenn. How long?”

  Jenn ran her tongue over her front teeth. “About two months after Atlanta. She approached me, offering to bankroll my operation. She’s got her reason, which is Eskridge, and I’ve got mine, which is George. And no, I don’t trust her. But one thing they taught me at Langley is that the world is too complicated to do business only with your friends.”

  “Yeah, but Calista Dauplaise . . .”

  “Yeah? That’s pretty rich, coming from you. After everything she did to your family. Yet time came, you struck a bargain with her. Didn’t you? Not that I’m not blaming you. Believe me, I understand. Sometimes all we can do is make the best deal that’s on the table, and sometimes the enemy of my enemy is my friend. But don’t hold me to a different standard.”

  “I had to ask.”

  “Did you?”

  Jenn stalked out of the room and downstairs to the kitchen. Gibson heard the refrigerator open and slam shut. So much for not starting off with a fight.

  “Yeah,” Gibson said under his breath. “I’ve missed you too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Reunion off to a roaring, dysfunctional start, the two took a break from each other. Jenn disappeared into the dining room, burying herself in work. Gibson left Toby a message, apologizing for missing his shift and explaining that he wouldn’t be in for a couple of weeks. He left it vague, knowing this was probably his last strike with the Kalpars.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Bear asked after he hung up the phone.

  “This is Jenn we’re talking about.”

  “I know she’s important to you,” Bear said. “But you haven’t dealt with the existing mess, and you’re thinking about starting a whole new one. And what about Nicole’s e-mail? You still need to explain. Fix things.”

  That had been on his mind since he’d first opened Nicole’s e-mail. But he didn’t know where to begin, and every time he reread what she’d written, he felt less certain. Calista’s reappearance had only served to back up Nicole’s argument.

  “I don’t see where I have a choice, Bear. If I don’t play ball, Calista puts in a call to the CIA.”

  Unconvinced, Bear took her book and went looking for a quiet place to read. Gibson waited for Jenn to finish working, but she wasn’t done being angry. He sorted through his belongings, unpacked only as much as needed, and put aside the few things that he actually cared enough about to take if he had to leave in a hurry.

  Eventually, he got ready for bed. He was tired, but even with all the lights on, sleep wouldn’t come for him. He crept past Jenn’s door and went downstairs. Turning on the television, he surfed around until settling on a Paul Newman movie he’d never seen. Newman was driving a pickup down the sidewalk at Philip Seymour Hoffman. Unable to get comfortable on the wide, plush sofa, he curled up on the floor and watched the movie until he drifted off. He liked the background noise. A reminder that there was a world beyond these walls, and that was enough to help him sleep.

  “Gibson. Gibson. Wake up.”

&nbs
p; His eyes flicked open. Jenn knelt beside him, shaking his shoulder.

  “What is it?” he asked, only partially awake.

  “You were screaming.”

  Wide awake now, he said, “I was what?”

  “Screaming. Are you okay?”

  He fought gravity to a sitting position and rubbed his face with both hands. “I’m sorry. Did I wake you up? I’m sorry.”

  “It’s all right. Do you do that a lot?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He expected her to be irritated. They hadn’t settled their argument before he’d gone to bed, but he saw only concern in her eyes.

  Jenn said, “When you disappeared . . . Where did you really go?”

  “You want the long version or the short?”

  “Make it the long. I haven’t had a normal conversation in ages.”

  “Won’t be anything normal about it.”

  Jenn chuckled, and Gibson smiled at the implausibility of the situation. Two old friends reuniting on Calista Dauplaise’s nickel. It was a tender goddamn moment. In many ways, they barely knew each other, but in other ways, ways that mattered more than Gibson could hope to articulate, this woman was the only person who might understand him.

  Jenn sat on the floor beside him and waited for him to begin. At first, he was hesitant, but once he got rolling, he couldn’t stop. He found he wanted to tell her the story. Needed to tell her. And as he talked, Gibson felt lighter and lighter. A wonderful, weightless relief. He couldn’t think of anyone else he trusted to believe him. Jenn never interrupted but instead listened intently, letting it all tumble out. She never once looked away. He didn’t think it would last, but he felt as close to right as he could remember.

  The only part of the story he left out was kidnapping Damon Ogden. Jenn Charles had spent eight years in the CIA, and he doubted that even she would have much sympathy or understanding for what he’d done. After all, if he didn’t, why should she?

  “And then Jenn Charles opened the door. The end.”

  “Not if I can help it.” She reached over and squeezed his hand and didn’t let go. After that, they sat in silence. Side by side. She didn’t ask questions. He didn’t think he could say anything more. She didn’t offer words of comfort, tell him she was sorry for his suffering, or promise him that things would get better. He didn’t want to hear that anyway.

  “Do you see them as people?” Jenn asked, referring to Bear and Duke.

  He nodded. “As real as you or me.”

  “But you know they’re not. Right? You can tell the difference.”

  “I do. Intellectually, I know. But . . .”

  “They feel real.”

  “Something like that, yeah.”

  An old Robert De Niro movie played on the television. De Niro was in first class beside Charles Grodin, who was afraid to fly. But he wasn’t really . . . it was all an act. Gibson had seen this one before; one of Duke’s favorites. Gibson looked around for his father, expecting him to appear, but it was only Jenn and him. Of course, Jenn hadn’t seen the movie—she was the only person he knew who made him feel hip—so they watched for a while until the tension had left the room.

  “Come here,” she said. “Get up on the couch.”

  “Why?”

  “Just do it. Lie down.”

  “I can’t sleep like that.”

  She stared small burn holes in his forehead until he did as she said.

  “Happy?” he asked.

  She climbed over him and lay behind him on the couch, fitting herself against his back. She put an arm around him and held him close to her.

  “Sleep,” she said. “I’ve got you.”

  He didn’t remember anything after.

  In the morning, Gibson woke up alone. He yawned contentedly. He felt oddly good. The best night’s sleep he’d had since he couldn’t say when. Since the cell. And now he no longer felt the urge to retreat back into sleep. Instead, he wanted to get up and help Jenn. Whatever she needed. He still had no idea what to do about Damon Ogden, but he believed that if he could help Jenn, it would make it easier to face the consequences of what he’d done.

  “Aren’t you going to fight me on this?” he asked Bear, who was watching him from across the room.

  She closed her book carefully. “No, I think you’re right.”

  “Really?” he said, failing to keep the surprise out of his voice. “You do?”

  “I do.”

  “I think it might fix things.”

  “It’s not going to fix anything,” Bear said. “But you should help her anyway. She’s your people.”

  Bear had a point. Jenn was his people. If only Calista had come for him before he’d taken Ogden. He laughed at the thought. Wishing that Calista Dauplaise had saved him from himself—it was pathetic. Look forward, not back. Help Jenn. Figure out Ogden. One thing at a time.

  First up, he owed Jenn an apology.

  Mind made up, he followed the smell of fresh-brewed coffee to the kitchen. He poured himself a cup and found Jenn working in the dining room. She didn’t look up but carried on typing. Gibson sat down and drank his coffee. She came to the end of her thought and sat back.

  “Morning,” she said.

  “I’m sorry,” Gibson replied, not making eye contact, “about what I said yesterday about Calista. Just a lot to wrap my mind around.”

  “I’d want to know too.”

  Gibson had expected a longer discussion, but that seemed to settle the matter in her mind.

  “So you want to tell me what you need me to do?” he asked.

  The corners of Jenn’s mouth inched downward.

  “What?” he asked.

  She turned to face him. “I think maybe you should sit this one out.”

  “What? No, I’m here to help.”

  “Gibson. Eskridge doesn’t own kid gloves. If this goes bad, and it could, rotting in a cell would be a best-case scenario. Even if this goes good, we’re going to be on the run afterward.”

  “Why?” Gibson asked.

  “Because chances are airport security is going to know we were there. And shortly thereafter, so will the FBI and Homeland. There are simply too many cameras. Too many sets of eyes. We may not get caught in the act, but they are going to figure out what we did. And when they do, there will be serious consequences.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “Take George out of the country. Lie low. Let the dust settle and see what we see.”

  “That’s it?” Gibson was expecting something a little more elaborate.

  “I’ve got seven days. That’s it. There isn’t time to plan this right. That’s why I’m saying you don’t have to do this. George doesn’t mean to you what he means to me. I get that. You need time, Gibson. Eighteen months in solitary . . . It would cook anybody. From what you described to me, you’ve got serious PTSD.”

  “Oh, is that all?” Gibson tried to make a joke out of it. As if having a sense of humor about being crazy meant he had it under control.

  “For starters.”

  “Look, maybe I got left in the microwave a little too long, but I’m all right. It’s getting better.”

  “That’s not good enough.”

  “Please. Let me help you.”

  “Listen to me, Gibson,” she began. “I’ve been looking for George for over two years. In all that time, I’ve been close three, maybe four, times. Otherwise, I’ve been running from Cold Harbor. And they’ve gotten close seven or eight times. Damn close,” Jenn said, and Gibson could see hard memories clouding her eyes. “I’m tired, Gibson. Real tired. I’ve been out here alone a long time. I have seven days left before my best, maybe my last, shot at getting George away from that son of a bitch. I don’t have time for ‘getting better.’”

  “I get it, but I’m telling you: I know I can do this.”

  “How? At some point, we may have to be outside. How do you know you won’t freak out? Or start arguing with your dead father?”

  Because I
kidnapped a CIA officer from his home and took him clean, Gibson thought to himself. Or almost clean. Instead, he said, “If I’m busy, I’m good. You just have to keep me busy.”

  She shook her head. “I’m trying to be a friend. Last night. The way you screamed? I thought you were dying. You’re not up to this.”

  “Can I ask a practical question?” He went on after she grudgingly agreed. “You need a hacker, right? Who is your backup? Do you have time to replace me with someone you trust?”

  Jenn frowned, clearly unhappy with the box he’d put her in. “No,” she admitted.

  “So let me do that much. Think of it as an audition. If I do good, you keep me on board. If not, sayonara, Gibson.”

  Jenn ran her tongue across her teeth, mulling it over. She didn’t have a choice, and they both knew it.

  He said, “Come on, quit making me beg, already. Let’s get the band back together.”

  Jenn cracked her neck. “First off, we’re not getting the band back together.”

  “Jenn!” Gibson said. “What do you need me to do? Give.”

  She sighed. “I need you to hack MWAA.”

  “Which would be what?”

  “Metropolitan Washington Airports Authority. It leases Reagan and Dulles from the Department of Transportation. I need you to insert bogus credentials.”

  “For what reason?”

  “To get an access badge to airport facilities at Dulles. Can you do it?”

  “Sure.”

  Jenn smirked. “‘Sure’? Just like that? You don’t want to maybe do a little research first? Is that how you boys did things in the Activity?”

  Gibson rolled his eyes. “I’ll need a laptop. Unless interagency trash-talking is all you brought to the party.”

  Jenn went out to the garage and brought back a factory-sealed laptop. Nice one too. Very shiny. She cleared him a workspace on the dining room table, and then they spent the day working together side by side. Gibson thought it felt pretty good.

  He started by browsing the front-facing MWAA website. It had always amazed him how helpful organizations were in contributing to their own security breaches. MWAA didn’t disappoint him. He found a treasure trove of useful documents including one titled “Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport Badge Requirements” that listed credentialing requirements and procedures at both Reagan National and Dulles. He also gleaned that badges were handled by the Dulles Pass & ID Office and not airport police as he would have expected. He jotted notes on a legal pad and then settled in to work.