“Is this coming from Archer? Because that guy—”
“Abby, stop right there. This is coming from way up the chain. Xiaolian, the Chan brothers, and now the Chinese couple turning out to be spies… this has all caught the attention of some very powerful people inside the DOJ and the State Department. We need to make sure everything we do from here on in is by the book and not seen as being reckless in any sort of way.”
“Are these people not interested in the truth?”
“I know it makes our jobs tougher to do, but that’s the situation we’re in right now.” Reilly paused for a few moments. “There was talk about removing you from anything having to do with Xiaolian, which includes the hunch you’re chasing right now. Now before you give me an earful, know that I’ve put a stop to any of that sort of talk, but I can only do so much to protect you. I don’t want you to be the fall guy in the event this thing blows up and becomes an embarrassment for our superiors.”
I was at a loss for words. I’d never thought I would have fingers pointing at me for a job not well done. And that was exactly how I took what Reilly had said. I glanced over at Kang. He wasn’t paying attention to my end of the conversation; he was talking on his cell phone too, one finger plugging his ear to block out my yammering. He had no idea his name was caught up in this mess… because of me.
My gut told me that everything I had done was right, but in light of Reilly’s comments, I needed to come at it from a different angle. No problem. My father had instilled in me the “no closed doors” approach. “It’s impossible to shut out a curious person,” he had told me. “They can squirm and twist and scrunch their way into anything. Remember that, Abby.”
I ended the call. There wasn’t much more to discuss. I had my marching orders.
Right about the same time, Kang finished his conversation. “What did he have to say?” he asked as he pocketed his phone. “Is he getting the warrant?”
I spent the next few minutes relaying my phone conversation with Reilly. During my spiel, Kang remained calm. Only when I finished speaking did he say something.
“Abby, we’re partners. We win together. We lose together. It’s black-and-white for me. Is that clear?”
I nodded. He had no idea how much hearing him say that meant to me. Knowing he had my back, that he didn’t question my actions, or tell me I was overreaching—or say anything of that sort—was comforting.
“I appreciate that. I know I’ve pushed.”
Kang held up his hand. “Stop right there. That conversation is over. Understand?”
I nodded.
“Good. With that said, I do have some good news,” he said with a smile. “I just got off the phone with my contact at the city. They’re sending a guy who’s familiar with the silo to meet us there. We still have an investigation to work on, right?”
“Right.”
Chapter Sixty-Eight
Nadia Ulrich arrived in San Francisco that morning on a chartered jet from San Diego, she had spent the day shopping at the city’s famed Union Square. A warm soak was exactly what she needed after all that walking from store to store.
She stepped out of the deep soaking tub inside her suite at the Mark Hopkins Hotel. Her chestnut hair was pinned into a bun on top of her head and soapy bubbles slid down her fair skin. She slipped into a fluffy white bathrobe and tiptoed across the marble floors and out of the bathroom.
Her manager had booked her in the terrace suite: More than one thousand square feet that included a private, glass-enclosed terrace offering views of San Francisco’s skyline. She took a seat on a small sofa and stared out across the city. Warm colors filled the sky as the sun slowly disappeared.
The ballroom, and the restaurant on the nineteenth floor affectionately known as the Top of the Mark, had been rented out by a well-to-do couple throwing a fundraiser for a local politician. Nadia was scheduled to attend a cocktail party and dinner in the ballroom before her performance in the restaurant.
Devlin stood inside of the walk-in closet, his arms folded across his bare chest while his eyes scanned the suits hanging on the rack. He had thought of wearing the charcoal-gray suit—it was one of his favorites. The famous Sartoria Caraceni in Milan had tailored it. In the end, however, he chose the black Armani—classic, elegant, and perfect for the evening’s events.
As he dressed, he could not remember ever being so excited to attend a fundraiser. But this was no ordinary fundraiser; the one and only Nadia Ulrich would be performing. When he'd learned of it a month ago, he'd known he would have to attend. Not only had he coughed up the ten thousand dollars required for attendance, but he had also made a significant donation to the politician’s campaign. This in return secured him a seat at the politician’s table for dinner, where he was sure that Nadia would also be sitting.
For Devlin, that was a dream come true. He had been listening to Nadia ever since he’d caught a performance at the Hungarian State Opera House years ago. She had been invited to play with the distinguished Budapest Philharmonic Orchestra. Ever since then, he had been a devoted fan. It would be a special night indeed—Devlin having the pleasure not only of meeting Nadia, but of taking her identity as well.
Min had spent the last few hours finalizing the plans with his team. There were four of them, and they each had a specific job. Min was responsible for overseeing the operation.
According to the schedule, Nadia was to perform for one hour and thirty minutes. Attendees didn’t usually loiter at fundraisers. Once the event was over, it was over. Still, he figured she would be obligated to press the flesh and engage in small talk before retiring to her room. With Nadia’s performance ending at half past ten, he and his men would need to be on standby from that time onward. They would snatch her from her room.
After a final briefing, Min dismissed his men. He still felt uneasy about the operation. They were taking unnecessary risks, and with the FBI snooping around, they needed to ensure nothing went wrong. He hadn't bothered telling his men about the Bureau’s visit—no need to create unnecessary distractions.
Min glanced at his watch. It was time to move into position.
Gordon Cross was the city worker who’d agreed to meet us at Mount Sutro. He arrived in a silver Toyota pickup. He was older, probably late fifties, with a thick, white mustache to match his wavy hair. He was dressed in beige cargo pants and a long-sleeved shirt with large front pockets—one was lined with multiple pens.
“Sorry I’m late. I ran into road construction.”
“Mr. Cross, we appreciate you meeting us on short notice. I’m Agent Kane, and this is Agent Kang.” I expected a comment from Cross about my face or hands, but none came. I appreciated his professionalism.
“I’m always willing to do my part and help out law enforcement. So you two are interested in the silo, right?”
“We were told you’re familiar with it.”
“Yes and no. My familiarity comes from my curiosity. I’m a big fan of military history. I’ve visited a silo similar to this one before but have never been inside of one, so this is pretty exciting stuff for me. This will be a first for me, but do not fear. I’ve brought the blueprints.” He reached back into the cabin of the truck and removed a few pieces of paper. “We have some guidance.”
He also removed a large backpack. “My go kit. It’s got everything I might need when out and about. We engineers always come prepared.” He slipped it over his shoulders. “Shall we?”
Cross led the way up the trail. The sun hadn’t yet set, so there was a fair amount of natural light, but the woods still seemed darker. Cross was the first to remove his flashlight; Kang and I did the same. By the time we reached the clearing where the silo was located, the sun had disappeared.
“What part of the silo were you interested in?” Cross asked.
“The last time we were here, we were able to open these two doors.” I ran the flashlight beam in that direction. “Below is a second door, but it had a padlock on it. A new padlock, I might add.�
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“I’ve got a bolt cutter in the pack. That lock won’t be a problem.”
I led the way to the doors.
Cross said, “These are the doors used by personnel accessing the silo. The door you’re talking about below could lead to a control room or even the chamber where the missiles were housed. We’ll know soon enough.”
Cross bent down to lift open the doors but stopped. He looked back up at us. “You sure these are the doors?”
“Yes, why?”
He shined his light over the door handles. “There’s a padlock securing these doors too.”
“That wasn’t here the last time.”
“Is it possible the city would have padlocked the doors after my initial call a few days ago?” Kang asked.
“I doubt it. We don’t move that fast.”
Cross slipped his backpack off, removed a compact bolt cutter, and snipped the lock. “Problem solved.”
We helped him pull the doors open and then descended the stairs. Right away, I smelled it: the lack of anything funky. I looked at Kang. “Does it smell different to you?”
“It smells old, but nice,” he replied.
“What did it smell like the last time?” Cross asked.
“Musky, rancid,” I said.
Cross inhaled deeply. “I don’t smell anything like that. Maybe opening the doors the last time aired the place out.”
I thought it strange, but I wasn’t about to dwell on it. I moved deeper into the space, to where the other door was. The padlock was still there. “This is the door that was locked the last time.”
Cross removed his bolt cutters again and snipped the lock. It fell to the concrete floor with a heavy thunk. He pushed the door open, and it squealed in the process. We were looking at a large, open area.
“This looks much bigger down here than from above,” I said.
“That’s because this silo housed more than one missile,” Cross said. He moved his beam across the area. “Looks like there were three ground-to-air missiles housed here.”
“How do you know that?” Kang asked.
“You see these tracks that run the width of the room? On top are three housing units, one for each missile. When the blast doors above open, the missile in the middle is launched and then another missile moves across the track to that middle position.”
“You said there’s a control room here.”
“Yeah, but it wouldn’t be here with the missiles. It’s usually in a separate area for the protection of the personnel inside. I imagine if we head back up and search some more, we’ll find another set of entry doors or another small building, or the remnants of one. Did you want to do that?”
“Maybe later,” Kang said.
“So, just missiles here? Nothing else?” I asked.
“Pretty much, though I think that might be another door over there.” Cross stepped over one of the tracks. “Watch yourself there.”
We followed him across the room, and in the far corner, just as he had suspected, was another door. This one also had a padlock on it, but it didn’t look brand new like the one securing the entry doors.
Cross snipped the lock off and pushed the door open. There was nothing but blackness on the other side.
Chapter Sixty-Nine
Devlin arrived at the Mark Hopkins Hotel at the very start of the fundraiser. He was the first to sign in at the reception desk. The night’s events were to start with cocktails inside the Peacock Ballroom, where dinner would also be served. It was an opulent room with floor-to-ceiling windows offering cityscape views, and elegant molding complementing gold-and-ivory walls. Devlin wasn’t much of a drinker himself and had arrived for cocktail hour only because he’d hoped Nadia would be in attendance.
He located the table he would sit at for the dinner service. There were name settings already in place. Devlin’s seat was across the table from Nadia. He glanced around the room, and nobody seemed to be paying him any attention, so he subtly switched his name with another so that he and Nadia would sit next to each other.
An entire hour with Nadia. What more could I ask for?
Devlin began imagining the night ahead. He and Nadia would engage in delightful conversation while enjoying their meals. When the other guests at the table would dare to ask Nadia a question, she would answer quickly, albeit politely, before returning to him.
As he fantasized, his penis grew erect, pressing against his trousers. He moved over to the windows and stood facing them so he could continue to enjoy the fantasy without drawing attention.
Nadia had spent more time on the terrace than she should have and was running late. She’d already had her makeup and hair done by a stylist provided by the hotel and now just needed to dress.
She stepped into a strapless gown and hiked it up over her breasts. It was a bohemian-style, lavender, lace-and-chiffon number, which complemented the crown of orchids the hairstylist had given her. She stood in front of the oak-framed standing mirror, her hand resting on a hip as she twisted left and then right. She grabbed her phone and started snapping selfies.
Where on earth is Nadia?
Devlin scanned the room, looking over a sea of heads. His head hadn’t stopped swiveling since he’d sat down for dinner.
She should have been here long ago. I hope nothing is wrong. Maybe I should check on her. Oh, don’t be silly. She’s a woman. She’s just making sure she looks her best for the evening. I’m sure she’ll be walking through the ballroom doors any second.
Devlin cut into the grilled sea bass and took a small bite. He’d waited as long as possible before eating, not wanting to be a rude dinner guest and start without her—but as the rest of the table had begun to eat, it looked odd with him just sitting there. Instead he chose to take small bites and chew his food slowly.
This is not happening the way I thought.
Devlin had envisioned Nadia walking through the doors hesitantly, unsure of where to go. He would call out her name and wave his arm. “Nadia, over here, darling.” She would smile and perk up. Devlin figured he would take a few steps toward her so he could greet her away from the table.
She would have a beaming smile on her face when he offered his hand for a shake, while the other hand would gently pat her on her arm. It would be professional, yet show warmth. He wanted her to know he wasn’t a crazy, rabid fan, but was interested. “I’m Sid Devlin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Nadia would be taken in by his generosity and charm. “Don’t be silly, darling.” She would ignore the handshake and give him a hug followed by a playful tug on his beard.
Devlin would then place a hand on the small of her back and escort her to the table, where he would make the introductions. He would control the dialogue at the table. He wasn’t about to let someone else steal his precious moments with Nadia.
Dinner continued without any sign of Nadia. Devlin was nearly finished with his piece of fish and had resorted to chewing with nothing in his mouth.
We should be deep in conversation by now, laughing at each other’s stories. Of course, the others at the table would be jealous of the attention she was giving me, especially the all-important politician. What would he care? All he wants is the money. And it wouldn’t be my fault, anyway, that Nadia and I hit it off. This is a free country. She can speak to whomever she pleases.
He had a few sips of wine left; most of the table had finished what was in their glasses. The toast he had planned wouldn’t happen. Devlin glanced at his watch. Forty minutes had passed. The servers had begun clearing dinner plates so that they could serve dessert.
There was nothing left on his plate. He had finished every grain of rice, every flake of fish, every slice of carrot. He looked up at the server, who had grabbed the edge of his plate, and nodded. The server then replaced it with a slice of banana cream pie.
It’s fine that’s she’s missed dinner. She can still indulge in dessert, and we can still have our special conversation.
Devlin imagined Nadia
taking a bite of her dessert and having cream on the top of her lip. He would reach up with his napkin. “You have a little… There we are, all taken care of.” She would giggle like a schoolgirl and thank him for his attentiveness.
It will be perfect. I just need to hold out.
Devlin motioned to the server that he would like coffee.
What’s pie without the coffee? I can’t very well start eating until I have a cup to cut the sweetness.
After the coffee was poured, he glanced again at the entrance to the ballroom. It was empty. He let out a defeated breath and started eating his pie.
Why me? I don’t deserve this. Why can’t anything go my way? I put a lot of effort into this evening. Doesn’t she realize this?
“Nadia!” A voice called out, pulling Devlin away from his thoughts.
He looked up and saw that the politician was already out of his seat. Devlin turned around and saw Nadia standing at the entranceway, unsure of where to go.
It’s just like I imagined. Only the politician is stealing my role.
The politician waved his arm and called her name once more, walking toward her.
You son-of-a-bitch. I was supposed to be the one greeting her. Screw it. I’ll call her over too. There can be more than one person informing her where she’s sitting.
Devlin pushed his chair back to stand, but the legs dug into the carpet. With barely any room to stand, he bumped the table as he stood, spilling his coffee in the process. He didn’t care. He had to be the one to greet Nadia first.
By the time he’d untangled himself from his chair, the politician was giving Nadia a hug. She had a big smile on her face as she whispered into his ear. He placed his hand on the small of her back, but instead of directing her back to the table, to the seat next to Devlin, he ushered her in another direction, to meet someone else.
Chapter Seventy
The Curator: SG Trilogy Book 2 (Abby Kane FBI Thriller 8) Page 25
