Pain lanced up her neck and she must have made a sound alerting the three to her presence. In an instant, Garret was at her side, holding her arm and helping her to the chair Caleb had jumped up to pull out for her.
She slid into the seat, the wood of the chair cool against the backs of her thighs. Glancing down, she realized she was wearing a t-shirt and a pair of boxers that belonged to Garret. Knowing she hadn’t put them on herself, she figured he must have picked them because they were loose enough to slide on without much hassle. It seemed practical, but now that she was up and about, sort of, a chill swept across her body and goose bumps broke out on every surface of her skin.
“Here,” Garret said, reaching for her hands and tugging them gently through the sleeves of a sweatshirt which he then pulled over her head. Drew appeared at her side to hand Garret a blanket that he swiftly wrapped around her legs. It all happened so fast, or what felt like fast, that she was surprised, once she was settled, to see Caleb standing before her with a cup of tea in his hand.
She opened her mouth to say thank you and immediately felt like shards of glass were being forced down her throat. Tears sprang to her eyes and though the pain was intense, she didn’t miss the look of grim concern etched on her brother’s face.
Without a word, he handed over the cup and urged her to take a sip. “It will help,” he said, reassuring her. She couldn’t fathom getting liquid down her throat, but something in her brother’s surety gave her confidence to try. She raised the cup to her lips and took a tentative sip. The tea was warm, not hot, and sure enough, she could almost feel it acting like a balm sliding down her throat.
She had a million and one questions to ask, but judging by the looks of the three men staring at her, she would be better off finishing her cup of tea and then trying to talk. As if sensing her decision, Drew and Garret sat down, Garret beside her and Drew across the table. Caleb hovered, waiting for her to finish, and as soon as she was, he took the cup from her and stepped into the kitchen to fill the mug again. Once he was done, he brought it back to her and then took a seat beside Drew.
“How do you feel?” Garret asked, taking her free hand in his.
She swallowed, and given that the pain seemed to have dulled a bit, she decided to try and answer. “Sore,” she managed to croak. “Tired,” she added.
No one seemed to have anything to say to that, so she took a few more minutes to finish the second cup of tea. Setting the cup down, she looked at each of the men sitting with her.
She swallowed again. “My throat,” she said.
Caleb’s lips thinned. “I know. It feels like a cat crawled in and tried to claw its way out, doesn’t it?”
She blinked. Because actually, that was exactly how it felt. And then it occurred to her. “You know?” she managed to scratch out. Caleb’s eyes jumped to Garret for a fleeting moment before landing back on hers. “What happened to me?” she asked.
Garret must have given Caleb some signal because her brother was the one to answer. “You were poisoned. It was a weapons-grade form of bacterial meningitis, transferred to you subcutaneously.” As Caleb spoke, Garret reached over, pushed up the sleeve of her sweatshirt, then gently raised her arm up onto the table. She caught sight of a small dot surrounded by red, irritated flesh about midway up the inside of her forearm. It looked a little like an infected mosquito bite.
She blinked again and wondered if her brain was ever going to feel sharp again because what he’d said made no sense. “Weapons-grade bacterial meningitis?”
Drew took a deep breath and when her eyes shifted to him, he answered. “It’s a biological weapon that, like all biological weapons, is banned by international treaty. That said, there are a number of countries that haven’t signed the treaty, or began development of it before signing and still hold the technology. It’s not a common form of biological weapon, but we have seen instances of it over the past several decades.”
So maybe her brain wasn’t in such a fog. Maybe what she was hearing actually was crazy. “Biological weapon? Who would use that? And who would use that on me?” she asked. And when none of her companions immediately answered, she turned her eyes to her brother. His eyes, so like hers, looked back at her with concern. “And how did you know how I felt? Have you been infected too?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “I was in Kosovo when I had the pleasure. Luckily, Cantona found me and figured out what had happened. Otherwise, I would have died within twenty-four hours.”
Her gaze swung to Garret. His blue eyes were watching her, filled with concern. And something else—anger, or maybe frustration.
“Is that why you were able to figure out what happened to me so quickly?” she asked. But that didn’t seem right. How could he immediately know what had happened to her? And Drew had said it was transmitted subcutaneously; Garret wouldn’t have been able to see the mark on her arm through her coat, so how would he have known? She was obviously sick, and even the possibility that she had meningitis, knowing what meningitis did, made sense to her with her body aches, painful throat, and frequent chills. But weapons-grade meningitis? She’d never heard of it, and it didn’t make any sense that it was the first conclusion Garret had jumped to when she’d started to feel unwell. So she asked.
Garret gave the other two men an uneasy look before meeting her gaze again. He dropped her hand, reached across the table for a piece of paper, and slid it toward her—no, not a piece of paper, a photo. She looked down at the image of an older man. His blue eyes were deep set, his nose a bit hawk-like, and his chin quite narrow. He was looking away, as if unaware that he was being photographed.
“Do you recognize him?” Garret asked.
She looked again; the face stirred no memories for her. But feeling the intensity directed at her by everyone else at the table, she forced herself to take a closer look and catalog what she saw. Not just the man at the center but everything around him, hoping that maybe, with some context, she might be able to place him.
But to no avail. Even after looking at the background for clues, she came up with nothing. Judging by the architecture, the picture was taken in Europe, or maybe some colonial city, but other than that, she truly had nothing.
She shook her head. “No, I don’t. Should I?” she asked, her eyes traveling to each of the men.
Drew let out a long sigh. “No, you shouldn’t know him. But just in case, do any of these look familiar?” he asked as he slid four more pictures in front of her. They were all obviously of the same man, but two of the four showed him looking much younger, with his hair dark instead of gray and his skin still youthful.
Again, she shook her head. “Who is he?”
When she turned an expectant look on him, Garret took her hand again and answered. “His name is Alexi Kašović. He was a general in the Serbian army during the Balkan War.” Garret paused and looked at the photo again. “He was responsible for the deaths of a lot of innocent people.”
It was more how his words came out than the words themselves that caused Kit to pause. She had been in Europe after the war and had met her fair share of survivors. She had no illusions about just what kind of brutality Garret was referring to.
She let her gaze follow Garret’s and her eyes landed, once again, on the image of the now old man. Her mind couldn’t, wouldn’t, process just what he might have been responsible for, but she could ask one question.
“What does he have to do with me?”
She saw Garret’s lips thin, and for a moment, she thought frustration might get the better of him. But he seemed to rein it in as he lifted his eyes to hers. “We don’t know,” he said.
She frowned. Not exactly the answer she was hoping for—although just what answer might have satisfied her alluded her. After all, it wasn’t every day she was being connected to a war criminal—and though no one at the table had called him that, she had no doubt that was precisely what Kašović was.
“Okay,” she said slowly, “what do you know?”
“That he’s the one who poisoned you,” Garret answered.
Kit looked at Garret. “But how...why...I didn’t...what’s going on?” she managed to stammer.
“As to how it happened, that we know,” he said, picking up her arm. “He bumped into you on the street, and he injected you with the meningitis.”
Kit looked at her arm, the information slowly sinking in. “And you saw this?” she asked Garret.
Garret shook his head. “No, I saw you get bumped into, but it wasn’t until he turned around and looked back at you that I got a clear view of his face.”
“And you recognized him,” Kit finished his statement. “Okay,” she said after Garret nodded. “That’s how it happened. What about the why?”
Garret looked at Drew and Kit followed his lead. After a moment’s hesitation, Drew pulled out a folder and opened it before them on the table. “There’s a bit of background information here, so bear with me,” he said. “Alexi Kašović is wanted by the international criminal court for committing Crimes Against Humanity. Unfortunately, within a year of the war’s end in 1995, he disappeared without a trace,” he began.
“How’s that possible?” she asked.
Drew lifted a shoulder. “The same way it was possible for Nazi war criminals to escape—new names, new papers, old friends. And granted, we’re a lot more connected these days than we were in the 1940s, but given the kind of people he did business with, arranging for a boat ride to South America probably wasn’t that difficult.”
She started to clear her throat and winced. Caleb reached for her mug and rose to pour her yet another cup of tea.
“You just said South America like you knew that was where he was though,” she pressed.
“We do know that’s where he fled to, but the international community hasn’t been able to do anything about it due to the current political landscape. Does this woman look familiar?” Drew asked, sliding another photo in front of her.
This time, the image was of a woman who looked to be somewhere in her mid-to-late forties. She was dressed in a suit and her round face was surrounded by a mane of dark hair. She was pretty, but there was something hard in her eyes and she looked like a woman Kit would not want to mess with.
She shook her head. “She looks like a professional woman I could know. Like someone I’d meet at a book signing, or a reception, or something like that, but I don’t remember ever meeting her specifically.”
Drew let out a little huff. She knew she wasn’t being too helpful, but she really didn’t know anything.
“What about him?” Caleb asked, pushing yet another photo in front of her. In this image, the woman from the previous photo was standing beside a man Kit assumed was her husband, based on the way his arm was wrapped around her and she was leaning into him. They were waving at something or someone and they struck her as a political couple—like they were standing there waving to their constituency.
“Is one of them in government?” she asked, handing the picture back to Caleb. He nodded.
“This is Maria Santana Costello. The Honorable Maria Santana Costello,” he amended, pointing to the woman. “She’s a judge in Colombia, the equivalent of a federal appeals court judge. Not quite the supreme court, but well on her way.”
Kit eyed the photo from her seat and frowned. Neither the name nor the woman were familiar to her. “And why do you ask if I know her?”
“Because this man,” Caleb said, sliding a picture of Kašović to the center of the table, “and this woman,” he said, placing the picture of Costello beside it, “were recently seen leaving the same building within a few minutes of each other.”
Kit paused. She was missing something. Or maybe they weren’t telling her everything. She looked out the window to try and sort it out. She realized dusk was falling. “What day is it?” she asked.
Beside her, Garret spoke. “It’s Wednesday.”
That revelation, more than anything else they’d talked about, managed to take her breath away. She felt Garret’s hand squeeze hers and Caleb shoved her tea at her, encouraging her to drink.
“Wednesday?” she repeated. Garret nodded. “I’ve been passed out for two days?” She could hardly believe them and even as she asked, she was searching for proof. As if sensing her panic, Garret placed his phone in front of her and hit the button to bring it to life. Sure enough, the date stared back at her, confirming what she’d just been told.
She swallowed. “Okay, I think it’s time you tell me just exactly what you think is going on. And start from the beginning.”
CHAPTER 14
DREW LOOKED at the other two men, but Kit kept her eyes fixed on him. If anyone was going to tell her everything, it was him. And sure enough, after a long pause, he sat back in his chair and made himself comfortable.
“Alexi Kašović has been hunted for years, decades even, ever since the end of the Balkan War. There have been sightings of him here and there, but by the time anyone could be mobilized to do anything, he was in the wind. We’ve had a couple of confirmed reports indicating that, on occasion, he will hire out his services. We’re not sure what motivates him—”
“Money, most likely,” Caleb interjected.
Drew gave a single nod then continued. “Most likely, yes, but since we don’t have a bead on his finances or even where he’s living, it’s not something we can confirm.”
Kit digested this bit of information as she took a sip of her tea. So far it meant little to her, and she said so.
“And it shouldn’t mean anything to you,” Garret interjected before Drew picked up his narrative again.
“But it will,” Drew said. “We’re not sure why, but given what we know about Maria Costello’s recent movements, as well as some interesting financial transactions we’ve tracked, we think she’s hired him to kill you.”
His bald statement washed over Kit for a long moment before it receded into her brain and actually registered. She blinked. “You think she,” Kit said, pointing to the woman in the picture, “wants to kill me?”
Drew gave another nod.
“But why would she want to kill me, and how would you even know that?” Kit pressed.
Drew frowned and dropped his gaze to the pictures. After a moment, he spoke again, “I’m not actually sure why she seems to want you dead, but as to how we know, well, we have enough information to consider it an option. All credible, of course,” he added.
Kit cast them all a skeptical glance. “What exactly is it that is ‘credible’—the information you have or the theory of her wanting to kill me?”
“The latter,” Drew answered immediately. “The information we have about Maria Costello’s recent activities is sound. And it’s what those activities have been—meeting with Kašović, transferring funds, holing up in her house for the last several days—that lead us to believe that Costello hiring Kašović to kill you is a credible theory.”
Kit frowned. “There’s more, though, isn’t there?”
Drew nodded. “Maria Costello is someone the government tends to keep on eye on. She is considered an ally to the US based on her political persuasions, and she has a remarkably strong track record of advocating for the poor and disenfranchised, which makes her popular with the people.”
“But?” Kit prompted, taking another sip of her tea. Drinking the warm concoction seemed to be the only way to tame the searing pain in her throat enough to have this conversation.
“But she’s the illegitimate daughter of Emmanuel Salazar and niece of Esteban Salazar. Esteban Salazar is the head of a mid-sized but very ruthless drug cartel. They aren’t wide spread, but in the market in which they operate, they operate deep,” Caleb added.
Kit’s eyes narrowed. “But if she’s a judge who’s considered an ally of the US, how can she also be tied to what sounds like a pretty well-known drug cartel?”
Drew let out a deep breath. “Maria has managed her career better than any other politician I know. She recuses herself from cases that direc
tly involve drugs, thus keeping an air of partiality, but she’s an active advocate for human rights and has been up front about her relationship with her father’s family.”
“Which is?” Kit asked.
“Distant,” Garret answered. “Neither side claims the other side, though it is common knowledge who Maria Costello’s parents were. But to date, she has not so much as spoken to or been in the same neighborhood as anyone from Salazar’s cartel.”
“How is that possible? What about her father?” Kit asked.
“Emmanuel Salazar died almost twenty years ago,” Garret supplied.
“And Maria Costello’s mother, Olivia, died when she was four, and she was raised by her maternal grandparents,” Drew interjected, “For all intents and purposes, until now Maria and her extended family haven’t spoken or had any contact at all.”
“But you think things have changed?”
Drew nodded.
“Why?” she asked.
“Because the last assassination that Kašović is believed to have carried out was on behalf of the Salazar cartel,” Drew said. His flat tone brought her eyes up from the picture and she studied him. Then, without moving her head, she shifted her gaze first to Garret, then to Caleb. Each one of them looked tense enough to spring out of their skins at any given moment.
“But if she doesn’t have any contact with her family...” Kit’s voiced trailed off as she put two and two together. If Maria Costello had hired Kašović, what Drew was hinting at made sense—she’d likely done so through her family connections, connections she’d built her career on declaiming. But if it were true, whatever had brought her to that decision must have been momentous; it must have been something that was bigger than her career; bigger than her own life. And for the life of Kit, she still couldn’t figure out what she had to do with any of it.
Frailty of Things Page 17
