“Yeah, well, now that we know, I can let you know that you’re fired.”
Stokes tilted his head. “Riordan’s the only one who can fire me.”
“He did. This comes from him,” Phillips said.
“He’ll change his mind when he sees what I have in my possession.”
“What’s that?”
“I got the intel we needed. Hollander is definitely a traitor. The emails prove it.”
Phillips shifted his feet. “You decrypted them?”
“They already were.” Stokes brushed a finger between his nose and upper lip. “We hit the jackpot. We had Hollander’s emails to Parks, but now we have the correspondence from Parks to Gao. There are emails about payments, who gets what and when. Attachments of blueprints, too. And the three of them met in the Bahamas a few months ago to discuss the deal.” Stokes puffed out his chest. “It gets even better.”
“I want a hard copy of all those messages ASAP,” Phillips said.
“I don’t know.” Stokes eyed him. “They’re on a need-to-know basis.”
“You’ll have them on my desk by the end of the day.” He looked at his watch. “Riordan’s orders,” he added.
Stokes gazed at him as if he was unsure what to say. Phillips couldn’t resist a smirk.
“He’s turned the whole matter over to me. Doesn’t want to get his hands dirty.” When there was no response from Stokes, Phillips added, “As to relieving you of your duties, feel free to call him if you don’t believe me.” He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anything else?”
“What do you mean?”
“Anything else you want to tell me? Where you’re going. Where we can find you.”
“You won’t find me. I’ll contact you. And you should know something. Even if I give you the emails, I’ll be keeping a set for myself. Just in case.”
Phillips knew Stokes was trying to intimidate him. But he was having none of it. “Remember at our last meeting you said you had two words for me?”
“Yeah. Aldrich Ames.”
“Right. Well, I have two for you.” He paused. “Plausible deniability. You’ve gone rogue.”
Stokes didn’t answer for a moment. Then: “If you tell the FBI where you think I am, I’ll go to the media with all of it. From the beginning.”
“Uh-huh.” Phillips wasn’t cowed. He knew Stokes wouldn’t do a goddammed thing that brought more attention on him. But just to be sure, Phillips would make a call when he got back to his office. To his contact at DOD. First he’d chew him out for not having better intel on Stokes from the beginning. Then he’d tell him what he wanted done.
“Well, this has been a good meeting. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a busy day. Have the package on my desk by five. Oh. Be sure to contact HR before the end of the day. They’ll be happy to recommend outplacement opportunities for you.”
Stokes glared at Phillips, which gave Phillips a tiny thrill. He hid his smile as he strolled down the alley back to the street, leaving Stokes where he belonged—by the Dumpsters.
Chapter Sixty-nine
Monday Night
Phillips was still working in his office after dark when his office phone buzzed. “Phillips.”
“Mr. Phillips, sir, this is Henry Harding in Engineering.”
To Phillips’ surprise, Stokes had messengered the hard copies of the emails to Phillips just before five. Phillips promptly had the set copied and sent for Harding, the acting chief of engineering in Hollander’s absence.
“This is a highly confidential project, Harding. No one is to know anything about this. Understand?”
Harding, a fortyish man with glasses, off-the-shelf suits from Men’s Wearhouse, and ties that were twenty years out of date, nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“I want you to compare these papers to the originals. You know, the schematics and blueprints. Make sure they’re identical.” Phillips still couldn’t believe Hollander had committed treason. It just made no sense.
Harding swallowed. Phillips knew the man had questions, but he seemed to understand the delicacy of the matter.
Now he was on the phone. “What can I do for you, Henry?”
“I think you better come down. There’s something you’re going to want to see.”
Phillips took the elevator two floors down and found his way to the Engineering Department. Harding was waiting for him, so he didn’t need to swipe his key card. Harding led him into a conference room where an old transparency projector sat on the middle of the table. Phillips remembered transparency machines from his early days in marketing. He was surprised they were still in use. Well, maybe not. It was a well-known fact that engineers used the most advanced technology in some areas, but still wore pocket protectors and used obsolete technology in others.
Harding had rolled up his sleeves, and he was pale, as if he hadn’t seen daylight in weeks. Then again, he probably hadn’t. Like most of the other Delcroft engineers, Harding was a workaholic. He looked wrung out, and his posture was stooped. But behind the weary appearance was a keen mind with sharp analytical skills. Harding leaned over the projector and snapped it on. An image of two documents side by side lit the screen.
“Take a look at these. They’re both diagrams of the navigation system for DADES.”
Phillips frowned at the images. “What am I looking for?”
“Do you see any difference between them?”
Phillips wasn’t an engineer. He’d barely passed basic physics at Yale. He shook his head. “They look identical to me.”
“Look on the right side of each diagram.” Harding turned on a laser pointer. “See the connections and wiring?”
Now that Harding pointed them out, Phillips looked more carefully. “They’re different. One has wires going to one box, the other to that rotating thing, whatever it is.”
“Exactly. Now look at these.” Harding slapped two new images on the machine and used the pointer to circle the area on which Phillips should concentrate.
“They’re different too. Subtle but different.”
Harding nodded.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
Harding smiled. “Yes. The one on the left is the real deal. Straight from the vault. The one on the right is what Hollander sent to Gao through Parks. Somehow, it’s been adulterated. Changed. It won’t work worth a damn.”
Phillips’ jaw dropped, his mouth agape. Then he started to laugh so long and hard that Harding looked bewildered. The engineer probably thought Phillips had lost his mind. But Phillips couldn’t bring himself to stop.
Chapter Seventy
Wednesday
Rachel and I spent the next few days at Luke’s. Rachel was showing what I found out later were classic signs of PTSD. She slept only in spurts and woke up screaming with nightmares. When she was awake, she was moody. She would stare into space, distant and remote; a moment later, she grew consumed with terror.
That happened after she woke up. She hardly said a word during breakfast, but she did wolf down her eggs and toast. I was glad her appetite seemed to be okay.
When she was done, I said, “You feel like taking a shower?”
She gave me a vague nod and trudged back up the stairs. I was loading dishes into the dishwasher when I heard her scream.
“Mama, where are you? I need you!” She often calls me “Mama,” not “Mom” or “Mother,” when she feels helpless.
I raced upstairs and found her crouched on the bathroom floor, naked. She was trembling all over, as if she was outside in the cold. I covered her with a towel and led her back into the bedroom.
I stayed with her all day, holding and cuddling her and reminding her it was all over and she was safe. I figured we’d talk about the rest of it when she was ready. I also suspected she might need professional help. What twenty-five-year-old woman wouldn’t be freaked out after straddling the fragile line between life and death? Strapped into a suicide vest, knowing one false move by her or someone else could obliterate h
er and the people around her? I was her mother, but even I could only guess at the abject horror that claimed her.
The police and the FBI were in and out of Lake Geneva. Mostly LeJeune and Jimmy Saclarides, both of whom, thankfully, Rachel already knew. Others came with them, but no one pressed Rachel. Instead, they conducted a series of interviews with Luke and me. I wasn’t sure if the men who came with LeJeune were with the Bureau; they might have been from another federal agency, maybe Homeland Security, maybe CIA. I made a mental note to ask Nick afterward. Even LeJeune and Jimmy had been debriefed, they said, and were preparing detailed reports.
The media, of course, heard rumors about the explosion as well as of federal agents overrunning the Lodge. Jimmy took the lead and explained in a press conference that a gas tank near the airstrip had ruptured. No one was killed or hurt, and property damage was minimal. That held the media’s interest for about a nanosecond, and they went away. I was impressed.
By the third night Rachel seemed to have gained some equanimity. She wasn’t herself, but she did acquiesce when I suggested takeout from Saclarides for dinner. I was rewarded with a smile when I mentioned taramasalata, the pink fish roe appetizer she loved. I phoned it in and had a pleasant conversation with Jimmy’s aunt, who asked how she was doing. When I got off, I told Rachel lots of people cared about her.
She seemed pleased, then, for no apparent reason, suddenly burst into tears. I put my arms around her and led her to the kitchen, where I poured her a glass of wine. It might not have been the recommended tonic, but it did seem to quiet her. I poured one for myself, too, and as we were sitting down, I asked, “Do you want to see Q?”
Her eyes went wide, and the expression in them made me think she might panic again. Then she calmed down. “No. I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I—I don’t know. I—I don’t want him to be associated with this—this thing.”
I thought I knew what she was saying. “Okay. He’s been calling. He just wants you to know he’s concerned. His exact words were”—I cleared my throat—“I miss her.”
She sipped her wine and gave me a sly smile.
That was when I knew she would be okay.
Chapter Seventy-one
Wednesday
An hour later Luke went to pick up the food. Rachel and I dozed on couches in his family room. I was just drifting off when the house phone rang. I figured I’d better answer it. I went into the kitchen and picked up the extension.
“Ellie? Grizzly here.”
“Hey, Griz. What’s going on?”
“I have some information for Luke.”
“I can pass it on if you’d like.”
He paused. Then: “Sure. I guess it would be okay. Tell him I found out more about Stokes.”
I stiffened. “What about him?”
“How much do you know about his background?”
“Just that he was in the CIA.”
“That’s right. Well, he left under somewhat mysterious circumstances.”
“Yeah?”
“I made some calls and discovered he was kicked out.”
I straightened up. “For what?”
“Apparently, he was in Afghanistan and got hold of some intel about the Taliban that he passed on to the military.”
“And?”
“It was lousy intel. Half a dozen American soldiers went into a village and were slaughtered. The general in charge called the Agency and told them the army would never work with the guy again.”
“Really.”
“Yeah, but because he was with the Agency so long, they agreed to keep it under wraps.”
“Why am I not surprised?”
“After what he did to you and your daughter, neither am I.”
“You think Delcroft knows about this?”
“I wouldn’t count on it. My sources are on deep background.”
“You rock, Griz.”
“I know.”
I walked the phone into the family room. Rachel was asleep. At least her eyes were closed. I went back into the kitchen. “What prompted you to find this out, Griz?”
“I told you. I nosed around.”
“Sorry. Wrong question. Why were you looking for it?”
There was a slight hesitation. “I thought you knew. Luke asked me to.”
• • •
When Luke got back, I told him about Grizzly’s call and what he’d said. He walked into the kitchen and started unpacking the cartons of food. I followed him in.
“What are you doing, Luke?”
He threw me a glance over his shoulder. “Getting dinner ready. How’s Rachel?”
I planted my hands on my hips. “Don’t try to change the subject. You know what I mean. Why are you looking into Stokes’ background?”
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“Pretend it’s not.”
“I want to dig up as much dirt on the asshole as possible. And then make it public. Along with what he did to you and Rachel.”
“What if I don’t want that?”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“Um…there’s something called privacy. I know there’s not a lot of it left anymore, but I’d like to hold on to the tiny fragments we still have. And I don’t want Rachel’s situation out there. She’s still fragile. What if some idiot wants to finish what Stokes started?”
Luke turned around. “I don’t think that’s going to happen. And your names aren’t going to be public.”
“How do you figure that?”
“You’ll see.”
I took a deep breath. I loved Luke. I trusted him with my life. But this side of him, this angry, vengeful mind-set, wasn’t like him. Still, I owed it to him to respect his motives. I knew they sprang from his desire to protect us. To make sure whatever threat was out there would be neutralized. I sighed and got out plates. “Whatever you’re up to…please…be careful.”
Chapter Seventy-two
Friday
Two mornings later LeJeune showed up after breakfast. Luke was outside pruning a couple of bushes. Then he was going to prune one of the trees. He liked playing lumberjack.
“Hey, Nick. Did I ever thank you for everything you did the other night?”
“No need. It’s what I do. Got a couple of answers for you.” He looked around. “Luke here?”
“I’ll get him.”
“Where’s Rachel?”
“Still asleep.”
“Good. She doesn’t need to hear this.”
I went to the back door to tell Luke that LeJeune was here. He came in a minute later and shook hands. I was pleased. Whatever tension had flared between them had evaporated since the kidnapping. I sensed they’d developed a mutual respect. It might even ripen into friendship.
We all sat in the family room. “So we analyzed the bits of explosive material at the airstrip.”
“Tell me it was military-grade C-4,” Luke said.
LeJeune tipped up the ball cap he always wore. “That’s exactly what it was, my friend. The kind of material Stokes could easily get his hands on.”
Luke stood. He started to pace the room.
LeJeune went on. “Preliminary forensic analysis indicates the timer was set to go off.”
“Which means Stokes was going to kill Rachel,” Luke said.
I felt myself gag. My hand flew to my mouth. I ran to the bathroom and threw up. It took me ten minutes to compose myself. As I came back in the room, I was calm. “What are your plans for capturing the motherfucker? He’s got to be put away forever.”
“That won’t be necessary, cher.” LeJeune looked from Luke to me.
“Why not?” Luke’s voice was loud, accusatory.
“Because Stokes is dead.”
A chill washed over me. “What?”
Luke stopped in his tracks. “When? How?”
“A car bomb in his van. Planted sometime yesterday. When he and two of his guys started the van last night, it all went boom.”
“Who di
d it?” I asked, my voice preternaturally calm.
“We don’t know.” LeJeune looked over at Luke.
So did I. Was I imagining it, or did Luke not look as surprised as he should have? He stood rooted to the floor. Then he started to gently rock back and forth.
LeJeune smiled. “Well, cher, that is a separate investigation, which, I’m happy to say, is not my assignment. But I will do my best to keep you informed.”
Luke continued to rock. And wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“What’s going on?” I asked.
He said nothing. Then he stopped rocking, straightened up, and shrugged. “Your guess is as good as mine.”
I wanted to believe him. I looked down and stared at the area rug in the family room. It was a beige Indian design, with threads of red and brown. Very earthy. Plush. Masculine.
“I suppose it could have been Delcroft,” I said.
“Why do you think that?” LeJeune asked.
“This all began with Hollander selling DADES to the Chinese. Maybe Delcroft decided to expose it themselves, rather than let Stokes feed it to the press and take the glory—”
Luke cut in. “Come on, Ellie. Do you really think Delcroft would sanction a murder?”
“They might have,” I said. “Remember Gregory Parks? I never thought he committed suicide. I’ve always wondered if someone gave him a shove.”
“Someone named Stokes?”
I nodded.
LeJeune shook his head. “It’s possible. But the Bureau doesn’t think Delcroft had anything to do with it. Too risky. Even though they’re gonna pay a price for hiring Stokes in the first place. The means don’t justify the end.”
“Then who?” I asked. “The Chinese? Admittedly, they probably understood everyone would be better off without Stokes poking around. And pissing everyone off in the process. But to actually sanction a murder on US soil? I don’t know.”
We were all quiet for a moment. Then LeJeune looked over at Luke. “What do you think, Luke?”
He hesitated. Then: “I couldn’t tell you.”
Another pregnant pause.
I ended it. “So does Delcroft know about Stokes’ ‘off-the-books’ activities?”
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