Out of curiosity, she and Betsy had looked Security Specialists International up on the Internet while keeping vigil at the hospital. The news stories and the other info about SSI she’d accessed had impressed her. They did on-the-ground-intelligence gathering for whoever hired them—HUMINT in defense-speak—and security and personal protection for high-profile people. And it seemed they also did government contract work for the United States. SSI performed the kind of information-gathering and analysis she’d dreamed of doing.
Keely replied, “I’m married to the one of the principals of SSI—and as an MIT professor, I’ve always done contract work for the NSA in COMINT.”
COMINT was the acronym for communications intelligence, a perfect fit for Dr. Walsh’s expertise, but—“Why would the D.C. police send a report about a local double homicide to…”
“Double? Our report says one killed, one injured.”
Elana choked back a sob. Betsy rubbed her arm in support. “The injured, her name was Libby, was removed from life support after they delivered her baby son.”
“Baby! She was pregnant? Oh God, no…” Sniffling sounds came over the line and a man’s voice said, “Keely, love, don’t. You know I can’t stand it.”
“Keely? Dr. Walsh? Are you okay?” Elana stopped in the middle of the sidewalk. Betsy pulled her out of the path of students going to weekend classes, leftover alumni from last night’s game, and tourists.
“Elana,” the man who’d comforted Keely came on the line, “this is Ren Maddox, Keely’s husband. The news of the baby threw her—and me. Our son is almost six months old and…”
“No need to explain, Mr. Maddox. I understand.” Libby’s death had decimated her, too.
“It’s Ren.” He paused and then cleared his throat. “Since you can identify the man who hired Crocker, you need to be in protective custody. You aren’t safe.”
Elana could barely get out the words. “Protective custody?”
She glanced at Betsy who avidly followed the conversation from Elana’s end. Neither one of them was paying attention to what was going on around them. All of a sudden she felt as if a huge target was on her back. Standing still on a crowded sidewalk was dangerous, so she began walking, pulling Betsy with her.
“If I’m in danger―
Her friend gasped and gripped her arm.
“―then why didn’t the police tell me—or the FBI if it’s now federal?”
Ren growled. “Because they’re slow on the uptake which is another reason DIA hired us to protect you. Eventually, I expect someone from the FBI or, worse, Homeland Security will try to take you into protective custody. Don’t let them—run if you have to. We aren’t sure how invasive the traitor’s reach is.”
Elana swallowed hard. “The man I saw—the Boss as I call him—if he has that kind of clearance, then it’s a good bet he already knows who I am and where I live, right?”
“You’re quick. Good. You’ll need to be to stay alive until my operative can get there. We’re the only ones you can trust now. We’ll protect you until you identify him and the danger is neutralized.”
She interpreted “neutralized” as “dead.”
SSI worked fast if they already had an operative on the way. The shootings had happened a mere twelve hours or so ago. The evidence of SSI’s commitment made her feel better about the situation, but she’d still be the judge of whether she’d go with the operative or not once she met him. Trust didn’t come easily to Elana.
She could always take off on her own if SSI’s man didn’t feel right. Unlike most civilians, she had options—family options. She wouldn’t be surprised if one of her uncles was already on the way to the States. What U.S. intelligence knew, Interpol knew.
“So, this means I shouldn’t go home, right?”
“Exactly. Where are you now?”
“On the Georgetown campus. Walking from the hospital back to the library where I work.”
“Is anyone with you?”
“Yes, my friend Betsy. She’s a librarian and was working with me last night. But she didn’t see anything—and the police know that.”
A low mumbling of conversation ensued between Keely’s lighter tone and Ren’s deeper one. Finally, Ren said, “Betsy might want to go away for a few days until we can spread the word she knows nothing.”
His conclusion made sense. The man who’d so cavalierly killed Libby and Harry wouldn’t think twice about killing again.
Elana turned and looked at her friend. “They want you to go away. You could be a target.”
“Who’s they?” Betsy whispered.
“The Dr. Walsh I told you about and her husband, the owner of SSI.”
Betsy’s mouth formed a silent “oh.” “I can go to my aunt’s in upstate New York. No one will find me there. But what about you?”
“Ren is sending an operative to take me to…where is this person taking me?” She spoke into the phone.
“Ultimately, Idaho. We can protect you better here. We’ve narrowed the traitor’s identity down to several key people in DIA. If you can identify the man you saw from a photo lineup, we can go after him fairly quickly and you might only need a short stay with us. If he isn’t in the lineup, you could be with us longer.”
If she were the Boss, after last night, she’d cut her losses and go wherever traitors went to hide. Ren and Keely didn’t think the Boss would run. She’d trust their instincts.
“Sounds good to me,” she told Ren.
Elana had no desire to shorten her life, just change it a bit. She couldn’t undo the last half day. She’d seen what she’d seen, and Libby and Harry deserved justice. SSI promised to be the quickest route to that satisfying end.
Plus, her Elana Cruz identity would be, if it wasn’t already, truly and completely blown with all the media coverage the double murder on Georgetown’s campus would draw. She had a slight window of safety since there had been no photos taken of her at the scene or at the hospital, but she didn’t count on that situation remaining the same for long. The press would put her name and her campus I.D. photo all over the damn place.
Once Demidas or one of his people saw her picture—the psychopath who haunted her nightmares would be in pursuit.
Going to ground at SSI’s remote Idaho headquarters sounded more and more like a smart move.
“Where are they sending you?” Betsy’s question was voiced low, her posture defensive as if a bad guy would jump them at any time.
Elana mouthed “Idaho,” and then spoke into the phone. “What about clothes, money…I…”
“Don’t worry. Vanko will get you what you need—it’s on us. You don’t understand what a break this is for us.” Ren paused and groaned. “That sounded heartless—and I’m sorry for the loss of your friends—but we’ve been after the traitor for months. He has my wife, me…our child…in his sights, as well as all our operatives and their families. I want him taken out—as does the DIA. Every day this bastard is in business, we lose American lives and the lives of innocent civilians all over the world.”
Ren’s words caused Elana to shudder at the thought of how close she’d been to evil incarnate last night. “I understand—and I want to help. How will I recognize Vanko?”
“His full name is Vanko Petriv. He’s just over six feet tall, lean, muscular build, pale blond hair, light hazel eyes. He’s Ukrainian and has a slight accent—and he’ll recognize you.”
Vanko was Ukrainian. Great. Her nemesis was ethnic Russian. She’d have to keep reminding herself not all males from the former Soviet Union were evil. Her Chernov uncles weren’t.
Ren and Keely wouldn’t have sent this Vanko if he weren’t a good guy, right?
He’d have to prove it, though. Most men failed her in one way or another. She had really lousy luck with the male of the species.
“Where should I meet him?” Her throat was so tight with tension her words sounded raspy.
Several seconds of silence passed as a rapid conversation was held on the ot
her end.
All of a sudden, the hairs on the back of her neck rose. Elana stiffened. Someone was watching her. Her gaze quartered the area around them, and a craggy, scarred male face in the crowd caught her eye. The man was far too interested in her and Betsy. He was about fifteen feet away and kept disappearing behind a large group of people.
Her gut clenched. The same instinct which had told her something was wrong last night held her in its icy grip once more. She had to force herself not to run. Her uncles had warned her predators loved to chase down prey. The prey that survived used cunning and out-thought the ones who hunted them.
“Ren, uh, I think someone’s following us.”
Betsy gasped. Elana gripped her arm. “Don’t look. Just walk calmly. Stay in the middle of the sidewalk where most of the people are.”
“Good advice, Elana. Remain calm. Stay around as many people as you can. Use them to hide your moves. Mercenaries don’t like to call attention to themselves in public places. Can you make it to a Metro station? Lose them in the underground?”
“Yes.” Elana was a step ahead of Ren’s thinking and already had the timing and the route to the closest Metro station plotted out in her head. Once on the Metro, she could lose her pursuer or, more likely, pursuers, and could meet Vanko anywhere in the D.C. area.
“Head for the National Mall,” Ren instructed.
Good idea. Lots of tourists even at this time of the year. Herd instinct—safety in numbers.
“Vanko just picked up his vehicle at Reagan National Airport. It’s a black Hummer. He’ll pick you up anywhere you designate around the Mall in about”—Ren spoke to someone in the background—“forty-five minutes to an hour. Traffic is heavy, he says.”
“More like an hour forty-five. Traffic is always heavy. Don’t worry. I can ride the Metro for that long.”
Elana casually looked at the huge window of a deli and spotted a reflection of the pursuer’s face. He was behind them, but closing fast. His build and movements reminded her of the Boss—deadly and intense—but he was definitely a different man.
“Elana? Are you still there?” Ren’s voice sounded tight, worried.
“I’m here.”
“Where at the Mall do you want to meet Vanko?”
The die was cast now—she’d be going with Vanko no matter what kind of a man he turned out to be. Elana thought over Ren’s question for a second. “Tell your man to pick me up outside The Air and Space Museum—on the Maryland Avenue side. There’s a drop-off and pick-up lane there. I’ll take the Metro to the L’Enfant Plaza stop. It exits onto Maryland.”
Her stomach churned heavily with nerves or something even more primitive, she wasn’t sure which. “Ren…uh, I’m not sure…uh, I might not make it. The man following us is closer than I’d like. There could be more like him in the crowd I haven’t noticed yet. You have the D.C. police report—there’s my verbal description of the Boss—”
“You’ll make it.” His tone clearly said he wouldn’t accept anything less. “You’ve managed to survive for twelve years after escaping Sergei Demidas.” Elana heard respect in his voice. The man had more faith in her than she did. “Do what you have to do. Keep your cell on for now—you’ll have to ditch it later. We’re tracking your GPS signal to make sure Vanko can find you.”
The “before the bad guys do” went unsaid.
“Vanko will call you when he arrives at the museum. If you need to, call back and give us an alternate pick-up point. Wish we could help more, but…”
“You already have—you don’t know who else to trust in D.C…I understand.”
And she did. Her uncles had always stressed the first rule in intelligence work was to trust no one. And when you were forced to trust others, use those who have similar goals. SSI and their agent Vanko had similar goals. That was how she’d lived her life for the last twelve years—and why she was still alone.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “I know the campus, and I know D.C. I’ll make it. See you…soon.”
I hope.
“Good luck.” Ren disconnected.
Elana cleared the call and slipped the phone into her raincoat pocket. Then she rearranged her messenger bag containing her wallet and her mini-laptop to lie across her chest in a bandolier style so she wouldn’t lose it if she had to run.
She touched Betsy’s arm. “Let’s cut through Leavey. We can lose our follower there.”
“Jesus, Elana. Why’s this happening?” Betsy clutched at Elana’s sleeve.
“The Boss is a traitor and he wants to kill me before I can identify him.”
They entered Leavey student center and headed for the food court. It and the campus bookstore were always crowded on Saturday and would provide excellent cover.
“Betsy…you can’t go back to the library or go home. Do you have enough money to get to your aunt’s? I can withdraw some from an automated teller if…”
“Hush. Don’t worry about me. I’ll call my boyfriend and have him pick me up. We’ll just hit the road. I’ll call into work on Monday and report both of us as absent. They won’t quibble considering what happened last night.” Betsy looked around, grabbed a napkin, pulled out a pen, and wrote something on the back before slipping it into Elana’s pocket. “This is my aunt’s land line. Call me when you get to wherever it is you’re going. I need to know you’re safe.”
Elana nodded. “Go now. I don’t have that sucky, sick-to-my-stomach feeling at the moment. I think we lost him.”
She’d board the shuttle outside Leavey, take it to Dupont Circle, and then catch the Metro there. She’d have to change from the Red Line to the Blue Line at Metro Center to get to the L’Enfant Plaza stop near the Air and Space Museum. Metro Center would be her greatest exposure to danger. Standing on the platform waiting on a train brought forth images of too many movies where the innocent victim was shoved onto the tracks in front of a speeding subway train.
Her biggest advantage was she knew where she needed to end up and her pursuers didn’t.
Betsy hugged her. “Be safe. Call me.” Then her friend hurried off, losing herself quickly in the packed food court.
Being extra careful not to draw undue attention to herself, Elana moved through the crowd. She used the mass of people to her best advantage, and in a zig-zag pattern, maneuvered toward the exit leading to the bus stop. Safe for the moment, she made one quick stop and bought a cold bottle of Pepsi to drink on the Metro; she didn’t think she could swallow anything solid right now without choking. She added a nut-filled candy bar for later quick energy. Who knew when she would get to eat a real meal?
Walking away from the snack shop, she constantly checked her surroundings. The man hadn’t appeared again, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there. He was. She could feel him.
With a great sense of relief, Elana exited Leavey and walked briskly toward the bus stop. She had just enough time to make the 12:10 shuttle; it was already loading.
As she approached the small bus, a sudden change in the movement and sounds of the people behind her and that damn niggling at the nape of her neck indicated her pursuer was back and closing in on her. She beat down the urge to run. Running was a go-signal for predators; she couldn’t let the man know she was aware of him. She had no clue what he’d do to stop her, but she feared others might get hurt if he thought she might get away.
She joined the queue entering the bus. She looked at her watch and then casually looked over her shoulder. She stifled a scream. Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Her heart pounded so hard, her chest hurt. The man she’d spied earlier moved toward her like a shark cutting through the water, weaving in and out of the groups of people between them. He was maybe fifteen yards away.
Thank God, it was her turn to enter the bus. She leapt up the steps and into the shuttle; she was the last one on. She turned and found her pursuer glaring at her and then he began to run just as the shuttle doors began to close.
“Please…don’t.” Elana spoke urgently to the driver who had his hand on
the door lever. He was going to reopen the door for the running man. “That man is stalking me. I have a restraining order. Don’t let him on. Please. I’m scared.” She gasped for every breath, and it wasn’t an act—she was bone-cold terrified.
The driver must’ve seen the fear in her eyes, because he nodded, a fierce frown on his lips. He glanced at the man who was now full-out sprinting. He shoved people out of his way in his mad dash to catch the bus—and Elana.
“Jesus, he’s a mean-looking motherfucker. Take a seat, miss.”
Door firmly closed, the driver pulled away, accelerating quickly, just as her pursuer reached the sidewalk. She looked back. The bad guy mouthed curses of the “f-word” variety loudly enough to be heard as they pulled away. Her thwarted pursuer pulled out his cell phone. He was calling backup.
“Miss? Will he follow you?” The driver scowled and looked at the rearview mirror several times as he quickly and efficiently piloted the bus through the crowded campus streets.
Elana had collapsed on the seat behind the driver, her fingers hurt where she gripped the railing between her and the driver. She lowered her voice so the other passengers wouldn’t hear any details. “Yes. He might have one of his friends waiting for me at the Dupont stop.”
“I can handle that. You need to get on the Metro?”
“Yes.”
“I can’t take you to Metro Center, but I can take a short detour and drop you off at the Farragut stop, since it’s only slightly off my route to return the bus to the barn.”
Elana thanked God for this driver—and his opportune schedule.
The bus driver continued, “When we get to Dupont, you hunch down. He’ll think I let you off earlier.”
“Thank you so much. You’re saving my life.”
“No problem. Me? I hate men who prey on women.” The driver looked at her, genuine concern on his face. “You gonna be safe where you’re going?”
“Yes. Once I get there. I’ll be safe.”
I hope.
Chapter 4
Saturday, December 3rd, 1:00 P.M. (EST), Air and Space Museum
Vanko pulled the Hummer into the drop-off/pick-up zone for the Air and Space Museum. He’d made good time despite the horrendous D.C. traffic. There was something about the presence of Hummer that had drivers of slower vehicles moving out of its way, sort of the territorial imperative of the highway.
Weather the Storm (Security Specialists International #3) Page 4
