by Misty Evans
Which was a strong possibility, but his gut told him Maria would walk. “Just tell the cops I coerced you. That you didn’t want anything to do with me but I forced you to help out. You haven’t broken any laws. They can’t hold you.”
Caroline poked a finger at him. “Stop taking all the blame.”
“Someone has to get that flash drive to Grey. He’ll take it to his contact at Justice.”
As always, Grey had come through. He’d set up a private meeting for the four of them with Connor Lane, the head of the Office of Special Counsel, an independent federal agency inside the Justice Department. The OSC protected the rights of federal employees and whistleblowers. They’d give Lane the evidence and see what he advised them to do.
“We are so screwed,” Brice said from behind the hand covering his face.
“I’ll call Lane,” Caroline said.
Mitch studied the flashing lights, his stomach sour from the misery of having always known at some point, somewhere, the choice to stop running would be taken from him. “Not if you’re in jail.”
“I get one phone call. Guess how I’m going to use it?”
He glanced at her face and saw her grinning. Damn they were a twisted combination. “You are some woman, you know that?”
“You better believe it.”
The plane rolled to a stop and the pilot came over the intercom. “Sorry, Ms. Foster. I was under oath from your father not to tell you about this.”
Caroline issued a flabbergasted sigh. “My father did this?”
Brice rose and helped Maria up. He motioned for Mitch and Caroline to go first. “Might as well pay the devil his due.”
They drew on their jackets and gathered briefcases, laptops, and overnight bags while vehicles pulled into position around the plane. A cop with a bullhorn told them to come out with their hands up.
Mitch went first, tossing his bag down the stairs in front of him and raising his hands. “Nobody get twitchy,” he called to the cops. “I give up.”
A plainclothes officer approached, cuffed him, and led him to an unmarked car. While he was being patted down and read his rights, Brice received the same routine, only his charges were related to releasing a sealed document.
Caroline and Maria stood back while three men approached.
Donaldson, in his usual ugly brown suit, sent a smug smirk in Mitch’s direction. Mitch flipped him off even though his hands were cuffed behind his back. The officer opened the unmarked car’s rear door. “Get in.”
Mitch ignored him, watching the man leading the pack of Donaldson and the third man. He wore a gray suit with a tan trench coat and looked vaguely familiar. The third man lingered behind, his face drawn into serious lines with a set of peepers that matched Caroline’s.
“Dad!” Caroline left Maria’s side and strode toward her father. “What have you done?”
Donaldson intercepted her. “He cut a deal to save your ass, Foster. Show some gratitude.”
“Get. In,” the plain clothed officer said to Mitch, shoving him into the backseat.
The man in the trench coat didn’t stop for the Foster family drama, but called to the cop. “Hold up. I want to see him.”
He came to stand in front of Mitch, his gaze sizing up Mitch’s long hair, and reading his Roswell alien T-shirt that said Property of Area 51. Do Not Confront. “Mitch Monroe. We finally meet. Agent Donaldson has told me about you.” The man smiled a thin, knowing smile, and pinned his brows together. “But to tell you the truth, I’m a bit disappointed. I thought you’d be…”
“Shorter?” Mitch smarted off.
“More clever,” the man countered. “I was enjoying the chase, but now…” He tsked. “You’ve dropped right into my hands.”
The guy wasn’t FBI—he didn’t carry himself like an agent. His blond, Robert Redford hair and good looks gave him a definite Hollywood vibe. Mitch scanned his memory. He was sure he’d seen this dickwad on TV, but he couldn’t come up with an ID. “Who the fuck are you?”
The man smiled for real now, slow and antagonizing, and Mitch wanted to pop him. His voice dropped a few octaves. “I’m your worst nightmare, Monroe. Your very worst nightmare.”
Mitch shrugged, going for unconcern as all his instincts screamed danger. “Lame line, but let’s see what you’ve got. Meantime, the rest of the kids here are innocent. This was all my doing.”
“I bet it was.” The man chuckled as if this was the most fun of his life and glanced over his shoulder at Maria while speaking to the officer. “Bring her too.”
“Bring her where?” Caroline demanded. “On what grounds?”
The man held out a hand. “I don’t believe we’ve met, Agent Foster. I’m Sean W. Straling, Deputy Attorney General for the United States of America. I strongly urge you to keep your comments, ideas, and opinions to yourself, or I’ll be forced to renege on that little deal I made with your father.”
She started to say something, but Mitch coughed loudly, drawing her gaze. “Agent Foster knows how to follow orders. She won’t give you any problems.”
For once, Caroline shut her trap. Mitch loaded her up with eye contact and she nodded. If even one of them stayed out of jail and got the information to Grey, they had a chance.
Donaldson eyed the DAG. “Where are you taking them?”
“Don’t worry, Harold.” Straling patted Donaldson on the back as he walked past him. “I’ll take care of this minor mess and have charges brought up first thing in the morning, once I interrogate your ex-agent. Go on home.”
The officer shoved Mitch into the backseat. Brice was already in the back of a different cruiser, and Maria was being cuffed as Mitch’s official escort pulled away. He chanced a glance at Caroline and saw her lift her chin. “Whatever it takes!” she yelled loud enough for him to hear.
“Whatever it takes,” he mouthed back to her. He wasn’t going to let her down.
As Caroline watched the police cars drive away with Mitch, Brice, and Maria, her heart didn’t just sink, it drilled right through the tarmac. The DAG said something to Donaldson, then walked back to the hanger. Caroline turned on her father. “Dad, why did you do this?”
Her father looked grim. “You transported a known fugitive wanted for murder on my plane. You didn’t tell me about that.” He brushed a finger across her bruise. “What happened to you?”
“I apologize for keeping the truth about Mitch from you, but he’s innocent, and…” Donaldson caught her eye and motioned her to follow him.
She left her father sputtering and calling after her and jogged over to her boss. “I need to know where he’s taking Mitch and Maria.”
“Maria? That’s the woman?”
Caroline nodded and retrieved the tiny USB she had hidden in her waistband to show it to him. “She was Tommy’s…she’s the, uh, sister of Tommy’s informant and she can confirm sensitive information Tommy stored on this flash drive about the operation. There are men after her. She’s in danger.”
Donaldson spread his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, she’ll be safe in jail while waiting for her bail hearing.”
“Bail for what? Straling doesn’t have any reason to arrest her.”
“She was conspiring with a fugitive, Foster. I’m sure if he wants, the DAG can come up with a dozen other charges.”
“Where are they taking them?”
“I don’t know.”
They locked eyes for a second. Caroline refused to give in. Not a chance.
Donaldson finally sighed in that way that told Caroline he knew just how stubborn she could be. “I’ll look into it and find out where they’re being held.” He reached into his pocket and brought out a folded piece of paper. “In the meantime, I have that list of Thai restaurants you asked about.”
Thai restaurants? She accepted the paper, saw a list of names. “Thank you.” I think.
“Some of them are pretty noisy, if you know what I mean, or at least they used to be. But if you need a solid source of ind
igestion, you’ll find one on that list. A few of the restaurants might have closed down or moved to another town, so it might take some digging to find them.”
Good thing he didn’t work for the CIA…coded messages were not his strong suit. Didn’t matter. She clutched the paper tightly in her hand. The list, as her boss had promised, contained names of taskforce members who’d made noise about the operation or Tommy’s death and been transferred, or otherwise shut down, to keep them quiet. “I’ll get on this right away.”
“Be in my office first thing in the morning. We have things to discuss before you resume your job.”
She still had a job? “I’ll be there, sir.”
She gave her father a quick hug and a peck on the cheek with a promise to explain everything in a day or so. First, she had to make phone calls. Not only to the guys on the list, but to a few lawyers. Mitch, Maria, and Brice were going to need them.
Her car was at the airport where she’d left it. After retrieving her bags, she headed for the abandoned army base. On the way, she called Grey. “Mitch has been arrested,” she told him. “So have Brice and the woman we told you about. We brought her with us to talk to Connor Lane and give her testimony, but now the DAG has her.”
“Damn it.” Grey was quiet for a long moment. “But they let you go?”
“My father cut a deal. The Deputy Attorney General showed up at the airport with Agent Donaldson and my father. He arrested Mitch, Brice, and Maria, but he never said what the charges were against Maria. Donaldson believes he’ll use conspiring with a fugitive as the main one. I’m worried about her. And worse, with all of them being arrested, I think whoever is behind the cover-up searched her house, beat me up, and shot at us trying to stop this investigation. What if they kill her?”
Grey swore under his breath. “Where did they take her and Mitch? D.C. Metro?”
“I don’t know. The DAG wouldn’t say. Donaldson is looking into it.” She took a turn off the interstate. “I’m heading to your office. I need a secure line to make a few calls.”
“Teeg and I will meet you there.”
Mitch saw little of the five-story building as he was hustled inside and down a long, dark corridor. Most of the lights were burned out, and the few actually working projected weird shadows on the graffiti-filled walls.
The cop cars had split off earlier, the one with Brice heading for downtown. His and Maria’s unmarked cars heading for this abandoned building on the far edge of the city. At one time, it might have been a housing development of some kind. Definitely not a police station or FBI headquarters.
Trouble. Big, bad trouble, is what this was. The kind that smelled as ripe as the hallway he walked down.
Nerves banged around under his skin. He logged the layout, the entrances and exits he could see. Two officers escorted him, one in front and one behind. A third man waited for them at the end of the hall. Burly and in plain clothes, he looked like a bouncer at a club. Mitch suspected he was about to be released into the hands of an interrogator.
Maria was nowhere in sight. Had they taken her in through a different door? Her life could very well be in danger but how could he get to her when he was cuffed and surrounded by meatheads? With guns.
No words were exchanged as his two guards handed him over to the interrogator. The man’s bald head and dark, beady eyes reminded Mitch of a trainer he’d had at Quantico. Cobra, they’d called him. The hardass trainer’s ears had stuck out from his head like a Cobra hood, earning him the nickname.
After a grunt from the interrogator, the officers left. Mitch and the man locked stares.
This wasn’t an arrest. This was a kidnapping.
What was this guy going to do to him? Silence him like someone silenced Tommy and Kemp?
Bring it on, motherfucker. “Where’s the picnic?” Mitch asked. Get to Maria. You have to protect her. But where was she?
And what about Caroline? Would the killer go after her?
The man opened the door behind him and stepped aside. A single light bulb hung from a long electrical wire in the ceiling. Old wooden steps led down into a murky basement with a beat up table and a metal chair. Dark stains littered the floor. Dried blood?
“Move,” Cobra growled, shoving Mitch forward.
“Wait!” Someone snapped their fingers. “I want to talk to him first.”
Mitch turned and saw Straling motioning Cobra to escort him into a room off the hallway. Perfect. Maybe Mitch could get some answers about Maria’s location before the meathead went to work on him.
The DAG’s bouncer pushed and prodded Mitch back down the hall to the open door. Inside, it looked like an apartment in serious need of a decorator’s touch.
Mitch was led into what was once the kitchen, and if he had his directions correct, it faced east. Most of the cabinets and appliances had been torn out, leaving gaping holes in the walls. The yellowed ceiling boasted a Rorschach of water stains and a chair was toppled on its side. Cobra righted it, shoving Mitch into the ripped seat.
The flexi cuffs on his wrists dug into his skin. Use the pain. Whatever was about to go down would be rough. He sensed it as his body stiffened and adrenaline flowed. He needed to stay alert and find or make an opportunity to get away.
Sean W. Straling planted his feet in front of Mitch, while his goon stayed to the left. “I hate that messy basement,” Straling said. “So dank and dark. Better for us to discuss your future—however short it might be—up here.”
“What did you do with the woman?” Mitch asked.
The DAG seemed cheered by the question. “Worried about her, are you? Good. Hand over the flash drive and she’ll stay in one piece.”
“What flash drive?”
Straling’s cheer faded. He gave a nod to the goon and the man punched Mitch in the jaw.
The hit sent Mitch to the floor, pain exploding in his face and traveling to his eyes. Shaking it off, he staggered to his feet. “Afraid to mess up your suit, Straling?”
Another nod from the DAG and the goon shoved Mitch back into the chair. “Let’s not play games. You have information I need. Do I have to search you myself?”
“Touch me and you’ll have a problem.”
“Is that so?” Straling jerked his head at Cobra. “Search him.”
Mitch kicked the meathead in the shin, but the man’s fist connected with his temple at the same time, sending Mitch to the floor again. White flashes blinded him and he squeezed his eyes closed for a second. Breathe. The goon flipped him on his back and searched his pockets.
“You’re going to regret that,” Mitch mumbled, his temple throbbing like a bass drum inside his head.
“Shut the fuck up.” Cobra kicked Mitch in the hip. “He’s clean,” he said to Straling.
“Where are his bags?” Straling asked, frowning down at Mitch.
Cobra shrugged. “Your guys only brought him. I didn’t see no bags.”
Mitch opened and closed his mouth a couple of times to work the pain out of his jaw. His temple pounded and Straling’s dress shoes faded in and out of his vision.
Straling snapped his fingers again. “The girl probably has it. Keep an eye on him. I’ll be back.”
Mitch blinked to clear his vision and called after him, “Did you kill Tommy Nusco?”
Straling stopped. “Me? Kill an FBI agent? Why would I do that? Donaldson said you loved a good conspiracy theory and I can see that now.”
His brain might have been slightly scrambled from the hits, but pieces of the puzzle rearranged themselves and dropped into place. “Why did you want all those guns to walk?”
The shoes disappeared from view and Mitch stayed down, hoping Cobra would think he was harmless. He closed his eyes and listened to the DAG’s retreating footsteps, the sound of a door opening and closing. Faintly, he heard the man making noise in the hall, then the sound of his shoes climbing stairs.
Maria’s upstairs. At least he had a general idea of where to find her when the time came.
B
ut she had one of the flash drives. She was no agent, no undercover operative. If Straling threatened her—when he threatened her—she’d hand it over without a fight.
He actually hoped she did. Straling was a priss and wouldn’t dirty his hands, but he’d have Cobra work her over if it came to that.
…wouldn’t dirty his hands. Another puzzle piece spun and dropped into place. The DAG wouldn’t pull the trigger. He’d have someone else do it.
Someone who was still in New Mexico hunting for Jesse.
And getting his windshield fixed.
But why? What was Straling after? What was every politician in D.C. after? Power.
Mitch sat up. “Get him back down here,” he told Straling’s goon. “I’m ready to talk.”
Caroline paced the concrete floor in Grey’s war room. That’s what she’d decided to call the army base’s main space. This time, he’d left up his bulletin board and the notes from various cases he was working. Since she’d put her career on the line for Mitch, Grey must have deemed her trustworthy.
Teeg, the computer expert, was at his desk, and Grey was somewhere in the building on a private phone conversation. Teeg stared at multiple screens and said nothing as she paced and waited for Donaldson to call.
Nine out of ten former taskforce members on the list he’d given her had shut her down before she’d asked the first question. Still, she’d warned them she was taking a boatload of evidence about the gun walking operation and Tommy’s murder to Justice first thing in the morning.
Since the sun was already rising, first thing in the morning quickly approached.
Mitch, I hope you and Maria are okay.
Brice had been taken to Metro P.D., but no one could locate Mitch or Maria. Why separate them? Brice could have just as easily had the information as Mitch or Maria.
But Brice was never directly connected to Tommy. Caroline paced faster.
The one taskforce guy who’d spoken to her, Zachariah Nunnely, had put her on hold while he retrieved his notes on the operation. He’d eventually come through and the two of them reviewed the case in detail. Like Tommy, Zach had been suspicious of the straw buying operation. After Tommy’s death, he’d gone to his supervisor, and for his trouble, he was now in Fargo, North Dakota twiddling his thumbs and chasing down cigarette traffickers.
