by Dee Davis
"YOU DOING ALL RIGHT?" Madison stood in the security room of Melissa's building, her expression concerned.
"I don't think there's really a way to answer that question," Nigel said, grateful that the building super had left them on their own to review the tapes. It was amazing what the proper credentials could accomplish. That and underpaid staff. "At some gut level I never doubted her. But in the face of all that evidence..."
"A chink in the armor?" Madison's smile was full of gentle concern.
"Something like that." He shrugged, feeling suddenly uncomfortable in his own skin. "I don't want to repeat old mistakes."
"With Melissa or with us?"
"Both, actually. Well, more the group, I guess. I mean, I know it's all water under the bridge, but it can never completely go away, can it?"
"It has for me." There wasn't even a shred of hesitation in the statement.
"And you're the one who suffered the most."
"Actually, it's just the opposite. I'm the one who benefited the most. The way I look at it, Nigel, if you hadn't come back—if you hadn't told Gabe your suspicions—then I might be dead."
"But if I'd been honest from the beginning and not sent you all off on a wild-goose chase we might have nailed the bas-tlard before you were threatened."
"Maybe," Madison allowed. "But you can't know that for certain. And there's no sense in trying to speculate on what can never be. The fact is, you came back, and in doing so you saved my life. It's as simple as that. So let it go."
"But what if I'm making the same mistake again? Placing my loyalty in the wrong place? It was a long time ago, Madison."
"Trust your instincts. They're good ones." She reached out to touch his hand. "I believe in them. And frankly, I believe Melissa. The whole thing just reeks of a setup."
"Payton doesn't believe it."
"Payton doesn't believe anything he can't substantiate in triplicate. It's just his nature. But that doesn't mean he's always right."
"I know that." Nigel ran his fingers over his mustache, a nervous gesture he'd never completely been able to rid himself of. "It's just that he could be, couldn't he? I mean, it would be far easier for me to let sentiment carry me away."
"Sometimes the heart has a way of seeing the truth even when it's buried in mud. Maybe you just need to trust it. That and the fact that we're going to get to the bottom of this one way or the other." With that she reached over to pop in a second tape. The first had shown Melissa leaving for her sister's, just as she'd said.
They fast-forwarded until they reached the time stamp indicating Melissa's arrival to change clothes. The footage was grainy, but in short order Melissa appeared as promised, the gold dress stunning even in black and white. Nigel swallowed, glancing sideways at Madison. Fortunately she hadn't seemed to notice his reaction.
Fifteen minutes further into the tape Melissa reappeared, this time dressed in jeans and her coat.
"She was telling the truth," Nigel said to no one in particular.
"At least about coming here." Madison punched a button to stop the tape, and then jotted some notes in a small notebook. "And the time frame might help once we get an actual time of death for Celik. Why don't I take this with us," she said, ejecting the tape from the machine. "Maybe there's something else here that will help. Someone who came into the building to access Melissa's apartment."
Nigel nodded. "It's certainly worth exploring."
"Great." She pocketed the tape. "Now, what do you say we get the notes from her investigation and get out of here?"
Melissa kept the disk hidden, so even with the authorities nosing about, there was a chance it hadn't been found. Not that Last Chance wouldn't have been able to access it, had it been discovered, but if it was still in the apartment it would speed things up considerably.
They took the stairs two at a time, stopping just outside the door to Melissa's apartment.
"On three." Nigel motioned to Madison, his gun drawn, and she nodded, her own piece at the ready. He counted slowly to three then swung through the partially opened door of Melissa's apartment. The lock was broken, ripped from the door frame with a savagery that spoke of impatience.
Not the work of the forensics team.
Although they'd been here, too. Leaving yellow tape and a pair of latex gloves as a calling card.
"It's clear." Nigel lowered his gun, checking out the room—or what was left of it. It had obviously been tossed, sometime between the authorities leaving and Nigel and Madison arriving.
"Not a pretty picture," Madison said, stepping into the room and holstering her gun. "Melissa isn't going to like this."
"I think we can safely assume it wasn't the good guys." Nigel reached over to right a vase that had somehow managed to escape unbroken. Even trashed, he could see the touches of Melissa in the decor. It was there in the bright colors and carefully chosen art.
"Sometimes the difference between the good guys and the bad guys is all point of view." Madison shrugged with a wry smile, stepping over a broken footstool. "She said it was behind the radiator, right?"
"Yeah, but it's the one in the bedroom." Nigel nodded, crossing to the bedroom. It hadn't fared any better—the linens tossed into disarray, cosmetics and books Uttering the floor.
The gold dress lay in a puddle at the end of the bed, and without thought he picked it up, lifting it to his face. It smelled of Melissa.
"Memories?" Madison's tone was banal, but there was a hit of mischief.
Nigel dropped the dress, moving over to the radiator, his face averted as he tried to avoid her perceptiveness. "She said it was between the windowsill and the pipes." He knelt down and slid his hand behind the edge of the radiator, fumbling to find the niche that held the CD. "Bloody hell," he muttered, withdrawing his hand, sucking at his skinned knuckles. "My hand is too large."
"Let me try." Madison dropped down beside him and slid her hand along the wall behind the radiator just below the windowsill. "There's an indentation." She shifted so that more of her arm slid in, then smiled, pulling out a CD. "Score one for the overly cautious. Whoever was in here, they missed her hiding place."
"And not much else." Nigel straightened, again taking in the mess.
"You think this was the work of the same person who took a shot at her?" Madison stood up, too, slipping the CD into the pocket with the security tape.
"It seems probable." He shrugged. "But the only way we're going to find out for certain is to keep digging."
"So why don't we go by Tracy's?" Madison said. "If she's got a time of death that conflicts with our tape, Melissa will be in the clear."
"And if not?" His heart sank at the idea, but he had to be prepared to face reality either way.
"Then we find something else to exonerate her."
"You really believe she's innocent?" He hated the note of desperation in his voice.
She reached over to cover his hand with hers. "Of course I do. She's your friend, after all."
It seemed as if Madison put extra emphasis on the word friend. Or maybe it was his mind working overtime. Seeing Melissa after all these years had thrown him for a loop. Not to mention the added bonus of the mystery surrounding her arrival this morning.
Walking on the edge was routine for him. And no matter the stakes, he prided himself on the fact that he never let emotion get in his way. So what the hell was going on now? It felt as if the wind had been knocked out of him with absolutely no warning.
He sucked in a breath, pushing his rioting thoughts deep down inside him. There was no room in his life for anything that compromised his ability to think quickly and accurately. And he'd do well to remember it.
"So," he said, "we head for Braxton Labs. Hopefully you're right and Tracy will put an end to this thing once and for all."
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"YOU'RE GOING TO wear a hole in the floor if you don't stop pacing." Harrison leaned back against a computer console with a tolerant smile on his face.
Melissa stop
ped moving, running an agitated hand through her hair. "Where the hell is everyone?"
"Working. For you. Honestly, they haven't been gone all that long."
"Maybe I should call Nigel?" There was nothing she hated more in the world than waiting. It was like being trapped in a cage. In this case, a gilded one—but a prison nevertheless.
"They'll be back soon." Her jailer shrugged again and turned back to the computer screen. "In the meantime, why don't you help me sort through all this chatter? I've compiled everything that's been monitored in the last forty-eight hours, and now I'm trying to sort through it."
When she didn't answer he swiveled around to look at her again. "Come on. It'll take your mind off of things."
"All right." She sighed. Better to be doing something than to stare pointlessly out the window waiting for someone to return with news. "Tell me what you've got."
"It's all arranged by source and time." He waved at the screen. "What we're looking for is a pattern. Some obscure reference that gives us a clue where the nerve gas is or was headed. Or even better, something that hints at who was behind the heist."
"And you're going to get all that from these snippets?" Most of them didn't even make sense.
"That's the general idea. I didn't say it would be easy."
It meant a lot that he was trusting her to look at it at all, as if he'd already decided she was innocent. Or maybe he figured she was a captive audience and what she knew couldn't possibly go beyond the safe house. Either way, he was right. Helping him beat the hell out of brooding over her problems.
An hour later her head was spinning and they'd only made a tiny dent in the bits and pieces of intel recorded on the spreadsheet, and most of what they had spotted had been Harrison's doing. He was a marvel, seeing things that she'd never have noticed at all if he hadn't called her attention to it.
"Is this what you do when you're not working with Last Chance? Listen to the chatter, I mean?"
"God, no." Harrison laughed. "I'd never have the patience to do this full-time, believe me. I actually hack for a living."
"Computers?" Melissa asked, her brows raising with the question.
"Yup. I make my living breaking into other people's machines. Sometimes to prove that they need security. Sometimes to prove that they've done something they shouldn't have."
"Wow. I guess that really does make you the expert. I'm impressed. I'm pretty good with the latest photograph-enhancement software, but I'm afraid that's as far as my expertise goes."
"You use E.O.?"
"Yeah." Melissa frowned. Eyes Only was a program the CIA used for enhancing surveillance photography. "But I thought it was pretty top secret. How do you know about it?"
"Phoenix developed it. I didn't work on it, but I saw a demo. Pretty advanced stuff."
"Phoenix?"
"The company I work for when I'm not here playing superspy. Phoenix works with almost all the major government agencies, specializing in law-enforcement hardware and software."
"Sounds fascinating." And she was surprised to find that she meant it. There was something compelling about Nigel's friends. At first she'd thought it was merely their bonds as a group, but as she got to know them she was realizing that it was the players themselves that were interesting. Madison, Harrison, hell, maybe even Payton if they could get past their mutual distrust.
She hadn't met Sam yet, but she suspected there would be much to admire about the woman who had managed to capture Payton's heart. Like Nigel, he wouldn't be an easy man to tame. She smiled at her choice of words and Harrison shot her a quizzical look.
"Penny for your thoughts."
"Nothing worth sharing." She turned back to the computer screen studying the entries on the spreadsheet, frowning suddenly as words seemed to jump out at her. "Did you see this?" She pointed at an entry containing the word dervish.
"Yeah, I did," Harrison said. "It's mentioned two other times, as well." He pointed to the corresponding entries. "It mean something to you?"
"Maybe." Melissa squinted at the screen. "Dervish refers to a Muslim ritual of the Mevlevi sect called sema, performed by priests in a prayer trance to Allah. The Mevlevi believed that during the sema the soul was released from earthly ties so that it could freely and jubilantly commune with the divine."
"That's where whirling dervish comes from?"
"Exactly." Melissa smiled. "The priests turn independently, shoulder to shoulder, both around their own axis and around other dervishes, representing the earth revolving on its own axis while orbiting the sun or possibly God."
"How the hell do you know all this?"
Melissa shrugged. "I did a story on them once. Along with gathering a little intel on the Turkish resistance movement. Anyway, the ritual isn't the point. If this really is a code, then what matters is the interpretation of the word dervish."
"So what does it mean?" Harrison's curiosity was apparent now.
"It means doorway, literally doorsill." Melissa paused to order her thoughts. "In spiritual context, it's a doorway from one world to the next. But in this context maybe it's referring to something more specific."
Harrison's eyes narrowed as he considered the idea. "All right. There are three references to dervish here. Maybe the pattern of three is significant." He switched the list to the big monitor overhead, highlighting the three references.
"Or maybe it's more simple than that," Melissa said, excitement rising. "Look at the first message. There are references to both the dervish and Istanbul. We'd already marked it as a possible link to our package. And here in the last message there's a reference to Galata Tekkesi."
"And that has significance?"
"Galata Tekkesi is a convent in Istanbul. A Mevlevi convent."
"So you think the nerve gas is being stored at the convent?" Harrison asked.
"I'm just postulating. But there is a connection between the whirling dervish and the monastery and if you include the reference to Istanbul and take it literally, then it's possible."
"But there isn't anything to tie in the nerve gas specifically."
"Oh, but there is." Melissa stood up, crossing over to the monitor. "Look at the second message. There's a reference to dervish and then to instruments. The Galata convent houses a collection of musical instruments used by the dervish. But if you translate this phrase literally—" Again she pointed at the screen. "It reads instruments of death."
"The warheads."
"I realize it's a long shot." Melissa nodded. "But based on what you've been telling me about the way chatter works, I'd say it's worth considering."
"It's better than that," Harrison said. "There were three war-heads. And three messages. And if you look at the timing, this fits right in with the idea that the R-VX was transported through the Baltic. See." He highlighted the dates and then clicked on another document showing a projected time frame for transportation. "I think you've hit on something big here. I'll take it to Cullen and let him decide how to proceed from here."
"Doesn't Nigel have men in place?"
"Yeah, but Cullen will want our team to direct." He grabbed the printout of the spreadsheet and started for the door, then stopped and turned around, his expression sheepish. "If I leave, you'll stay put, right? Technically I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight."
Melissa felt the hot wash of frustration in her cheeks. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Good." Harrison nodded, then ducked through the ornate door leading to Cullen's study.
It was templing to try and outwit Cullen's security, tempting to just walk away from them all—before she allowed herself to get in any deeper. But in point of fact it was too late for that. So she sat down in the chair and started flipping through Harrison's notes again.
If she was going to be a prisoner, she might as well make herself useful.
TRACY BRAXTON'S LABS were state-of-the-art. Hidden amidst the crumbling brick facades of the meatpacking district, the outside of the building belied the modern technology inside.
People all over the world called on Braxton Labs for answers to forensic questions. Last Chance was lucky to have her on their side. On more than one occasion she'd managed to pull the needle out of the haystack—proverbial or otherwise. And Nigel couldn't think of anyone better to prove Melissa's innocence.
Just at the moment, however, he'd rather have been discussing the case in her office, or maybe even by cell phone. Anything but standing here in the autopsy room looking down at Hakan Celik. The once-swarthy man was now pale as a ghost with an incision that ran from just below his neck to just above his groin.
"Sorry we had to meet like this, but I'm almost finished, and I had a hunch you wouldn't want to wait." Tracy took a tissue sample and dropped it into a specimen jar, carefully marking the contents before truly turning her attention to Nigel and Madison.
"Things are moving more quickly than we'd originally anticipated," Madison said with a smile, clearly more accustomed to autopsy tables than he was.
"The stakes have certainly risen." Tracy's pronouncement was matter-of-fact, neither condemning nor acquitting. "But I've got good news."
Nigel tightened a fist in anticipation. In his heart he'd believed Melissa, but somewhere in his brain there had remained an element of doubt. If he was lucky, Tracy was about to expel the notion once and for all. "You found traces of poison."
"Strychnine." Tracy's dark eyes met his. "Not much imagination, actually. It was garden-variety rat poison. Enough to kill a woman twice her size. I found traces in her blood and a much higher concentration in the remnants of her vomit. My guess is that it was in the coffee, although I don't have enough evidence to make a definitive conclusion."
"But you're sure about the poison," Madison asked.
"Absolutely." Tracy reached over to a counter behind the operating table and picked up a single sheet of paper. "Here's the documentation."
"So why didn't it kill her? If it was so much, I mean?" Nigel's heart had constricted to the size of a wadded-up Kleenex, Melissa's brush with death suddenly taking on frightening proportions.
