“A hoplite tattoo on his forearm identical to the one on Rick Wind’s arm. And it has to match the one Julie said her dad had on his arm.”
“So they must’ve known each other in the Army, then,” said Robie.
“What if this isn’t connected to you after all? They were in the Army together, maybe had some secret. Now it’s come back to haunt them.”
“Still doesn’t explain me and Julie walking off that bus. Or them missing you and me in front of Donnelly’s.”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. You said they let him escape after they killed his wife. Part of the game, you said. They might be screwing with you, but there has to be some purpose to it all.”
“I’m certain there’s an excellent purpose. I just don’t know what it is.”
“If this is a contest of sorts between you and them, there must be something in your past to account for it. Given that any thought?”
“Some. But I have to give it a lot more.”
“What line of work were you in, Robie? DCIS isn’t your real home, but somewhere else in the federal government obviously is.”
He drank his coffee, said nothing, because there was nothing he could say.
“I’m not read in, is that why your lips aren’t moving?” asked Vance.
“I don’t make the rules. Sometimes the rules suck, like now, but they’re still the rules. I’m sorry, Nikki.”
“Okay. You don’t have to answer, but hear me out, okay?”
Robie nodded.
“I think you were at Jane Wind’s apartment to kill her as some sort of sanctioned hit. Only you didn’t pull the trigger for some reason. But someone else did, from long range. You took her youngest child to safety and then got out of there. Then you got roped into investigating a crime you were present at under the cover of a DCIS badge.” She paused, studied him. “How am I doing?”
“You’re an FBI agent, I would’ve expected no less.”
“Tell me about the hit on Wind.”
“It wasn’t really sanctioned. I never should have been dialed up, but I was. Person who did it is now a burnt pile of bone.”
“Cleaning up loose ends?”
“How I see it, yeah.”
“So someone is playing with you, digging you in deep. Seems like the start of it was your going after Jane Wind. Her hubby was already dead. So she dies. The Winds are out of the way. Point one.”
Robie finished his coffee and sat up, looked more attentive. “Keep going.”
“Point two. Julie’s parents are killed. We know they were friends with the Broomes. And Rick Wind and Curtis Getty had the same tattoo on their arms. It must be from them serving together in the military. Have your people connected them up yet?”
“Still working on it.”
“Point three. So Getty, Broome, and Wind, including their spouses—or, in Wind’s case, ex-wife—are all dead.”
Robie nodded and took up the thread. “I try and make my escape on that bus. They knew that I would. Julie gets routed to the same bus by a message supposedly from her mother. We get off, the bus blows up.”
“The attack outside of Donnelly’s where you and I should have been killed?”
“More window dressing, more playing with my mind.”
“Some playing. A lot of innocent people were killed, Robie.”
“Whoever’s behind this could care less about collateral damage. They’re chess pieces to them, nothing more.”
“Well, I’d love to slap a pair of cuffs on people who think like that.”
“But what’s the endgame? Why do all of this?”
She took another sip of coffee. “So where’d you spend last night?”
The image of a naked Annie Lambert sitting astride him flashed into Robie’s mind before Vance had even finished her question.
“I didn’t sleep much,” he admitted truthfully.
Their plates of food came and they spent some time digging their way through eggs, bacon, toast, and hash browns.
When they were through, Vance pushed her plate away and said, “How do you want to attack this?”
“Priority one is keeping Julie safe. We obviously had a mole in our operation and I have to count on the Bureau.”
“We will do all we can to make sure no harm comes to her, Robie. What’s the second priority?”
“I have to find out who in my past wants me this bad.”
“You have lots of possibilities.”
“Too many. But I have to narrow it down and I have to do it fast.”
“You think this thing is on a timer?”
“Actually, I think the timer is just about up.”
“So what are you going to do?”
“Take a trip, far away from here.”
Vance looked astonished. “You’re leaving?”
“No, I’m not.”
CHAPTER
72
ROBIE SAT IN the small room that he had used as an office for the last five years. No chubby middle-aged man in a rumpled suit came to bring him yet another flash drive. He was not here for another mission. He was here to see what had come before.
The trip he had referred to with Vance had been one taken in his mind. He stared at the computer screen in front of him. Staring back at him were the reports on his last five missions that had carried him back a full year in time.
He had eliminated, at least for now, three of them. The last two had captured his attention for a couple of reasons: They were the most recent ones, and they involved targets with long arms and many friends.
He clicked a few computer keys and an image of the deceased Carlos Rivera appeared on the screen. The last time Robie had seen the Latino, he had been screaming obscenities at Robie in Underground Edinburgh. Robie had killed Rivera and the man’s bodyguards and made what he thought had been an undetected escape.
Rivera had a younger brother, Donato, who had taken over much of his brother’s cartel operations. The book on Donato was that he was every bit as ruthless as his late brother, but with far less ambition. He was content to run his drug empire without inserting himself into the political situation in Mexico. Perhaps this was also due to what had happened to his big brother. Still, he might want to avenge Carlos’s death. And if he had found out Robie’s identity through Robie’s handler, he might have the necessary information to do so.
In his mind’s eye Robie went through the events leading up to the killing of Carlos and company. After completing this process he thought, Do I fly to Mexico and attempt to kill Donato?
Something deep in his gut told Robie that the man’s relations could care less who had gunned Rivera down. Little brother was alive and doing very well without big brother around.
So Robie moved on to the next target of interest.
Khalid bin Talal, one of the Saudi princes, a fixture on the Forbes 400 list, richer even than Rivera.
Once more Robie closed his eyes, and this time transported himself back to the Costa del Sol.
On the third night the target had walked right into his crosshairs along with the Palestinian and the Russian, geopolitically an odd couple. Talal had exited his motorcade, walked up the steps to the hulking plane. Robie had lost visual on him for a few seconds. But then Talal had sat down across from his fellow conspirators.
Robie’s shot had hit the man dead center in the head. No possibility of survival. Robie had gunned down two bodyguards, disabled the plane, executed his escape, and been on the slow ferry to Barcelona within the hour.
Clean kill, clean exit. And the truth was, bin Talal was not popular in the Muslim world. His ideas were too radical for the moderates. The ruling family was well aware that he desired to overthrow it, and it was largely at the family’s behest that Robie had been sent out on this mission. And even the Islamic fundamentalists tended to give Talal a wide berth because they did not trust his close business ties to Western capitalists.
He sat back in his chair and rubbed his temples. If he still smoked he would have lit up rig
ht now. He needed something to take his mind off a deep sense of failure. Something was staring him in the face. Perhaps it was the truth, the answer he needed. But it wouldn’t come.
He went back through the three missions previous to Rivera and bin Talal. Every step, like he had with the Latino and the Muslim. Clean executions, clean exits, all of them.
And yet if not one of them, who?
He took out his pistol and laid it on the desk in front of him, the muzzle facing away from him. He stared down at the Glock. A fine weapon, it almost always performed flawlessly. This was not a mass-produced piece. This was customized to fit his hand, his grip, and his way of shooting. Every piece was meticulously crafted to make success a foregone conclusion. But it wasn’t just about aiming straight. There were a million parts to every mission, and if any one of them failed, so did the mission. For Robie the easiest part was the actual killing. He was good at it, and had some semblance of control over events. The other parts of the puzzles often came down to others doing their job, totally outside of his control.
He had not always killed on behalf of the U.S. government. He had worked for others, all allies of the Americans. That’s what had gotten their attention. The pay was better on this side of the Atlantic, but if it had solely been about money Robie would have moved into another line of work a long time ago.
There was a reason he kept taking these assignments, kept pulling the trigger on one monster after another. He had never talked to anyone about it, and doubted he ever would. It wasn’t that the memories were too painful. It was that he had frozen that part of his mind. He was incapable of articulating a single sentence about it. That was the way he wanted it. Anything less would not allow him to function.
He rose from behind the desk, the sense of failure now profound.
His phone was buzzing as he reached the door of his car.
It was Blue Man.
They had tracked down the military ties among Curtis Getty, Rick Wind, and Leo Broome. They had all served together.
“I’m on my way,” said Robie.
CHAPTER
73
“SAME SQUAD,” said Blue Man.
He and Robie were sitting in Blue Man’s office.
“They fought together for the entire campaign, along with other assignments post–Gulf One.”
“It was no wonder Julie didn’t know about it,” remarked Robie. “She wasn’t even born yet.”
“And her father was tight-lipped about his service,” said Blue Man. “Maybe he didn’t even tell his wife.”
“I know some soldiers don’t talk about their time on the battlefield, but they don’t usually keep the fact that they actually served secret. Anything in his records to warrant such secrecy?”
“Maybe.”
Blue Man pulled out another manila folder from a stack he had on his desk. “As you know, during Gulf One allied forces never actually went into Baghdad. The mission was to drive Saddam Hussein from Kuwait, and that mission was accomplished.”
“Hundred days,” said Robie. “I remember.”
“Right. Now, the Iraqis had reportedly looted much of Kuwait, which is one of the richest Gulf states. Cash, gold, precious jewels, that sort of thing.”
“Is this going where I think it is?”
“Nothing could be proven, but Getty, Wind, and Broome might have had sticky fingers when they were in Kuwait. They were each given general discharges Under Honorable Conditions.”
“You told Julie that her dad got an honorable discharge based on medical reasons.”
“That’s right. I did.”
“If they were involved in the thefts, do you think they were able to get their loot back to the States? None of the three showed any signs of wealth,” pointed out Robie. “The Gettys worked at crap jobs and lived in a crappy duplex. The Winds weren’t wealthy. And I saw the Broomes’ apartment. Nothing special.”
“Curtis Getty probably put most of it up his nose. Rick Wind’s finances showed that he never earned much money, but he owned a home and had the pawnbroker’s business. Again, we could find no record of how he was able to buy the business.”
“But he stayed in for the full ride. How would that be possible if he was believed to be a thief?’
“ ‘Believed to be’ is the operative phrase. Lack of evidence, I suppose. But the general discharge he did receive speaks volumes, because there was nothing else in his service record that would have warranted anything other than an honorable discharge.”
“So they got him in the end?”
“And he apparently didn’t contest it. Again, speaks volumes. If he did steal the stuff and still got his full ride and pension and no jail time, and the fruits of his larceny, Wind probably thought he got a great deal.”
“And if he was rich from the thefts, why stay in?”
“We don’t know how much they might have gotten away with. Maybe he saw it as his nest egg and decided to keep drawing his government check.”
“And Leo Broome?”
“Hit the jackpot there. His apartment in D.C. wasn’t much to look at, but they had an oceanfront home in Boca Raton and we tracked down an investment portfolio he’d hidden under another name. Had about four million in it.”
“Okay, at least it seems he stole from the Kuwaitis. So you think someone’s coming for them after all this time? And why stick me in the middle of it?”
“You’re the worrisome piece, Robie. The three ex-soldiers maybe fit a pattern. You don’t.” Blue Man closed the file and looked across the desk at him. “You went back over your recent missions?”
“Five of them. They’re cookie-cutters. No clear reason why someone would want to come after me. And no clear reason why they wouldn’t. So I wasn’t able to narrow down the possible suspects.” He brooded for a few moments. “Julie said her mother told her killer that Julie didn’t know anything.”
“What of it?”
“Didn’t know what? About her dad’s military service? I can tell you right now that that guy on the bus going after Julie was not Middle Eastern.”
“Means nothing. You’re not Middle Eastern either, and yet you’ve worked on their behalf before. They could have hired local talent to do the job. Makes it easier than trying to slip one of their own into the country, especially these days.”
Robie glanced up at him. “So why didn’t you tell Julie about these allegations of theft?”
“I decided to focus on the medals. And nothing was ever proven against Curtis Getty. He might be innocent.”
“But still?”
“What would have been the point?”
“Why?” Robie asked again.
“I have granddaughters.”
“Okay,” said Robie. “I can understand that.”
“But we don’t seem to be any closer to the right answers,” said Blue Man.
“No, maybe we are.”
“How so?”
Robie stood. “They want me involved in this somehow, whatever it is.”
“Granted, but how does that help us?”
“I need to make them try a little harder to engage my attention.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m going to make them push harder. When people push harder they make mistakes.”
“Well, make certain you don’t push them so hard that you end up dead.”
“No, I want them to focus on me. There’s been way too much collateral
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