Vortex

by Catherine Coulter

  “Your collection is awesome, Kent.” Serena had tried to hook Mia on gaming, but it never took. Why was she asking him about gaming anyway? All right, the truth was she couldn’t help herself. She said with regret, “Alas, I was never introduced to gaming, even online.”

  Another wrong thing to say. Mia saw him frown slightly, look down at a piece of paper on his desk. She’d lost his interest again. She sat forward and focused on his face, became the eager student. “I was always interested, but there was no one in my circle to teach me. They’re called gaming consoles, right? Like PlayStation 5, Xbox? Is that a console on your shelf there?”

  He perked right up, leaned forward, the enthusiastic master ready to instruct the ignorant but willing student. “Oh yeah, it’s a classic, my first PlayStation.”

  “Do your friends call you Snake?”

  He shook his head. “Snake, like you said, is a handle and isn’t used outside of gaming. Well, almost never,” he added. “Alex and I sometimes called each other by our handles when we were growing up. He was Dante—” He pointed to the poster next to Snake, not quite as large. “Dante is an avatar in DMC—”

  Mia cocked her head and he snapped out, his voice impatient, “DMC, the game Devil May Cry.”

  She studied the outrageous character on the poster, a swashbuckler with longish gray or blond hair, wearing a billowing red velvet coat over tight black leather that showed off a ripped body. He held an elaborate sword above his head, ready to lop off a head. He looked sexy and hard and determined. Is that how Alex Harrington saw himself?

  “And you and Alex played games like World of Warcraft online, with other players?”

  “Sure, that’s what gamers do, mostly.”

  “Did you or Mr. Harrington ever wear those outfits when you were kids? Red velvet coats and such? Pretend you were them?”

  “Sure, kids and teens do, mostly for Halloween and dress-up parties. But you shouldn’t think gaming is any part of Alex’s life now. We play together rarely now to amuse ourselves. We both have more important things to think about, Alex in particular. And, well, so do I, really.”

  “Does that make you sad?”

  He gave her a flash of a smile. “Sometimes, I admit it. My youth, great days.”

  “How about Alex?”

  “I’d say Alex is completely focused on becoming the next great mayor of New York City.”

  “Of course.” He was leading her back to talk about Alex, but she didn’t want to let it go just yet. She sat forward, her eyes sparkling, and waved her hand at the other posters. “And who are they?”

  “That’s Nero next to Dante, then Trish, Vergil, all iconic characters. And that’s Garrosh Hellscream, Deathwing the Destroyer, Uther Lightbringer—they’re all from World of Warcraft.” He made a sweeping gesture. “All of them are avatars or icons, or portraits or emblems—shorthand for the players’ characters.”

  “And your own avatar, Snake, how does he fight? Does he have a superpower?”

  “It’s all hand to hand for Snake, no superpower.” Kent got to his feet, grinning like a maniac, mimed having a sword in a tight grip above his head and swung it down, cleaving the air.

  Mia froze. It was a snapshot, a single moment locked in time, and she saw the man with Serena that night—bringing down a sword and Serena staggering back, pretending he’s killed her, laughing. He was that man.

  She didn’t know how she did it, but she applauded. “Talk about a death blow. You blow me away.”

  To her relief, the phone buzzed on his desk. He stared at it, sighed, picked it up, slowly repeated, “Mr. Merkel’s waiting outside? Now?”

  He looked at Mia, shrugged.

  She let disappointment fill her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry, we got so caught up in your display”—she swept out her hands—“I’ve let what little time we had slip away.”

  He laughed, raised a finger, spoke quietly into his phone, and hung up. “We can take a few more minutes. I’d like to clear up any questionable impression I may have given you about Alex. As I told you, gaming is something he and I did together when we were young, and now we play only on rare occasions. Adulthood comes to all of us. Both of us have had adult responsibilities for many years now, people who depend on us.”

  He sat forward, clasped his hands, and tried to look dead serious, even with the gaming icons staring down at them. “Alex is tremendously talented, a born leader. And he’s a man of principle, a man you can trust. I firmly believe he’s the mayor New York needs now, if he can get himself elected.”

  The phone on his desk buzzed again. He sighed, rose. “I wish we had more time, but alas, duty calls.” He came around his desk, shook her hand, held it a moment longer than was customary. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Mia. If you make an appointment next time, Irene can clear a block of time for you. I’ll convince you Alex is the man New York needs as mayor. Ah, maybe you’d like to have a drink with me sometime? I could teach you more about gaming.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, I’d like that.”

  18

  Mia

  New York City

  Tuesday afternoon

  When Mia stepped into the newsroom, the first person she saw was Judy Larrson, an assistant editor, who was married to a gamer husband she threatened to divorce twice a month. Should she ask to speak to Judy’s husband? Maybe, and she could study online, ask around. Gamers were thick on the ground everywhere, weren’t they? Kids, teens, adults of all ages—and Serena. Next time she spoke with Kent Harper, she could know enough to engage him.

  She made her way to her desk, sat down, shoved her messenger bag in a drawer, and wondered: Why did she want to engage Kent Harper? Because I’m nuts, that’s why. Because I saw him slash down his gaming sword like that man did that night at the rave with Serena. Even after seven years, Mia would swear his movements looked exactly the same, fluid, fast, practiced, the warrior. She remembered how excited Serena had been that night; she was having so much fun. He’s a gamer, Mia. How lucky is that? He knows everything.

  And Alex Harrington wore a chunky silver link bracelet, like the man in the photo. She shook her head. It simply couldn’t be. Harrington was running for mayor of New York City, and both he and Kent Harper ran the New York branches of their families’ companies, both successful, upstanding citizens. And best friends, partners in everything? Had her imagination gone off the rails? All coincidence, that’s what it was, what it had to be. You don’t believe that for a single fricking second.

  No, she couldn’t, she wouldn’t just shake off what she’d seen with her own eyes. Even the possibility that both Kent Harper and Alex Harrington really were the men at the frat rave at Godwyn that night seven years ago made her question her own sanity. But she was a reporter, a good one, so she wasn’t about to allow herself to leap headfirst to a conclusion based on how a man handled a gaming sword and another man wore a bracelet. She could hardly tell anyone at the Guardian about it, least of all Milo. He’d think she’d lost it. What she had to do was—

  “Hey, Mia, you having a meltdown? You haven’t moved in forty-one seconds, I timed it.”

  She jerked, managed a laugh at Benny Tate, their social media and website guru, young, of course, and always coming up with crazy new app ideas that were oddly intriguing, the latest, Alone in the Serengeti: A Beginners Guide. “Nah, just thinking about how you’d make a great date, Benny.”

  “Har har,” but his eyes lit up as he shot a sideways look at Kali Knight.

  “Yes! Yes!”

  Both Mia and Benny turned to see Millie Jones waving her arms and doing a happy dance by her desk.

  Mia said, “What’s going on with Millie? Did she win the lottery?”

  Dirk looked up from the photos he was working on, called out, “This is her second spontaneous eruption. We’re going to start calling her Krakatoa. A couple of minutes ago, she burst out with “The Sound of Music” and fist-bumped herself. Gotta admit, she’s got some moves.”

  “So she did w
in the lottery?”

  Dirk raised his iPhone, snapped a photo of Millie tap-dancing. “Nope. Milo got a call from a ‘friendly’ who works at One Federal Plaza and told him that the FBI agent who took down the terrorist at JFK—Special Agent Sherlock—will be in town for a couple of days about an overlapping case, or whatever, who knows? Milo got through to an FBI bigwig in Washington to see if one of our reporters could meet with her. He sold it by saying what an awesome job the FBI agent did saving the world—you know, the sort of crap he thought the FBI would latch on to. Of course they did, they can always use positive publicity. And of course a nice article with a photo of Agent Sherlock might sell some issues of the Guardian, too. I think Milo assigned Millie to do the article because she dated an FBI agent last year. Didn’t end well, but she probably knows more about them than any of the rest of us.”

  Mia felt a stab of envy. She remembered, like most Americans, what Special Agent Sherlock had done. Sherlock—what an amazing name. She said, “If Agent Sherlock ran for mayor, I think she might even get herself elected. Voters would know she’d clean up the streets, keep crime down.”

  To everyone’s surprise, Kali the intern said, “I saw a photo of her husband, he’s an FBI agent, too, Agent Dillon Savich. He’s extremely hot. They’ve got a little kid, too. I wonder how it all works.”

  Benny gave Kali a long assessing look, slowly smiled, and nodded. Good, maybe he’d ask her out.

  Milo, the boss, came striding out of his office, waving his big hands. “Cut out the dancing, Jones, and sit your butt down. I can see you from my office. You look like a spastic kangaroo. Time to hunker down, get your questions together for Agent Sherlock so I can review them. There you are, Briscoe. Did you interview Alex Harrington?”

  All the voices died, as did Millie’s dance, but not her indignant, “Kangaroo?”

  Milo gave her the stink eye when she executed a rather cute last little skip before sitting down. They hadn’t been all that loud and Milo’s door had been closed, but everyone knew their boss had Spock ears. Mia said, “Yes, I had an initial interview with Harrington already, Milo, and his best buddy, Kent Harper, too. You know he runs the New York office of his family business—”

  “Yes, yes, Harper Strategic Services, in the Harper Building on Madison, ugly modern piece of crap, full of itself. Okay, good. Then you’re all set to get up to Boston tonight?”

  She grinned at him. “Yep, I’m all set, no worries. However, Harrington’s parents are off on a cruise somewhere, won’t be back for another month or so, so I’ll have to wait on them, but he did text me a list of people he’d like me to see. As if he expects me to talk only to the suck-ups he’s cherry-picked for me. Fat chance.”

  Milo grunted. “All right, I trust your judgment, at least in this.” He raised his voice. “Jones, I want you in my office about that Sherlock interview in”—he looked down at his watch—“two hours, no longer. Move, people, it ain’t happy hour yet.”

  When the newsroom recovered, Mia hunkered over her desk and called Tommy Maitland at the Washington Field Office. Seven years, she thought, and wondered if Serena hadn’t gone missing, if what he and Serena had shared their senior year would have become permanent. She and Tommy rarely spoke of Serena now, but she was there, always, a ghost hovering over them. Serena had bound them together for life. Mia liked Tommy, occasionally wished he were her brother, admired his brain, and knew it was time to bring him in, but too soon to bring him all the way in. She needed his help finding proof.

  After two rings, “Mia? Good grief, woman, we haven’t spoken in far too long. What’s going on?”

  “Well, I’m working my butt off, but that’s not why I called. Tommy, it’s about Serena.”

  A beat of thick silence, then, “Serena? What about her?”

  “I don’t know if you remember Gail Ricci, but she found some photos on her old iPhone from that night at the rave. Our photographer here at the Guardian enhanced them. They’re still not very clear, but I’m sending them to you.”

  When Tommy had the photos, he said only, “Two blurry guys, and you don’t know who they are? What do they have to do with Serena? Talk to me, Mia.”

  “No, I didn’t recognize them, either, and neither did Gail. I wanted you to see them. They were at the rave, Tommy. I was thinking maybe facial recognition? Compare them to photos you already have that the police might have collected from cell phones that night? Ask the police chief to show them to some of the students who were interviewed?”

  “Yes, of course, I can do all of that, but what makes you think they could be the guys to take Serena? And that’s what you think, isn’t it, Mia?” She hadn’t heard such excitement in his voice since he’d told her he’d been accepted into the FBI.

  “Yes, I’m sure leaning that way.” Mia pointed out the earlobe tear, the bracelet, told him about the gamer. “And look, Tommy, couldn’t he be ready to put something in Serena’s drink?”

  “If it is her drink.”

  “It is, it has to be.”

  He paused a moment. “Mia, tell me who you think these two men are. Where did you spot them? You’re going on a torn earlobe and a bracelet? A gamer?”

  “Yes. Tommy, I don’t want to tell you yet. I don’t want to prejudice you or the sheriff.”

  Tommy had learned over the years how stubborn Mia could be. “All right. But don’t you go showing these photos around, all right? If you have come across the two men who took Serena, you know they’d do anything to keep from being exposed. They wouldn’t hesitate to kill you. You know that, right? Come on, Briscoe, I don’t hear you nodding.” He sighed deeply. “You’re not going to leave it to me, are you? You’re going into full reporter mode.”

  She said, “Tommy, be realistic. It’s nowhere near a sure thing that these photos show the same two men. And yes, I’ll be careful, just in case. Please don’t worry. You’ll keep me posted, all right?”

  “Only if you promise you’ll tell me what you’re doing on your end.”

  “Sure, of course, we’ll see. Now, before you head off to arrest some crooks, tell me, how are your folks?”

  When she punched off her cell, Mia felt a blast of guilt. No, she’d been right, it was too soon to tell him about Harrington and Harper when she had no real proof. She couldn’t ask Tommy and the FBI to investigate a candidate for mayor based on a hunch, it wouldn’t be fair. She had to learn more first and she fully intended to. Sins of omission, she thought, weren’t really sins if there was good reason for them. That was her reasoning and she was sticking to it.

  19

  Olivia

  23 Swan Court

  CIA Safe House

  Washington, D.C.

  Tuesday night

  Whomp, whomp, whomp—the helicopter blades were vicious loud, the vibrations scoring through her head. Olivia felt hands on her, felt a needle slide into her wrist, but oddly, she didn’t feel any pain, but she knew it was there, waiting. She heard voices speaking quietly above her, but they were only meaningless sounds. Then she heard Mike’s voice, low and harsh, close to her face, she’d recognize it anywhere. He sounded upset. Were those his fingers stroking her cheek? Was he afraid she’d die? She wished she could understand what he was saying, but even so close she felt his warm breath on her face, she couldn’t understand. She wanted desperately to reassure him, to tell him everything would be all right, but she couldn’t. She could only lie there, huddled deep inside herself, and wait.

  Olivia jerked with a start at the sound of her cell phone buzzing. Her heart was beating so fast, it took a moment for the images to fade, longer to realize she’d been dreaming about her half-conscious helicopter ride to Balad Military Hospital. As she fumbled for her cell, Helmut licked her face, gave a gentle woof. “Hello?”

  “Olivia, it’s Andi.”

  She was instantly awake. “Andi, what’s going on? Are you okay? No, Helmut, it’s Andi, go back to sleep.”

  “Give Mr. Gorgeous a hug for me. Olivia, I was worried about
you. Why haven’t you called me? I had to hear about what happened to you last night from Mr. Grace.”

  Olivia looked over at her iWatch. It was a little past ten, not late at all. “I’m sorry, I should have called, but the truth is I hardly got any sleep last night and I was exhausted. I’m really okay, Andi, I’m fine.” She knew Andi was afraid for her, so Olivia tried to lighten it up a bit. “I looked at myself in the mirror and knew I needed more beauty sleep so I went to bed early after eating take-out Chinese with Agent Gaylin, my babysitter. You know him, don’t you?”

  She heard Andi take a deep breath, smooth out. “Sure, he’s an old warhorse, tough as my desert boots, and always needs to shave.”

  “That’s Gay. Found out tonight he loves Szechwan beef. Since I’m trusting him with my life, I’m glad he’s as tough as he looks.”

  “Olivia, Mr. Grace only gave me the bare bones of what happened to you. He told me to leave my house, go to a hotel, and make sure I wasn’t followed, and, of course, to keep him informed. I asked him about Higgs and he said Higgs went off to Canada on his motorcycle, as if it isn’t cold enough for him in Maine.

  “Tell me exactly what happened, Olivia. Mr. Grace said two men came to your house and you had to shoot one of them. I couldn’t pry anything else out of him. You promise you weren’t hurt?”

  “No, I’m fine. If you strip all the bark away, yes, that’s about exactly what happened. The one I killed, he was speaking Farsi. No ID on him, so no one knows who he was.”

  “Mr. Grace didn’t bother to mention that, either. Of course they’re searching high and low for Mike, but again, Mr. Grace made it clear he didn’t want us involved. I sometimes wish they didn’t keep everything so compartmentalized, feed us little cubes of knowledge to keep us begging for more. I know, it’s CIA, no way that’s going to change.”