Vortex

by Catherine Coulter

  Mia said, “I wonder if it burned her when her best teenage girlfriend hooked the big prize—Alex Harrington?”

  Juliet said quickly, too quickly, “I never thought about it that way, and I don’t want to know. Honestly? I wish her the best of luck.”

  Mia said, “And now she might become first lady of New York City.”

  “She might. And for Pamela, New York is a lovely stepping-stone. She wants to be First Lady of the United States.” Juliet actually smiled.

  “There’s many a long mile from Mr. Harrington being mayor of New York City to being the president of the United States.”

  “That’s certainly true, but I don’t doubt for a minute Pammie will relish every step to Washington.”

  Mia set down her tablet. “Off the record. May I ask how you and Mr. Harrington got together?”

  “When I attended Juilliard, I lived with another musician, a violinist, but that didn’t work out, and I moved back to Boston. The same old group was still here, hanging out together, at parties, movies, dinners. It was a comfortable routine, always there for me after I practiced or performed, always a welcome break.”

  “And then Alex?”

  “Yes, and then Alex. It started at a clambake in Nantucket.”

  “He was with several women over the years, but never married.”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Just like Kent Harper never did?”

  Juliet flinched—Mia saw it—then she slowly nodded. “Yes, very much like Kent.”

  “And the two of you didn’t realize you weren’t suited until only three weeks before the wedding?”

  Mia saw Juliet was used to this question. She eased, gave an elegant shrug, trotted out her canned response. “Like many women, I suppose I was all wrapped up in the excitement. It was a whirlwind time, so much to be done even with a wedding planner, who, I might add, would have made an excellent Nazi general. My parents were ecstatic, his parents were ecstatic, all our friends approved. We finally realized we’d simply dived into the deep end, both of us ignoring our real feelings, not thinking objectively.” She looked down at her tightly folded hands, and the words spurted out of her mouth. “And there was Kent.”

  23

  Mia

  Mia saw a flash of revulsion. And fear? “Kent Harper had something to do with your wedding being called off?”

  Juliet shrugged, but Mia saw her fingers digging into her pant legs. “Let’s just say Kent is Kent. And if you’re with Alex, Kent is a part of the package.”

  Mia said, “I had a boyfriend once whose best friend was always hanging around. It came to feel like I was dating both of them. Is that how it was with you?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  “Did Kent have something to do with your breaking your engagement with Alex?”

  “I’ve told you, the decision was mutual, Ms. Briscoe, and we do deserve some privacy, don’t you think?”

  Mia looked down at her tablet, as if she were checking her notes, looked up. “I understand Mr. Harrington and Mr. Harper have always been like brothers, from their earliest years. Gaming was and still is one of their major pastimes?”

  “Gaming, yes, and most anything else they could do together. Alex and Kent both played lacrosse at Bennington Prep and then, of course, at Harvard. But you’re right, gaming was their staple growing up. They’ve cut back now that they have to be responsible adults, particularly Alex and the political path he wants to take. From what I hear, they’re both doing well. I imagine they’re still very close.”

  “You mentioned Alex played lacrosse. Do you remember if he was ever injured?”

  “No, I don’t remember. And I wasn’t even here. I was in England until I was eighteen and then I was off to Juilliard.”

  “Pamela told me this morning she believed you were too delicate to deal with Mr. Harrington on equal footing, that you wouldn’t have been able to deal with all the demands that would be expected of you as the wife of an ambitious politician. She hinted Mr. Harrington was really the one who wanted to break off the engagement.”

  Juliet chose her words carefully. “Pamela knows I never had any desire to oversee and direct other people’s lives. Of course I hope to move people in my concerts, but that’s only for their pleasure, nothing more. As for Alex wanting more than I to break off the engagement—well, who knows? Perhaps Pamela saw something I didn’t. It really doesn’t matter now, does it?”

  “Ms. Calley, let me be honest. You seem to me to be a strong woman who’s making every bit of use of her talent. I’d hardly call you delicate. I don’t think calling off your engagement was mutual or had anything to do with your being unable to deal with Mr. Harrington’s personality or with being the wife of a politician. I think it was your own decision.”

  “You think I’m strong? That . . . that is very kind of you to say, but you only just met me.” She looked away briefly, then back at Mia. “It’s appropriate the two of them marry, they match up perfectly. And Pamela was smart enough to recognize Alex as the man she’s been looking for. I do wonder why she said I was delicate. She’s never said that to me.”

  “Come now, that’s easy. She’s jealous of you and perhaps even more to the point, she wants to protect him. If it were known you were the one who dumped him, there’d be endless speculation and questions, like, did he cheat on you? Pamela doesn’t want anyone to doubt his honor, his trustworthiness. Be honest with me, you broke off the engagement and not because you didn’t suit, no, you broke it off because of something else entirely.”

  Juliet jumped to her feet. “As I told you, Ms. Briscoe, I don’t wish to share that experience with your readers. If that’s all you wish to know, I should go see to my mother.”

  Mia slowly rose. “Ms. Calley, I have no intention of writing about what happened between you. You’re the only person who’s been really close to Alex who suddenly cut him out of your life. I wasn’t sure whether to show something to you, but now I will. And I hope you’ll tell me the truth.”

  Mia pulled the two photos out of her bag. “Please look at these photos, Ms. Calley. Do you recognize Kent Harper or Alex Harrington? You must remember how they looked seven years ago.”

  Slowly, as if reaching to touch a snake, Juliet took the photos. She walked slowly to the window and held them up to the light. Mia watched her, stayed silent. Juliet went tight as a rubber band, but she didn’t turn. She said over her shoulder, her voice not quite steady, “Where were these photos taken?”

  “Seven years ago at a fraternity rave on my campus, Godwyn University in Pennsylvania. My best friend is the girl in that photo. She disappeared after that party. We all think she was roofied, and I think those two men were responsible. Of course we have to accept she’s dead. Her name was Serena and she was my best friend. She was also a big gamer, like Kent. I imagine he used that to get her trust. I think he and Alex drove all the way from Boston to that fraternity rave at Godwyn because they knew there’d be lots of prey and they wouldn’t be recognized. So many students there, graduate students as well, so they wouldn’t stick out, they’d fit right in. The hand reaching toward Serena’s glass—look at it, Juliet—that’s Alex’s hand, isn’t it? After they roofied her, they set a fire in the kitchen because something went wrong and they had to get her out of there without anyone noticing.”

  “No! That would mean they killed her—no!”

  It was now or never. Mia stared Juliet right in the eye.

  “You broke off the engagement because you realized something wasn’t right, with Alex, or with Kent, right? Did you overhear something they said about women, about sex, did you see something that frightened you, disgusted you? You didn’t know what to do so you did the only thing you could do—you broke off the engagement. You let everyone believe it was mutual because you didn’t want to cause a scandal. Did you ever even tell Pamela why you broke it off?”

  Mia studied Juliet’s white face, added quietly, “We never found Serena, of course, because they bur
ied her after they’d killed her. I wonder when they started that fine sport. As teenagers at Bennington Prep? Probably, and they got away with it. They were smart enough and rich enough to travel as far as they needed to. I wonder if any other girls they roofied have died?”

  Juliet Ash Calley stood motionless, her back to the bow window in the opulent living room that screamed old money, excellent manners, and good breeding. Her hands were fisted at her sides, and she was staring into space to a point beyond Mia’s left shoulder.

  Mia said quietly, “No, it wasn’t overhearing them speak about women and sex. It was more, wasn’t it? It was personal. They roofied you, too, didn’t they? Alex Harrington, your own fiancé, and his best friend, Kent? The man you thought loved you, raped you along with his best friend? Is that why you broke it off, Juliet?”

  A shudder went through her body. Then she squared her shoulders, looked Mia in the eye. “You can never write about this.”

  “Of course not. Please, tell me, help me.”

  Juliet still looked uncertain, perhaps afraid. She drew in a shuddering breath. “Very well.” Again, she paused and Mia could tell the memory still slammed her with incalculable pain. “All right, I woke up one morning and I felt hungover, from the wine I’d drunk the night before, I thought. I wanted to blame the alcohol for the soreness, too, the hazy memories I had after drinking it. Then I began to remember and I clearly saw both Alex and Kent in my bedroom with me, not here, in my bedroom at my cottage. Both of them. At first I simply couldn’t accept it. Both Alex and Kent in my bedroom? How could that be? But then I remembered hearing them talk and laugh, and I saw them over me and now they were talking about what each of them wanted to do, and what order would be most fun—” Her voice fell off a cliff.

  Juliet swallowed. “Regardless, you can’t write that, Ms. Briscoe, there’s no proof. There was never any proof and there never will be.”

  Mia said, “You’ve lived with this for two years.”

  “Yes, every single day for two years.”

  Mia said nothing, watched Juliet pace the length of an exquisite antique Tabriz carpet.

  “Did you accuse him, Juliet? Or was it you couldn’t hide your rage, so Alex guessed you knew anyway? I bet that gave both Kent and Alex a few sleepless nights.”

  Juliet jerked around. “I did tell Alex, in this very room. Do you know he never missed a beat? He tried to hug me, but I stepped back. He tried to soothe me, he told me I’d had a bad dream, that what I believed I remembered was ridiculous. We were going to be married. He loved me, but I knew him well enough to know he was lying, and he knew me well enough to know I knew it. He flushed, and his eyes darkened, and I realized he could hurt me. I was glad I met him here, my parents upstairs, and I wasn’t alone with him. I told him I never wanted to see him again, threw my engagement ring back at him. He told me I was a fool and he left. Since that day I haven’t spoken to either Alex or Kent.”

  Mia studied Juliet’s face. “But time passed and when you said nothing to anyone else, Alex realized you wouldn’t be a threat to him. He knew if you did accuse him and Kent, he could tell a very different story—that he was the one who broke it off, and that your story was revenge. They’ve left you alone only because they were certain you couldn’t hurt them.”

  Juliet said finally, “The photos—I could testify the photos look like Alex and Kent, but I can’t really be sure. Any accusations I could make now would only cause a hideous scandal. I love my mother and my father very much and I would never put them through that, nor would I ever want them to think they’d somehow failed to protect me. And my father, I think he would kill Alex.”

  Juliet straightened, looked down at her watch, her voice now brisk. “My mother will awaken soon. Good-bye, Ms. Briscoe. I-I’m sorry about your friend.”

  “Serena’s mother and father are very sorry, too, Ms. Calley.”

  Juliet’s face froze, then she slowly shook her head. “I’m sorry about them, too,” she said.

  Mia took out a card, laid it on the lovely Victorian coffee table. “We both know now Alex Harrington and Kent Harper are serial rapists, obviously with no qualms, no scruples, seeing as Alex was perfectly willing to roofie you and share you with Kent. And they’ve killed someone, a twenty-year-old girl so smart, so bright, she lit up a room when she walked into it. She died that night they decided to have their fun. I doubt either of them worried much about it. Do they even remember that night? I doubt it. They don’t deserve your silence, even to protect your family. Call me, Juliet. We can help each other make this right.”

  24

  Olivia and Savich

  CAU

  Hoover Building

  Washington, D.C.

  Wednesday morning

  Olivia said hello to Shirley Needleham, the CAU gatekeeper and unit secretary. Shirley gave her a big smile. “Hey, CIA, you’re back. Hey, people, CIA in the house.”

  She smiled at Agent Davis Sullivan, who gave her a little wave and said, “We’ll have to speak to security, can’t have you interlopers running loose in our house.”

  “I couldn’t stay away, Sullivan. Shirley gave me an amazing cookie yesterday. I’m back for more.”

  Savich walked out of his office, smiled to see Olivia now speaking to Agent Lucy McKnight and looking at photos of her little boy, Eric, making all the right noises.

  Lucy also introduced Agent Ruth Noble to Olivia and the women shook hands. Ruth called out, “I can take her if she causes any trouble, Davis, don’t worry your handsome little head.”

  There were laughs and snorts from Ollie and Griffin.

  Savich called out, “Olivia, get your cookie from Shirley and come into the conference room.”

  Savich closed the door, gestured Olivia to a seat. She sat next to him, a big cookie made with Splenda in her hand. “I didn’t come alone. Agent Gaylin, my shadow, is waiting outside, didn’t want to come into the Hoover Building, said he didn’t want to take a chance of being shanghaied.”

  Savich laughed. “Tell me how you’re feeling, Olivia.”

  She grinned at him. “Honestly? A bit on edge, even with Gay as my second coat. Andi Creamer—one of my teammates—called me last night, and no, she didn’t tell me where she’s staying, a big no-no. Mr. Grace told her to stay out of sight and keep her whereabouts to herself.”

  “You have no idea where Creamer is staying?”

  “They told her not to say, even to me. She promised if she gets into trouble or feels unsafe, she’ll come to the safe house.”

  Even though Savich already knew most everything that could be known about Agent Andi Creamer, he wanted Olivia’s take. He said, “That’s smart. Tell me about Andi.”

  “She and I trained together at the Farm, so I’ve known her for a long time. We’ve been on maybe a dozen missions together, had each other’s backs, but to be honest, she’s something of a loner, prefers to depend only on herself. Her father abandoned her and her mother and so she grew up very fast, she told me, learned early how to take charge, so it’s like her not to want to come stay with me. She likes to be in control if she can, but she’s worried about what’s going on, and about Mike, of course.”

  “So how does that mesh with her being a team member?”

  “I don’t mean she doesn’t function well on a team, she does. What’s critical on a mission is that every team member trusts every other, and we do.” Olivia paused, took another nibble of her cookie, gave him a lopsided grin. “I guess you could say we all love to push the boundaries some, but we know we need each other to survive.”

  Savich liked Olivia Hildebrandt. She was tough, she was smart and incisive, she had a sense of humor, not easy with the nail-biting career she’d chosen. “All right. What about the fourth team member, Higgs.”

  She took a bite out of the cookie, hummed it was so good. “I haven’t been able to get ahold of Tim; he doesn’t answer his cell. Andi told me Grace told her Higgs was headed to Canada on his motorcycle. I think he’s really smart to get
out of Dodge.” She shrugged. “Mr. Grace probably told him to leave, too.”

  “So you don’t think Higgs is in any danger?”

  “Not now, he isn’t. No one could find him. Higgs is a master at staying off the grid.”

  “All right. Tell me about Mike Kingman. We’re alone, there’s no one to tell you what not to say. I want you to tell me why you think he hasn’t called you or the CIA.”

  “I don’t know, unless he can’t. Look, I know you think someone in the chain of command might have betrayed our mission, and you think it might have been Mike, and that’s why he disappeared with the flash drive. I’m sure some people in the CIA are thinking that as well. That flash drive Hashem Jahandar brought out could have named names that could bring down some powerful people. I don’t know who these people are, but I am positive Mike wouldn’t be part of that, he wouldn’t.”

  “All right, I’ll accept that, but Mike has that flash drive, and he’s missing. If you’re right, the information on that flash drive is worth killing to keep hidden. It could be anything from details of Iranian military capabilities and plans, their weapons development, illicit trade, and as you said, the names of those involved. An Iranian national was part of the team that attacked you. Maybe they hoped you could lead them to Mike, or they thought you might know too much. Do you know of any particular friend who might have helped Mike stay out of sight in or around Washington? Anyone who owns property?”

  Olivia shook her head. “There’s his condo, of course, but I don’t know about any of the properties his friends might own. I’ve sent you a list of everyone I’ve called, most in the CIA, some not, but they said they don’t know where he is and they haven’t heard from him.” She’d laid her half-eaten cookie on a napkin beside her, sat forward toward him, her hands clasped. “Please tell me you’ve found something.”