Vortex

by Catherine Coulter

  Savich said, “The name of the man you killed Monday night is Razhan, an Iranian security agent who did wet work for them. He’s worked globally for fifteen years. The fact you shot him and not vice versa is amazing.”

  Olivia chewed that over. “If you could find him, then the CIA found him too.” She paused. “But why wouldn’t they tell me?”

  “Actually, I called Mr. Lodner, gave him Razhan’s name. He wasn’t happy, said of course he knew of Razhan and was on the point of calling me and giving me the information. Then he wanted to know how I’d found out so quickly.”

  “You embarrassed him.” She grinned, quickly quashed it. “I wish I could have heard you. I imagine Mr. Lodner never believed you’d find diddly-squat. How did you find out it was this Razhan?”

  Savich glanced down at MAX beside him, smiled. “I have my ways. Now, Razhan entered the US alone on Sunday, using an excellently forged French passport. We’re working on where he stayed and who he met here in Washington.”

  Olivia said slowly, “A French passport. I wonder why French?”

  He nodded. “Common enough not to be noticed. But there could very well be a connection.”

  “I’ve never heard of him, but I think it’s luck that saved me.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. You saved yourself.”

  She cocked her head at him. “All right, going belly-to-the-ground was a reflex I guess you’d call it, the result of really good training. You said the team who attacked me at my home didn’t necessarily mean to kill me.”

  Savich said, “On the surface it seems so, but whoever was behind it could have believed you know what’s on that flash drive, or where Mike is. As I said, it’s more likely they were there to take you, find out what you know, maybe lead them to Mike. I can see no reason for them to bring in an assassin to kill you if there were no reason.”

  “Yes, yes, of course you’re right.”

  Savich leaned forward and took her hands in his. “Olivia, you say you don’t know anything, but there are blank spots in your memory about what happened in Iran after the RPG knocked you sideways, isn’t that right?”

  She nodded. “The doctors said my head injury was serious, that it might take a long time for me to remember everything that happened that day. Maybe I never will.”

  He said, “I know a psychiatrist, Dr. Emanuel Hicks. Would you like to see if he can help you find out if you heard what that dying agent told Mike Kingman?”

  “You mean hypnosis?”

  “Yes. Dr. Hicks is the best I know. You can trust him completely. I’ve worked with him for years.”

  “I’ve never been hypnotized before. Maybe I wouldn’t go under.”

  Savich looked down at his Mickey Mouse watch, then up at her again. “Let Dr. Hicks worry about that. To be honest, I already called him, told him a little bit about you. He said since you were CIA, you might be more comfortable coming to his home rather than to Quantico. Shall we go see him?”

  25

  Olivia

  Dr. Emanuel Hicks’s home

  McAlister, Virginia

  Wednesday morning

  Savich pulled the Porsche into Dr. Hicks’s driveway. Olivia said, “Gay wasn’t happy I was going with you, alone, without him to protect me.”

  “He’ll get over it. Come lunchtime, Ruth—you met her, Agent Noble—is going to take him to the cafeteria. He can see up close how well the cooks do Mexican food.”

  Olivia laughed. “Gay only eats hot dogs and pizza.”

  “He’s in luck with the pizza, too, particularly pepperoni, my wife’s favorite.”

  He and Olivia stepped out of the Porsche and into bitter cold and a vicious wind that whipped the tree branches. They hurried, heads down, to the covered front porch, relieved when Dr. Emanuel Hicks immediately opened the solid oak front door of his beloved colonial. He waved them in and quickly closed the door.

  Dr. Hicks shook Savich’s hand, inquired after Sherlock, then turned to Olivia. “You’re my first visitor from the CIA.” He studied her face. “Do you know, I was picturing an Amazon from how Agent Savich described you.”

  Amazon? Olivia liked the sound of that, made her think of Wonder Woman. “Where could I get a chariot and a breastplate?”

  Savich laughed. “Dr. Hicks, this is Agent Olivia Hildebrandt.”

  He took Olivia’s hand in his, held it, and smiled down at her, not that far down because she was tall, a lovely young woman, her thick French braid showcasing her strong face with its high cheekbones and dark, nearly navy blue eyes. He said, “Your hair, my Mary has nearly the same, so many shades. She calls the color chestnut. Do come in. Agent Savich asked me to see you here because he didn’t think you’d be comfortable in a nest of FBI students at the academy in Quantico.”

  He gave her a smile impossible to resist and Olivia smiled back. She studied him a moment. He was a tall man, skinny as a sapling, with beautiful, gentle, kind eyes. “On our drive here, Dillon said you impersonate Elvis, that you always play to a full house.” She grinned. “He also told me you have to belt a pillow around your middle.”

  “That I do. My wife, Mary, always tries to fatten me up, but it’s no go.”

  “Do you play ‘Heartbreak Hotel’? My grandmother says once upon a time she danced the night away to that song.”

  “Oh yes, but my specialty is ‘Blue Suede Shoes.’ Now, Mary left some tea and scones out for us. Let’s go back to my study.”

  They followed Dr. Hicks into a long high-ceilinged room with French windows at the back, giving onto a walled-in garden. Olivia imagined it would be beautiful when spring arrived, ivy and roses twining up the mellow red brick. It was a masculine room, obviously Dr. Hicks’s study, all soothing earth colors and three walls of floor-to-ceiling books. A fire burned in an old blackened fireplace. It was cozy and welcoming, the morning sunlight pouring in an added bonus.

  Dr. Hicks waved her to a worn burgundy leather sofa. “Do sit down. May I call you Olivia?”

  She nodded and sank into the soft leather, imagined a great many rear ends had settled there over the years. Dr. Hicks sat across from her in a high-backed leather chair, a matching footstool at its side, Savich on a love seat to his left. Dr. Hicks picked up a Georgian teapot. “Jasmine tea. My wife swears it makes her mellow. And a blueberry scone, if you would like.”

  Olivia accepted a cup of tea, sat back, waited for him to hand Dillon a cup. She said, “Dillon told me you’re the very best, but, well, being hypnotized, I can’t imagine it really. To be honest, I’ve always wondered if hypnosis was fake, sort of like mediums calling in spirits, but Dillon assures me you’re legitimate.” She paused. “I’m willing to try anything to remember. Dillon believes you can help me.”

  Dr. Hicks smiled. “Yes, I believe I can. Now, Olivia, I understand you’ve been through a great deal in the past couple of weeks. Agent Savich filled me in on much of it. He told me you suffered a head injury on a mission to Iran and can’t remember facts that could be critical to a current situation. I’m sure your doctors have told you after a bad concussion, it’s not a surprise you aren’t able to remember everything that happened near the time of your injury. It’s called post-traumatic amnesia.

  “Agent Savich told me our main purpose is to find out if you can remember what a dying operative said to one of your team members, Mike, about a flash drive.”

  “Yes, Mike has the flash drive but we can’t find him. He’s missing. I was close by, I do remember that, but I can’t remember if the undercover operative—Hashem was his name—if he said anything at all that could help us.”

  “So our purpose is to find out if you heard what the dying operative told Mike.”

  “Yes. Try as I might, I can’t remember anything.”

  Dr. Hicks smiled at her. “Don’t worry about it. That’s my job. Let’s begin. Olivia, I want you to remember a place you visited that made you happy.”

  Olivia thought a moment, smiled. “Three years ago, Mike and I were coming back from a vaca
tion to Maui and stopped to visit a friend who owned a vineyard in Napa. I’ll never forget Mike and I were sitting under an oak tree, looking out over the vineyard, the summer sun shining through the branches, hot on our faces, soaking deep. He was holding my hand, playing with a silly fake ruby ring he’d bought me on Maui. We could smell the ripening grapes, the air was still, soft. We both fell asleep. It was a perfect day—” Her voice caught and she swallowed.

  Dr. Hicks said, “I understand. It’s a lovely memory. Now, Olivia, please close your eyes. Picture the vineyard spread out in front of you. Smell the grapes, feel Mike holding your hand. You feel the sun’s warmth on your face. You’re with Mike, you’re happy, content, not a care in the world. Everything is perfect in that moment.”

  Her lashes fluttered, a small smile bloomed on her face. It was so clear, all of it. Mike was running a finger over the back of her hand, slowly, lightly, slowly turning the ring this way and that. How could she ever forget? She heard a bee buzzing around her, and a beautiful yellow bird she didn’t recognize landed on a lower branch of a nearby willow. Odd, she could hear and feel her own breathing, how it had slowed even more. Was that Mike’s breathing she heard, too, or was it Dr. Hicks?

  Dr. Hicks studied her painfully young face, knew a warrior was behind that face. He pulled a shiny gold round watch on a chain from his jacket pocket and held it up. “Open your eyes now and look at this very old watch.”

  Olivia opened her eyes, blinked. “You really want me to look at a watch?”

  Dr. Hicks smiled at her sarcasm. “Of course, a swinging watch sounds hackneyed. It’s nothing more than something to look at, really, but this watch belonged to my grandfather, it’s an old friend of mine. Look at the watch now, Olivia, nothing else. Listen to my voice and look at the watch moving, empty out all the questions from your mind, all the worries, let them float away from you until there’s only my voice. You’re safe with me, never forget that.”

  Olivia kept her eyes on the shining gold watch as it swung gently back and forth, the hot sun warming her face and the buzzing bee slowly fading, and there was only the gentle swaying of the watch and Dr. Hicks’s voice. She slipped away.

  Dr. Hicks leaned toward her, his voice quiet, calm. “You are perfectly safe, Olivia. Nothing can hurt you. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, I understand.”

  “I want us to go back together to that day when you and your team went into Iran. Where are we?”

  “We’ve crossed the plateau and we’re hiking in the Zagros Mountains. We’re going to meet Hashem there and escort him to the border into Iraq.”

  “Do you see Hashem?”

  “Yes, through my binoculars I see him running all out from Iranian soldiers. The soldiers are firing at him. I see him stumble, but he gets up, keeps running. I want to protect him, but all we can do is cover him from our position on high ground, and now the soldiers see us and fire at us, too. He’s so close, I can see he’s heaving for breath, and then he’s hit and he stumbles to his knees. Mike is closest and he runs and picks Hashem up while we cover them, and Mike carries him behind a boulder. I run over to them.” She stiffened, shook her head, back and forth.

  Dr. Hicks took her hand. “You’re safe here with us, Olivia, with me and Agent Savich. Nothing can hurt you. These are memories. They feel real, but they won’t hurt you. Don’t forget that.” Dr. Hicks nodded to Savich.

  Savich said, “Olivia, I know you want to help Hashem, and you’re close to him and to Mike. Is Mike bending over him?”

  “Yes, he’s pulled him onto his side, trying to stop the bleeding from his chest. I yell at Higgs and Andi to cover us. Andi wants to come over, but she can’t, she’s got to help Higgs.”

  “But you’re there, next to Hashem?”

  “Yes, both Mike and I are. I’m tearing off my sleeve so Mike can press it against the wound in Hashem’s chest. There’s so much dirt and shards from the rocks flying, and the noise, it’s deafening.”

  “Can you hear what Hashem is saying to Mike?”

  Olivia gasped, her head jerked back. Dr. Hicks squeezed her hand. She calmed.

  “Hashem is whispering, ‘They betrayed me, they betrayed us.’

  “I’m on my knees. I lean in closer. I hear him wheezing for breath, see blood bubbling on his mouth. He knows he’s dying, his breath is failing, but he’s hanging on, desperately. He’s looking directly at Mike, manages to pull him closer, presses something into Mike’s hand. ‘The guard knew where I was headed, came out of nowhere. Someone told them. Langley? The field office? Take this flash drive to Washington, deliver it only to someone you trust completely.’ Hashem’s choking on his own blood, shivering violently, but then he manages to whisper, ‘Missile guidance components—not Chinese or Russian, they’re French. You have to stop them.’ He pulls his hand from Mike’s and leaves the flash drive in Mike’s hand, tries to close his fist over it. His blood is on it. He whispers, ‘Tell my wife I love her.’ He seizes and then he’s gone, just gone, and for an instant I can’t believe he’s dead, don’t want to accept it. Then I hear Andi yelling to me for more ammo, and I jump up and run to her and Higgs, lay down more fire, but Mike stays with Hashem.

  “Higgs yells, ‘RPG!’ Then there’s nothing.” Olivia jerked her head, heaving. Savich squeezed her hands, felt her slowly calm. He looked over at Dr. Hicks, who whispered, “And yet she survived. Amazing.”

  Savich nodded. “She was told Mike carried her out, and Andi and Higgs brought out Hashem’s body.” He leaned close to her again. “Olivia, did Mike visit you in the military hospital in Balad?”

  “Balad? Yes, a nurse told me he did.”

  “Remember Balad, Olivia. You’re sedated, you’re confused, but do you hear Mike talking to you? Do you remember what he said?”

  She shook her head back and forth. “His voice, I love his voice, all deep and scratchy. He smoked until he got smart and quit, when he was twenty-two, he told me. Yes, he’s with me, close. I can feel his breath on my check, and he’s kissing me, smoothing my hair.”

  Olivia was quiet, frowning. “He’s saying he has to leave me, he won’t see me again until I get back home. He wishes I could come with him because there’s no one he can trust, except me. Then he kisses me again. I don’t want him to go, but I can only lie there.”

  “And you haven’t heard from him since that day in Balad?”

  She slowly shook her head, swallowed. “I’m so afraid for him. They’ll want to kill him, they’ll want him dead.”

  Savich wanted to tell her Mike wasn’t going to die on his watch, but he remained silent, nodded to Dr. Hicks. “Olivia, on the count of three you’re going to wake up. You’ll feel refreshed and relaxed, and you’ll remember everything you told us.”

  Olivia opened her eyes, blinked several times, and smiled. “So it’s about some kind of missile technology, and it’s French.”

  Savich smiled at her. “Yes, that’s what Hashem told you and Mike. You did it, Olivia.”

  Olivia looked at Dr. Hicks and said with wonder in her voice, “I remembered everything, all of it. Thank you, Dr. Hicks. Will you give me tickets to your next Elvis performance?”

  26

  Mia

  Bennington Prep

  Glenbridge, Connecticut

  Wednesday afternoon

  Mia canceled her afternoon plane reservation to La Guardia, rented a bright blue Audi after she left Juliet, and drove two and a half hours from Boston down I-95 to Bennington Prep, a half hour north of New Haven. She didn’t expect Bennington to look as glorious as the pictures she’d seen, all taken in the fall to show off the incredible autumn leaves. Now, toward the tail end of winter, the campus looked starker, all the plants and trees hunkered down in survival mode. It was still a marvel in person. Stately was the word that suited it perfectly. Bennington was known to be everything a parent could possibly want for their child, the incredible campus itself, the quality education, and the all-important “snoot” factor. If you went to Benningt
on Prep, enough said. It was part of the pedigree for politics, for Wall Street, for making it big in whatever you wanted to do.

  She drove slowly, admiring the classical-style redbrick buildings, the open vistas. Students weren’t strolling to their classes, they were rushing, it was that cold, the wind sharp as a knife. She drove slowly by thick stands of maple trees, their branches swaying in the wind in a silent winter dance, and parked her Audi in a visitor’s space in front of a state-of-the-art athletic complex. She looked beyond toward a football field surrounded by high bleachers that doubled as their lacrosse field, she guessed.

  Is this the beautiful place where you and Kent got started, Alex?

  Mia pulled on all her winter gear, braced herself, and walked toward the main athletic building where she’d managed to snag an appointment with one of the two lacrosse coaches at Bennington who’d been there long enough to have coached Alex Harrington and Kent Harper.

  She had to get through a department secretary and a student trainee before she was shown to Mr. Hodge Wiliker’s small office that looked toward the tennis courts. He was a big man, well into his fifties, still trim and fit, his black-framed glasses pushed up on his bald head. He beamed at her, greeted her enthusiastically, pumped her hand. Mia imagined he rarely got to take center stage at Bennington Prep, and now he was meeting a reporter who was interested in writing about him and about lacrosse because he’d coached Alex Harrington sixteen years before.

  Mia knew the drill. She complimented him on the lacrosse trophies she’d seen on display when she’d walked into the building, admired his family in the photos on his desk. She let him assist her to remove her coat, turned down the offer of a cup of coffee, and settled in. “I was looking at the students and wondering if I’d ever been that young.”