They were silent after the surgeon left. Mia didn’t say it out loud, but she knew if Kent Harper died, there might very well be no case, and that was why Alex had his lifelong friend shot.
Juliet said, “I don’t want him to die. I want him in prison. Sherlock, shouldn’t we go see Alex, see what he has to say about this?”
Sherlock shook her head. “I’m sorry, but the FBI can’t be involved.”
Juliet cursed under her breath, and only Tommy heard her. He smiled.
45
Olivia
Abandoned Boathouse on the Potomac
Near Galesburg, Maryland
Olivia studied Claude, considered trying to take him. He was a man you’d pass on the street and never notice—medium height, slender, brown hair and eyes, unremarkable in every way, except for his eyes. She saw a dark pit behind his eyes, and oddly, a look of pleasure. Was it at the thought of killing her? And he wasn’t stupid. He kept his distance, his Beretta aimed at her chest, not her legs. She said, “Are your parents French?”
He eyed her a moment, as if wondering if she had a hidden meaning. Finally, he nodded. “My father, yes.”
“You were raised in Indiana. I doubt your parents wanted you to be a criminal. Do you kill people?”
He smiled. Like René, his teeth were yellowed from smoking. He shrugged, said only, “My parents are dead, past caring what I am or what I am not. Yes, I kill when necessary. As do you. You killed Razhan, a man at the top of his profession. Rock-hard, deadly. If I had a beer, I’d toast you.”
She raised her chin. “Well, he’s not deadly any longer, is he? He’s just dead. Who hired you to come to my house?”
“You tempt me to shoot you in the mouth, just to shut you up. I wonder if René has killed Mike Kingman yet? He will, you know, he wants to, hates the guy’s guts.”
“Why? He doesn’t even know Mike.”
“René hates to be thwarted. He hates to think anyone is smarter than he is, even if only for a little while, even if, in the end, he wins. He told me once he liked killing a worthy opponent more than he liked having sex. I imagine he’s facing this Kingman down right this minute, getting that flash drive.”
Mike
But René was still walking the perimeter of the derelict boathouse, looking up into the trees, searching the bushes for shadows, for movement. He heard nothing and saw no one. He walked around to the front of the boathouse, marveled it was still standing, and finally he knocked once on the decaying wooden door, called out, “If you shoot me, my partner will kill Olivia Hildebrandt. She is nearby. I am here to trade her life for the flash drive. I want only what is mine, the flash drive, not your lives. Will you agree to a trade?”
René heard boot steps, then, “Come in.”
René heard no surprise in Kingman’s deep flat voice. Had he tried to call her again with no luck? Impossible when her cell phone was smashed in the parking lot at the American mall. Of course Kingman had known he’d come.
René pushed the sagging door inward, his pistol held against his leg, and stepped in, blinked to adjust to the dim light. He saw Mike Kingman standing silent and still in the middle of the room, a Glock in his left hand pointed at René’s head. He’d seen photos of Kingman—at least ten years younger than he, tall with blue eyes, shaggy dark hair, a hard, handsome face. He was wearing only a flannel shirt, scruffy jeans, and scarred boots. There was no fear in his eyes, only calm determination, like the rhino René had barely escaped in the Serengeti. Well, the rhino had died as easily as anything else with a bullet between his eyes. René hated him on sight. He said, “Lower your gun, Mr. Kingman. There is no reason for you to shoot me, and I have no reason to shoot you. A gentleman’s trade, that is all I want.”
Mike lowered his Glock to his side. “What’s your name?”
“You may call me René. Are you alone?”
Mike waved a hand around him. “Do you see anyone else?”
René looked about the long, narrow room, perfect for a large boat, he supposed, three windows on each side covered with cardboard. Boat hooks and chains hung down overhead, like ancient torture devices. The floor was a dirty green linoleum, cracked and chipped, the wooden floor beneath it rotting. A fortune-teller’s beaded curtain closed off a bed, he supposed, another a toilet at the back of the room. There wasn’t a kitchen, only a rough wooden plank laid over drawers. On top stood a small refrigerator and a microwave. There was an ancient sagging blue sofa, the material ripped and worn, stuffing poking out. There was a small folding table, two chairs. A small generator rested beside the table.
“Pull back the beads, show me no one hides there.”
Mike kept his eyes on René as he lifted the beads, showed him a narrow cot with two blankets stacked on top, two boxes on the floor, clothes flopping over the sides.
“Now the other. Show me.”
Mike pulled back the beads to show a narrow shower and a toilet. He dropped the beads and they chittered together.
Mike studied the Frenchman. He was in his early forties and well built, his face lean, carved in stone, his eyes onyx, filled with a killer’s knowledge, a killer’s lack of empathy for his fellow man. He looked watchful. He looked relentless. Mike wouldn’t underestimate him.
He said, “Prove to me you have Olivia. I want to speak to her before we make the trade.”
René said, “Very well. I pull out my cell phone now, I do not reach for another weapon.”
“Two fingers.”
Slowly, René pulled out his cell, dialed a number. “Claude, tell Olivia to say hello to Mike.”
“Mike? Be careful, don’t believe him, he’s a killer, he’s—”
René tapped off, slipped his cell back into his coat pocket. “How is it you say? Proof of life? Now you have it.” He shook his head. “It always amazes me how a man will do anything for a woman he believes he loves. You went to grand trouble to hide the flash drive, to keep it out of my hands, yet all I have to do is take your woman, and you have the willingness to hand it over gladly. You are a common fool, like most men. It is time for you to show me the flash drive.”
Mike said, “You must know it cannot be decrypted without the key.”
“I have no wish to decrypt it. I wish only to make certain it is the flash drive given to you by your CIA agent in Iran.”
“I know your boss is French, just as you are. Is he afraid Hashem names him on the drive?”
René said, “Do not waste my time with your stupid questions. Show me the flash drive, prove to me it is legitimate.”
Mike stepped to the ancient blue sofa, pulled the flash drive out from under a tear in the fabric.
“Show me.”
Mike plugged the flash drive into an adaptor, pushed it into his cell phone, punched the screen. He held up the cell for René to see. “Satisfied? Nothing more than a prompt for the encryption key. That’s as far as anyone can get without the key. I will give you the drive when you give me Olivia.”
René said, “Did you try to decrypt it?”
“Of course I tried, but since I don’t have the key, it was impossible. You won’t decrypt it either.”
René smiled. “Me? I would smash it under my foot but I am asked to take it back instead.”
“To whom?”
René smiled. “As we agreed, I will bring Olivia and we do our business.”
46
Olivia
Boathouse on the Potomac
René came loping out of the copse of hemlocks, looking pleased with himself. He said in French to Claude, “I searched the boathouse and there is no one, only Mike Kingman. I have seen the flash drive. It is legitimate.” He looked at Olivia. “Kingman is a fool; he trades for something more important than you could ever be. You are only one woman of many.”
He turned again to Claude. “Kingman is no problem. I looked all around the boathouse. There is no one.” Still, he paused, looked around yet again, saw nothing. “You have looked as well?”
Claude said, hi
s voice impatient, “Of course. No sign of anyone. We are the only ones here.”
Suddenly, René whirled around, searched the trees, his gun at the ready. “I heard something.”
Claude said, “You’re hearing the tree branches rustling in the wind. You have looked, I have looked. Time to finish it, René, time to get this over with and get out. I don’t like this place.” He turned to Olivia. “At last you are silent. If you are planning something, believe me, it will not succeed. And I will be forced to kill you.”
Olivia laughed in his face. “Yeah, sure, that’d be smart. If you do kill me, you’ll never get your precious flash drive. Mike will make certain of that.”
Claude said, “No, no one’s going to try anything because Kingman is your lover. He won’t take a chance of our killing you. He will do as he’s told.” He turned to René. “I spoke to your brother. He is pleased, but impatient for you to call him with news of the drive.”
René said slowly, with hint of contempt, “Henri always has the impatience. Very well, but Claude, faîtes attention, nothing must go wrong.” He gave Claude a vicious grin. “Timothy told me Henri kills you if you return to France without it—he laughed, called it Henri’s mortal discipline.” René looked around again, past the stripped oak branches whipping around in the bitter wind, shuddered. “I hate American winters. They are too cold.”
Olivia’s heart beat a mad tattoo. So René was the boss’s brother? So Henri was another Frenchman. He wouldn’t have let her hear his name unless they’d planned to kill her and Mike all along.
“Claude, I walk behind her. Then you. Do not forget, faîtes attention.” René shoved his Sig into Olivia’s back. “Walk, girl.” Claude took his place behind them, scanning the trees, his Beretta moving, ever moving.
They walked into a small open space at the front of the boathouse, René still behind her. There’d once been a stone path to the boat ramp, but there were only chunks of rock left, dead winter weeds nearly covering them. René stopped, and now he pressed his Sig against Olivia’s temple. He called out, “Mike Kingman, open the door. We are here with Olivia. She is dead if you do not obey.”
The sagging door was slowly pulled inward. Mike stood in the doorway, the flash drive in his right hand, his Glock in his left, again trained on René. He saw Claude, frowned, but stepped back. “Come inside. If this man tries anything, you will be the first one I shoot.”
Mike quickly closed the door against the frigid wind. He met Olivia’s eyes and smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”
René laughed. “Keep the close eye on her, Claude.” René walked to one of the beaded curtains, pulled it back. It was the same as before, a narrow wooden cot, several blankets piled on top. He walked to the other beaded curtain, pulled it back, saw only the toilet and a small shower. Satisfied, he turned to Mike. “You are still alone so you are not entirely stupid. Now you will again show me the flash drive on your mobile, prove to me you did not switch it.”
Mike did as he asked, difficult with one hand, but he managed, his Glock still pointed at René’s chest. Again, René looked at the cell phone display, saw only the prompt asking for the encryption key. He grunted. “That is wise of you. Here is the woman, unharmed. Give me the flash drive.”
Mike said nothing, pulled the drive from his cell phone, but he didn’t give it to René, he waited.
René nodded. “Claude, release her and Kingman will give me the drive.”
Claude didn’t release Olivia. He calmly pulled her back against him and pressed the muzzle of his Beretta against her left ear.
René grinned. “And now we have the impasse, do we not? You shoot me and she is dead. You try to shoot Claude, and you are dead. So give me the flash drive, it is easier.”
Olivia said, “Don’t give it to him, Mike. He’s planned all along to kill us. He told me he’s working for his brother, Henri is his name, in France.”
Claude dug the Beretta into her ear and she sucked in her breath. “Shut up, woman, or you are dead where you stand.”
Olivia believed him. She watched Mike toss René the flash drive, saw René slip it into his coat pocket. “And now what, Kingman? Will you shoot me and watch her die, or will you throw your Glock to the floor?”
Mike saw the look of surprise on René’s face when he laid his Glock on the floor, straightened. “Let her go now. Send her over to me.”
René was enjoying himself. He loved the feeling when he’d beaten an enemy, when he’d won it all. It was as he’d always believed. The Americans were easily duped, a fine term Claude had taught him. Kingman was willing to do anything to save a woman, the fool. He said, “Claude, send her to her lover. It warms the heart, does it not, that they want to be together?”
Claude pushed Olivia toward Mike. Mike shoved her behind him. René laughed. “You play hero to the end, eh?” And he raised his Sig, a look of anticipation on his face.
Savich stepped from behind the beaded bedroom curtain. “René, Claude, drop your weapons. Do it immediately or my agents at the windows will fire.”
René froze, but only for an instant. He kept his Sig pointed at Mike’s chest. “You cannot shoot me. I will kill him if you try. Where were you hiding? I looked.”
“The wall beside the bed, behind the boards.”
“Who are you?”
“You don’t know? I thought you saw me in my red Porsche. Not a good lie, was it? Ollie, unless he lowers his weapon, shoot him in the arm.”
“Batard!” René whirled about to fire, not at Mike but at Savich.
A shot rang out and René’s Sig fell from his fingers. He gasped, grabbed his arm, felt blood ooze out between his fingers. He stared blankly toward the window, no longer covered with cardboard, at the face of a man with a rifle pointed at him.
Savich said, “Claude, gently place your Beretta on the floor or the next bullet will be for you. If Ruth’s aim is good, she might hit your shoulder, or maybe it will be your neck. It’s not that important to me.”
Claude slowly bent down and laid his Beretta on the floor.
Savich said, “Olivia, pick up the guns.”
As she bent down to pick up his Beretta, Claude lashed out his leg.
Olivia jerked away, but his foot clipped her thigh. She felt nothing but joy as she whirled about and sent her foot into his groin and smashed her fist into his throat. Claude fell to his knees, gagging, trying to suck in air. Then he moaned, fell on his side, and hugged himself. Olivia stood over him. “Thank you for that, Claude. Don’t worry, you’ll be breathing again, in a minute or so.” She turned to Savich, said with a huge grin, “Do you know Claude is from Indiana?” She kicked him with her toe. “And would you look what he chose to do with his life.”
Mike said, “That’s my girl. Excellent timing, Savich. I guess we’ll need an ambulance for the French idiot. They actually believed they could walk in, take the flash drive, and kill us.”
Claude had his breath back. He yelled at René, “You arrogant moron! You swore there was no one hiding in this godforsaken shack! You swore no one was outside, hiding in the trees. I told you before we took her it had to be a trap, the flash drive was too important to the CIA for them to just hand it over to you, but you laughed at me, said no one would beat you, the incomparable René Delos! You’re more of a fool than your sadistic brother.” He broke off and began coughing, as he frantically rubbed his throat.
René’s face was white with pain, but he was so furious he managed to pull himself into a sitting position. He waved his fist at Claude and yelled in French, “You were the one waiting outside? It was you to see, not me.”
Savich said, “I imagine both of you gentlemen will have countless years to discuss who’s more at fault here. As you’ve learned from firsthand experience, my agents are very good. Now, Claude, if you are unwilling to tell us your last name, I suspect you will be in Interpol’s facial recognition database.” He looked dispassionately down at René. “So you are René Delos, and your brother is Henri. I strongly do
ubt he will be pleased with you when the French police arrive at his house.”
Olivia pulled René’s cell phone from the inside of his coat pocket, waved it at him. “Dillon, look what I have. A magic phone. Because René believed he would walk away with the flash drive in his pocket, leaving us dead, he had no hesitation about calling his bro to brag how easy it was to drag me into the van. I’m sure everything we need is right here on his cell. Let me see.” She scrolled to the most recent call. “Ah, here it is. A French number. Your brother’s number, René?”
René raised furious eyes to Savich’s face. “You are a dead man. I will enjoy killing you, after I slit her throat.”
Savich went down on his haunches, studied René’s white face. He said, his voice matter-of-fact, “Seems to me, monsieur, given your current condition, you should admire my guile, tell me what a worthy adversary I am. And then you will want to make other plans.” He smiled over at Olivia. “She fooled you, you never had a doubt, did you?”
The boathouse door pushed open and four CAU agents—Ruth, Ollie, Davis, and Lucy—filed in, bundled to their ears in winter gear, the dull brown shades blending in nicely with the surroundings outside. Ruth said, “Hello, everyone. Olivia, good to see you again. I saw what you did to our boy here from Indiana. I like your moves. Well done.”
Olivia said, “Hello to all of you, and thank you. I looked for you as well as these two morons, didn’t see even a shadow. Ollie, that was an excellent shot.”
Lucy laughed. “I hate to admit I didn’t want to be a big bush as a disguise, but it worked.”
Mike shook hands with each of them. “Good job staying hidden. Thank you all.” He looked down at René. “You’re not looking so good, mate. All your plans, kidnapping Olivia, murdering without a bit of remorse, didn’t work out for you.”
René felt a raging mix of fury and pain. He wanted to smash that face above him. But he couldn’t raise his arm. He fell back, moaning.
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