by John Sneeden
She slipped her pistol into her pocket and hurried toward him. “Nathan, what’s wrong?”
When she came around, he looked up. “Drenna?”
Drenna looked down. Sprague’s hands were clamped over a spot on the left side of his abdomen. Blood oozed from between his fingers. The wound was serious.
She touched his arm. “Where are some towels?”
He gave her a blank stare. The blood loss was affecting his ability to think. “I… I’m not…”
“Focus. I need you to focus.” She squeezed his arm. “Where are your towels?”
He seemed to understand this time. “The drawer to the left of the sink.”
She ran into the kitchen and found three dish towels in the drawer. She turned on the faucet and soaked one of them with water. She took all three back to Sprague. She balled up the wet towel and pressed it against the wound. She then folded the dry towels in half and placed them over the first.
While pressing the makeshift bandage with one hand, she removed her phone with the other. She dialed 911 and told the operator to send an ambulance to Sprague’s address. She said they would find a man inside who was suffering from a gunshot wound.
“Thank you,” Sprague said after she disconnected the call.
“They’ll be here in a few moments.” She put the phone away and applied pressure with both hands. “So tell me what happened.”
He took a few seconds to form an answer. “I think he came in through the front door. It was locked, so he must have had a key or picked his way in.”
Drenna felt him tremble. He was fading fast.
“Who was it?” she asked.
“I don’t know. He had on a mask.”
“What did he want?”
“He said I shouldn’t have been poking my nose in the wrong places.”
“That’s all?”
Sprague nodded. “He repeated that several times.”
“What happened next?”
“As we talked, I started moving in this direction because I had a gun hidden in the living room.” He paused for a minute. It was clear he was trying to catch his breath. “I think he knew what I was trying to do, so that’s when he shot me.”
Drenna frowned but said nothing.
“Am I going to die?” he asked.
She looked at the wound. There was a small chance he would survive, but the ambulance would have to arrive soon. “It’s your abdomen. I’m surprised he didn’t shoot you in the heart.”
“That’s where I got lucky,” Sprague managed to say. “Right as he pulled the trigger, a car horn blew outside. I think it threw off his aim, and I also think it caused him to flee.”
“You think it made him leave?”
“I blacked out for a minute or so when my head hit the floor. When I came to, I saw he was gone, and the back door was open.”
Drenna had noticed it open when she had first entered the room. “Who blew the horn?”
He shook his head. “I have no idea. I think it was random. He must have thought someone had pulled up in my driveway.”
Sirens sounded in the distance. Drenna figured they were about a mile away.
“I need to tell you something before they get here,” Sprague said. “There’s something in my study I need you to look at. It’s a manila envelope. It’s in the top drawer of my desk.”
“What is it?”
His eyes began to close.
“Hang in there. Help is on the way.”
He forced his eyes open. “Get the folder and leave before they get here. That’s an order.” He gave her a weak smile.
“I will. I promise.” She squeezed his arm lightly. “But first, tell me what’s in the folder.”
“I’ve been doing some research… I think I may have stumbled onto some useful information.”
“Tell me what it is.”
He nodded down the hall. “Get out of here. You told them it was a gunshot wound, so the police will be coming too.”
She decided not to press him. “Nathan, I need to tell you something.”
He looked up at her but said nothing.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry for what?”
“I thought you were behind all of this. There is too much to explain right now.”
The sirens grew louder. Drenna guessed they were only a few blocks away. She looked down at Sprague to tell him goodbye, but his eyes were closed again.
He was fading fast.
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
Mack Delgado hated driving in bad storms. One reason was that it was difficult if not impossible to see the road in a deluge. He imagined someone stepping in front of his car and not being able to stop in time.
But that wasn’t the only reason he hated driving in bad conditions. The number-one reason he hated driving in the rain could be traced back to his teen years. His father, an abusive man, had taught Mack to drive even before he went to driving school. And while most kids would’ve welcomed that, there was a catch. His father would take him out only during bad conditions. If a nasty summer storm came through, he would force Mack to get behind the wheel.
“If you can learn to drive in weather like this, then everything else will seem like a walk in the park,” his father had said.
What might have sounded reasonable to some was simply a different way for the man to abuse his son. Delgado’s father took great pleasure in seeing others suffer under stress. Every time they went out, the cruel man would smack Mack’s arm with a ruler after every bad decision he made. Those hits served only to make the teenager even more anxious, which in turn led to erratic driving and more physical abuse. It was a vicious cycle that never seemed to end.
Delgado pushed aside the painful memories and focused on the road. He was currently traveling east on O Street in Georgetown. After crossing over 27th, he saw a sign ahead on the right: Rose Park Recreation Center. He slowed the vehicle as he cruised past the entrance. The rain continued unabated, making it difficult to see the property. The playground wasn’t visible. Nor was the shelter.
But it didn’t really matter what Delgado could or could not see. He was certain the person he was looking for was out there somewhere, lurking in the dark.
Just past the entrance, he turned left on 26th Street, which ran north past a recreational baseball field. He slowed the vehicle then turned down a service road that was used by maintenance crews. He followed it around the outfield fence until his vehicle could no longer be seen from the main road. He put the car in Park and killed the engine.
After disabling the overhead light, he reached into his glove compartment and pulled out the Glock 17 and two magazines that were stashed there. He snapped one magazine into the pistol then slid the other into his pocket. That would be plenty.
The wind howled outside, causing the baseball field’s chain-link fence to shake violently. If anything, the storm seemed to be getting worse. But Delgado wasn’t about to let the bad weather stop him. Important work needed to be done.
After covering his head with the hood of his jacket, he stepped out of the car and into the storm.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
Crystal City, Virginia
Drenna stepped over to the window and looked out from the seventh floor. A steel-and-glass jungle of office buildings and hotels rose in every direction. The rain had subsided, but there were still periodic flashes of lightning in the night sky. In the distance, one of them seemed to kiss the spire of a skyscraper a quarter mile away.
She let her gaze run across the Potomac River. Somewhere out there were two individuals she needed to find: an assassin and the person who had hired him. While her goal was to eventually find and punish both, she knew her focus needed to be on the latter. Not only was she going to take them down, but she would also attempt to do so in a way that inflicted the maximum amount of pain and suffering. He had broken all the rules, so she would too. Only then would she turn her attention to the Scandinavian and any others who might be out there.
Aft
er closing the blinds, Drenna returned to the kitchen and started a pot of coffee. She needed the jolt of caffeine. As the machine sputtered to life, she went down the hall to the small but modern bathroom. She was thankful to have a reasonably safe place to stay. She was thankful for all the help that MI6 had given her.
As best she could tell, no one had followed her to the condominium tower. And even if they had, they would have to find a way to penetrate the building’s multiple layers of security. The upscale development was protected by dozens of cameras, key-operated elevators, and a full-time security guard.
Drenna looked at herself in the mirror as she slowly peeled off her pants. It felt good to finally get the wet clothes off her body. She was soaked to the skin but hadn’t realized how uncomfortable she was until she had arrived at the condo.
After stripping off her remaining clothes, she got into the shower, turned the water on full blast, then stood underneath. A hundred needles peppered her tired muscles. It was intense and gratifying at the same time.
Drenna had decided to shower before going through the folder she had taken from Sprague’s home office. She assumed there would be a lot of material to cover, and she wasn’t about to attempt a deep dive before cleaning up and ingesting some caffeine.
Although she would have preferred to stay under the spray for another half hour, she forced herself to get out after ten minutes. She dried off, put on a terry cloth robe, and returned to the kitchen. The pot was full, so she poured herself a mug then took it to the table in the living room.
As she settled into a chair, she wondered if there was a way to get an update on Nathan Sprague’s condition. She doubted it. The hospital certainly wouldn’t give any useful information to a random caller. What about Mack Delgado or Gabe Corbin? Her former partners might know something by now, but she decided to play it safe. She couldn’t trust anyone.
Drenna took a sip of coffee then looked at the manila folder on the table in front of her. A frown slowly formed on her face. The folder looked thinner than she remembered. Then again, she hadn’t really looked at it closely. She had been too focused on watching for tails. As far as she knew, nothing had fallen out.
Setting her mug aside, she opened the folder. Inside was a short stack of papers. She picked up the top sheet, which appeared to be the first page of a bank statement. She quickly flipped through the other sheets and realized they were all part of that same statement.
There was nothing else.
Nathan gave me one bank statement? That’s all?
She returned to the top page and saw that the account was registered with First Cayman Bank and Trust. The Cayman Islands. One of the world’s top offshore banking centers, it was a place where the wealthy kept their money. But it wasn’t only the wealthy who parked their funds there. The island was known to draw bad players as well. From what Drenna had read, the country had done quite a bit to clean up its act, but it was still a magnet for those looking to hide funds generated by illicit activities.
She glanced at the account name. Croesus, Ltd.
Her pulse quickened. It was the same name that Nikita Petrov had used in his contacts. She had assumed Croesus was an alternate nickname for someone, perhaps even the Phantom himself. Instead, it appeared to be the name of a business, perhaps a shell company of some kind.
Shell company.
The two words seemed to trigger a distant memory, something that was a part of her past. Was it an organization she had investigated? She didn’t think so, although that would make sense in light of the fact that Nathan Sprague had thought she would be able to figure it all out.
“Why didn’t you just tell me who you suspected, Nathan?” Drenna whispered.
If he had just given her the name, then it would’ve saved her…
Then it hit her. She knew the significance of the name and the account, and that was because she had set it up herself many years ago. Although the precise details were hazy, she remembered it had been opened as part of an operation she had been involved with. She had posed as a corrupt financier and needed a bogus account in order to send and receive funds.
But why would Sprague direct her to the statement of an account she had opened? She wasn’t involved in the conspiracy. She also couldn’t see the connection between the account and what was going on currently. It wasn’t a particularly important operation. Drenna remembered being pulled off the case to join a more serious one in another part of the world.
It was one of the most mundane operations she had ever been involved in.
She looked at the statement again, letting her eyes run down the list of transactions. A great deal of business had been conducted in the last few months. Wires in. Wires out. Most of them in large round numbers.
The account was active. Her heart beat a little faster. Drenna remembered working on the case with a partner, so perhaps he could explain…
Suddenly, she felt like someone had pulled a hot poker out of a fire and stuck it right into her gut. Someone was still using the account, and she knew who it was. It was a man she had worked with for many years, someone she had trusted with many of her secrets.
The mystery had finally been solved.
He was the Phantom.
CHAPTER FORTY
Annandale, Virginia
Drenna followed the trail up through the thick stand of trees, using the moon to light her way. After reaching the top of the ridge, she looked down the other side. The large house was situated at the end of a long paved driveway that wound through a patchwork of field and forest. Several lights burned inside, indicating he was probably home.
She studied the rest of the property. Behind the residence was a small white pool house and a kidney-shaped pool. She guessed the entire property was worth well over a half million dollars. If the CIA’s top brass knew one of their agents lived in such opulence, it would certainly raise eyebrows. Drenna figured that was why her former colleague never invited people to his house.
Seeing no signs of anyone moving around outside, Drenna made her way slowly down the slope. The closer she got to the house, the more she felt anger rising inside her. The man she was about to take down had betrayed his country in order to line his own pockets. He was also indirectly responsible for the deaths of Vinay Rana and Geoff Raymer. Drenna prayed Nathan Sprague wouldn’t join that list.
Once at the bottom, Drenna made her way through a small stand of trees. About twenty yards away, she saw the iron fence that encircled the pool. Seeing no signs of activity, she sprinted over and crouched behind it. She had probably been visible for a few seconds, but it was a risk she had to take.
As she remained in place, the sound of a man’s voice reached her ears. She stiffened in surprise. She hadn’t expected that. The voice seemed to come from somewhere around the pool. She hadn’t seen anyone from the ridge, but the pool house had obscured a portion of her view.
She looked in the direction of the voice, but a thick hedgerow growing inside the fence prevented her from seeing anything. While coming down the hill, she had seen a gate closer to the house, so she crept in that direction. Once there, she peered through the iron bars. The area around the pool was dark. The man was still talking, and his voice seemed to come from a cluster of cushioned chairs directly ahead.
As she watched, someone rose from one of the chairs and walked toward the house.
He’s going in.
A few seconds later, he walked into the light at the back of the house. He held the phone to his head with one hand and puffed on a cigar with the other.
It was him.
Gabe Corbin grabbed the handle of the sliding glass door. Once his back was to her, Drenna opened the gate and slipped inside. As she crept across the lawn, she decided against drawing her pistol and ordering him to stop. He was on the phone, and she didn’t want the person on the other end to know what was going on. She also didn’t have a direct view into the house and couldn’t be sure if there were others inside.
After he slid the
door shut behind him, Drenna crept out onto the patio until she could see through the glass. Corbin was the only one in the dimly lit room, and he seemed completely immersed in his call. She wondered if he was talking to the assassin. The Scandinavian.
A moment later, Corbin disappeared down a hall to the right.
Now.
Drenna drew her pistol, opened the sliding glass door, and slipped inside. She heard Corbin’s voice in another part of the house. She would come up behind him and wait for him to end his call. But she needed to be careful. Corbin knew she was still alive and might be armed.
As Drenna started toward the hall, she realized she could no longer hear Corbin speaking. Either he was listening to the person on the other end, or he had gotten so far away that she could no longer hear him. She had taken two steps when a voice spoke from behind her.
“Stop right there.”
She froze. It took her a moment, but she finally realized what had happened. He had circled through the house and come around behind her. She cursed under her breath. Ordinarily, she would have been more aware of her surroundings, but this time, her anger had clouded her judgment.
“Good girl,” Corbin said. “Now drop your weapon.”
A low growl accompanied his command.
A dog.
Drenna held the gun out to one side.
“Nice and easy. One crazy move and I put a bullet right through you. That or maybe I’ll just let Largo have some fun with you.”
Largo the dog. The name made sense. Drenna remembered Corbin often traveled to the Keys when on vacation.
She stooped slightly and let the pistol drop onto the carpeted floor.
“Very good. Now turn around so I can see you.”
As Drenna turned around, the dog growled again. The animal could sense the tension in the air.
“Easy, girl.”
Corbin was standing about twenty feet away, a semi-automatic pistol clutched in his right hand. At his side was a very large German shepherd on a leash.
“I’m surprised it took you so long to figure it all out,” Corbin said.