“We’re working as hard as we can, Cullen. But I can’t make any promises.” This from Gabriel, who was still looking at the pencil pieces.
“You’ll make it happen, because it must be so.” Cullen heard his voice rising, and struggled for control. It would never do to let them know just how panicked he really was.
“I’m not a miracle worker, Cullen, I can’t conjure up a killer just because you want me to.” Gabriel stood up, towering over the desk, and just for a moment Cullen actually felt afraid. But just as quickly as it had come the emotion passed, and Cullen reminded himself that he was the one in charge, not the other way around. Gabriel Roarke worked for him.
He stood up, as well, the rising tension in the room palpable. “If I need for you to do so, you’ll do just that. The president needs this accord to go through. Much of his economic policy rests on its success. And if he needs us to embellish the truth, then that’s exactly how we’ll proceed. Am I making myself clear?”
“Perfectly.” Madison’s voice was like balm. Calm and to the point, she obviously wasn’t ruffled by their posturing. “But as far as I can tell, we haven’t reached the point where untruths are necessary. All we have to do at the moment is keep as much information as we can away from the press, and continue our full-court press to find answers. Right?”
“For now.” Cullen nodded, his gaze still locked with Gabriel’s. “But if you don’t find those answers soon, we may have to take more drastic action.”
“Like lying,” Gabriel growled.
Kingston shrugged, like Madison, purposefully ignoring the undercurrents. “Whatever it takes, I’m afraid. This is about a hell of a lot more than the money we have invested. And with Washington pulling the strings, anything is possible.”
“But right now it’s status quo.” Again Madison was the voice of reason.
“Yes,” Kingston admitted.
A knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Cullen for one was grateful for the reprieve. He hated pissing matches, and even though he usually won, taking on Gabriel Roarke was not a task he had any particular relish for. “Come in.”
The door swung open, and Harrison Blake poked in his head, his expression reflecting his obvious reticence to interrupt. “Sorry to barge in,” he said, stepping fully into the room, “but I thought you’d all want to know.”
“Know what?” Gabriel swung around to face him, the line of his back still radiating tension.
“I think we may have found W. Smith.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Everyone had moved to the operations room, and as far as Madison was concerned it couldn’t have been too soon. She had no idea what had gone down between Gabriel and her godfather in Iraq, but it was pretty clear from the posturing in Cullen’s office that there was a certain amount of animosity still present.
She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Maybe it was nothing more than the fact that neither Cullen nor Gabriel was the kind of man to take orders easily from another. And the truth of the matter was that she had enough to deal with without trying to understand the dynamics between the two of them.
Point in case: W. Smith.
Harrison had moved to his computer, as usual preferring the anonymity of his kiosk to center stage. Low-profile, old-fashioned and charming, Harrison was the kind of man who opened doors for women, and really listened when they talked. He had that sunny grin and Southern charisma that made him irresistible to the opposite sex. Which was only heightened by the fact that he was totally oblivious to his effect on women. He was too immersed in his own little world.
“So I tried aliases like Payton suggested,” Harrison was saying, his voice holding an edge of excitement that meant he’d found something more than just a name, “but I couldn’t find anything remotely connected.” He paused, looking up at the assembled players, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “And then I ran the W as a middle initial.”
He clicked on the computer database for effect, and the scanning names flashed by to settle on one.
Ernhardt W. Schmidt.
Madison shot a look at Gabriel, surprised to see a similar look of excitement reflected in his eyes. He was enjoying himself. She fought her own smile. She was surrounded by little boys.
“Ernhardt Wilhelm Schmidt.” Harrison read the words on the screen, supplying a name for the W. “His sheet is a mile long. Everything from suspected bombing to sniper activity. But the best is that he’s a crack shot.” He hit another button and a face filled the screen.
Ernhardt Schmidt had blond hair and blue eyes, and the aquiline nose of a German. His features were hard, but it wasn’t the face of a killer. Not that they ever were. Killers came in all shapes and sizes and rarely were they recognizable. Most of them had had years to perfect their masks.
Only someone who spent their life observing them could read the signs. The cruel twist of the lips, the hard edges to the smile. The total lack of emotion in the eyes. This was a man who’d ceased feeling anything a long time ago. Or perhaps had never felt at all, something inside him programmed differently from others.
Not a fiend in the sense of a serial killer, just a man without remorse or regret, driven by his own needs, interested in getting paid more than the pleasure of the kill. Although the kill itself would yield some form of release, just not an end in and of itself.
She pulled away from the photograph to meet Gabriel’s questioning gaze. She knew that he’d seen her withdraw. Watched as she put herself in another man’s place, tried to think with his mind. Some men would have been frightened by it. Or repelled.
But not Gabriel Roarke.
His mouth curled into the smallest hint of a smile, and she would have sworn she read approval in his eyes. Hope fluttered inside her.
Maybe she’d finally found someone who could understand.
“Madison,” Cullen interrupted her thoughts, and reluctantly she turned from Gabriel’s icy gaze, “have you seen this man before?”
“No.” She shook her head. “But I know the type.” She proceeded to outline her thoughts for the group.
“So he fits the profile for our killer?” Kingston asked, his brows drawn together in a frown.
“I can’t say for certain without more evidence.” Madison blew out a long breath. “But if I had to go with my gut alone, I’d say he meets all the necessary criteria. Unfortunately, if he’s any good, he’ll be hard to trace. I’m surprised we’ve been able to find out as much as we have.”
“I agree.” Payton’s expression was troubled, his eyes narrowed in thought. “I’ve said all along that this has been too easy.”
“Easy?” Cullen exploded. “Eight people are dead, a crucial economic accord is hanging by a thread, the president is politically vulnerable and we still have nothing concrete to tie us to a killer or a group behind the murders. Just what about all of that, may I ask, is easy?”
Payton shrugged. “I don’t pretend to understand the ins and outs of the political maneuverings of governments, Cullen, but I do know how these kind of men work. And they don’t leave calling cards. If they do, they wind up dead.”
“So what?” Kingston asked, clearly intrigued. “You think the man wants us to find him?”
“I’ve no idea,” Payton said. “I just know it feels off to me.”
Madison understood exactly how he felt. “One doesn’t last very long in this business without trusting gut instincts, Kingston. Even if they aren’t quantifiable.” She shot a look at Gabriel, disappointed to find his expression masked.
“At least it looks like we’re well on the way to finding our man.” Cullen’s tone was decisive, clearly intent on taking control of the discussion.
“If only it were that easy,” Harrison mumbled.
“Do we have any idea where Schmidt is?” Gabriel asked.
Harrison responded with a shake of his head. “He moves a lot. Last known address was in Hamburg. But that was almost a year ago. I’ve got sources there checking to see if it’s still valid.”
“I’m betting not,” Gabriel said. “If he’s our man, he’s been here for quite some time. Although he could be going back and forth. Any known aliases for him?”
“The list is pretty long.” This from Nigel, who was holding a printout. “We’re cross-checking the computers to see if there’s anything in any of the other data banks. He’s been tagged by your home security forces, so with a little luck that means they’re watching him for entry into the States. I’ve got a call in to London to see what they know.”
“How about W. Smith? Does it show up as a known alias?”
Harrison shook his head. “We only found him because of the correlation between the names. Other than that we have nothing to tie him to our murders, really.”
“Except that the M.O. for the last few murders fits him to a tee.” Gabriel shot a look at Madison for confirmation, and she reveled in the fact that at least for the moment he’d accepted her as part of the team. “Payton, have you talked to Lin Yao?”
“Yes. He’d heard the name. But couldn’t confirm that the man had actually worked with either of our suspected groups. He’s supposed to see what he can run to ground in Beijing and get back to me as quickly as possible.
“All right.” Gabriel was all business now, preferring action to cerebral gymnastics. “I’ll check with some folks I know at Langley. Madison, you talk to the FBI, and the rest of you follow up where you can. Cullen, you and Kingston talk with anyone you think needs to know the situation, but other than that keep it as low-profile as possible.”
“If this guy is in the city, I don’t want to scare him off.” Gabriel glanced down at his watch. “Why don’t we all meet back here in an hour. We’re running out of time. And we need answers ASAP.”
* * *
Madison sat in the office of the FBI’s regional director in New York. She’d met the man a couple of times, but had never actually worked with him, and even though she had clearance from a presidential level, she still was uncomfortable coming to him for help, particularly since she could only give him sketchy information at best.
“Ms. Harper.” Loren Waxman was short by FBI standards, and perhaps a tad long in the tooth. She figured he was nearing sixty, which was surprising in an organization that prided itself on only hiring the best the brightest and the youngest. Still, the man moved with a grace that belied his age, and although his hair was gray, his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence.
“Mr. Waxman.” She stood up and offered her hand, pleased when he shook it with vigor. “Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice.”
Waxman took a seat across from her, laying a manila envelope on the table between them.
“You’ll have read the file I’ve provided.”
He nodded, waiting for her to explain further.
“As you know, I’ve been pulled out of active duty to work on a task force for Cullen Pulaski.”
A muffled cough was indication of his disapproval. Not that Madison disagreed. “I know about the task force. And to some extent its purpose. What I’m not clear on is what you think I can do to help you.”
“I need access to any information we might have on a mercenary by the name of Ernhardt Schmidt. Most importantly his present location, if we’re aware of it. The files I need to check are eyes-only, and I need your permission to access them.”
She could have gone above his head, but she wanted to ruffle as few feathers as possible, and following chain of command would go a long way toward keeping things on an even keel.
“You think this Schmidt has something to do with the case you’re working on?” Waxman’s expression was bland, disinterested even, but she could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes.
“Yes. I have reason to believe he may have been responsible for a series of deaths I’ve been investigating.” And that was as far as she could go by way of explanation. Hopefully, it would be enough.
“You have friends in high places, Ms. Harper.” There was a note of disdain in his voice that Madison wished she could erase, but there was nothing she could do about it. She did have friends in high places. Or at least family members who liked to throw their weight around.
She fought off a sigh, smiling instead. “My godfather is well-placed politically, yes. But I’ve never used it to my gain.”
“Nor your father, it would appear.” If it was meant as a compliment, the slight edge to his tone took anything positive out of the remark.
“I didn’t request this case, Mr. Waxman, but now that I am working on it, I intend to give it my all.” She tried but couldn’t keep the note of resentment out of her voice.
“Whether you requested the case or not, you’ve obviously made some powerful allies. I even received a call from the director, and I assured him I’d help in any way I can.” He pushed the manila envelope over to her. “Inside you’ll find everything you need to access the secured computers. There’s also a dossier on Mr. Schmidt. He’s a nasty character from the looks of it. I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“I’m doing my job.” Madison took the file, and stood up, more than ready for the meeting to end. “And if that’s not enough, I’ve got good men at my back.”
She’d almost said “powerful men,” but that would have been a bit much, and besides, Waxman probably would have missed the point anyway.
* * *
“What’ve you got?” Harrison looked up as Madison walked into the operations room. He was sitting at the conference table with computer printouts spread all around him.
“Not as much as I’d have liked.” She dropped down into a chair, and slid the FBI file across to him. “I just got back from meeting with Waxman. That’s the file he gave us.”
“You met with Waxman? I’ve heard the old buzzard’s a real piece of work.”
“He wasn’t thrilled with the fact that I came with presidential backing, but other than that, he wasn’t too bad. Although I doubt he’d have given me a plug nickel without the call.”
“Not a fan of the young and upcoming agent, eh?” Harrison’s smile held sympathy.
“Not exactly.” She shrugged out of her coat. “Anyway, the point is that we got what we needed.”
“Anything helpful?”
“I scanned the file and it fills in a few blanks here and there. Schmidt definitely works for the highest bidder with absolutely no loyalty to anything but a paycheck. He has been tracked to the U.S., but never tied to any kind of illegal activity here. Although there have been questions.”
“Anything that would connect him to the accord?”
“Nothing in the dossier, but it’s pretty general. There are also some user IDs in there, stuff that will give you access to the highest-level information the FBI has on the man. I figured you’d be better at ferreting it out than me.”
Harrison opened the envelope with a relish he usually reserved for a Big Mac. “This is pretty impressive stuff.”
“That’s what an alliance with the president will do for you.” She smiled, but knew the gesture wasn’t reflected in her eyes. Truth was, she was dead tired. Too much was happening too fast, and she hadn’t any idea how to sort it all out. Personal vs. business getting all jumbled together in a way she’d never intended.
“You okay?” Harrison was looking at her suspiciously, seeing far more than she wanted him to.
“I’m fine,” she chirped brightly, knowing immediately that he didn’t buy a word.
“You don’t look fine. And if I had to call it, I’d say it had something to do with Gabe.”
She started, and fought a blush. “He helped me evade my father.”
“And that’s all?” Harrison asked.
She wanted to tell him, to ask his advice, but no matter how close they were, there were some things she simply couldn’t share. At least not until she understood them herself.
“Isn’t that enough?” she asked, dodging his question. “I was pretty shaken by Jeremy’s death. And I wasn’t up to battling my dad. Gabriel realized
it, and bought me some time. And I can’t say that I wasn’t grateful.”
“I agree you needed time to decompress. Your dad can be a bit overwhelming. But I’m not sure you didn’t jump from the frying pan into the fire.”
He was absolutely right, of course; she’d swapped one set of problems for another. Granted, the latter had been incredibly pleasurable as far as problems went, but she still had no idea where she and Gabriel could go from here.
All she knew for certain was that he’d muscled his way into her heart, and the idea scared her to death.
* * *
Nigel stood outside the building, counted to ten, and when he was certain no one was following, walked quickly down the street, ducking into a blind alley about two blocks away. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a series of numbers, entering two passwords, one vocal and another alphanumerical.
Finally he was connected, the voice at the other end impatient.
“What do you mean they found the man?”
“Just what I’m telling you. They’ve connected W. Smith to an Ernhardt Wilhelm Schmidt. And they’re pretty damn sure he’s the one. Gabriel has everyone running down the details as we speak.”
“And you?” The man at the other end sounded more annoyed than angry, which surprised Nigel no end.
“I’m supposed to be talking to London.”
There was a burst of laughter from the earpiece of the phone. “How convenient And what will you report back?”
“That Ernhardt is indeed connected to the subversive group in China. But I’ll need physical evidence to support the fact.”
“Consider it done. And Nigel—” there was a pause, and then the voice continued, the tone almost menacing “—I want you to find the man and make quite certain he doesn’t surface. Am I making myself clear?”
Nigel swallowed, not certain how he was going to accomplish this latest command, but not willing to indicate his concern. “Of course, sir. I’ll get right on it.”
“See that you do.” The line clicked dead, and Nigel gripped the phone in anger, wondering how in hell he’d ever allowed himself to land in such a position. A rock and a hard place if ever there was one, and a misstep in either direction could very well leave him dead.
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