by Nancy Mehl
“Doug said he borrowed it from a paramedic.”
“Well, that concerns me.”
“What do you mean?”
“About thirty minutes ago, someone found the body of a paramedic under a car in the same parking garage where Batterson was found.” Mark sighed deeply. “There’s something very strange going on here, Casey. I’m worried that it might involve you and your witness in some way. You need to be really careful. Maybe you should turn around and come back here where we can protect you.”
“I can’t do that, Mark. The chief told me to keep going. To get Miss Bennett to D.C., and that’s what I intend to do.”
“I understand. Just be extra careful. Please.”
Casey acknowledged his warning and told Mark she’d try her best to keep in touch. After she hung up, she stared toward her car for several seconds. Did they have reason to worry? Was there more going on than they realized?
CHAPTER
EIGHT
“Another two hours and we should be there,” Doug said.
He’d taken over the driving for the last leg. Casey was in the back seat with Valerie, who still wasn’t talking much. Casey noticed that she kept clenching and unclenching her fists. She was obviously worried. Casey decided to try a more direct approach to get her to open up. Maybe if she could get Valerie to talk, it would help her relax some.
“Valerie, this will be your first time testifying in front of a grand jury,” Casey said. “Are you nervous?”
Valerie looked over at her, as if surprised Casey had mentioned the jury. “Uh, yeah. Some.”
“I understand you were writing a story about an environmentalist when you stumbled into all this?”
Valerie nodded. “Martin Avery. Actually, I went to school with him. He made quite a name for himself. He was always really into saving the environment, you know, that kind of thing. I decided to call him one day and ask for an interview. He was happy to do it.” Her voice caught, and she turned to look out the window again. Casey could see Valerie’s reflection in the glass. The stark expression on her face made it clear talking about her friend was difficult.
“He disappeared a while back, is that right?”
She nodded and slowly turned until her eyes met Casey’s. “Martin was protesting the completion of a new oil pipeline. He and his group believed it would hurt the environment. After I wrote the article, we kept in touch. Then he started sending me strange texts. He was worried about Senator Dell Warren, one of Martin’s big supporters. The senator financed quite a bit of Martin’s work.”
“And you became concerned as well?” Casey asked.
“Yeah. Martin was convinced the senator was involved with some scary people. He began to suspect Senator Warren was only helping him because someone else didn’t want the pipeline to go through. Someone who didn’t want to see America lose its dependence on foreign oil.”
“Someone?” E.J. asked. “Did he know who?”
Valerie nodded. “I . . . I don’t want to say.”
Casey caught Doug looking at her in the rearview mirror. He frowned and shook his head slightly, and she gave him a little nod. This information wasn’t secret. The news media already had the story after Valerie wrote about Martin’s disappearance and his concerns about the senator’s possible ties to terrorism. It seemed odd that Valerie didn’t want to say the name Ali Al-Saud. Al-Saud was a businessman from Saudi Arabia who had huge investments in oil. He’d been very vocal in claiming he didn’t know Senator Warren and certainly wasn’t trying to stop the pipeline. Al-Saud was reputed to have ties to ISIS, but it had never been proven.
“Martin went missing shortly after you wrote that article?” E.J. asked.
Valerie nodded. “The texts suddenly stopped. When I didn’t hear from him for several days, I called the police. They looked for Martin, but they never found him. I told them everything I knew, and then the FBI contacted me, asked me to speak to a grand jury investigating the senator. I agreed. I’m not sure what they think I can tell them. Martin never gave me any proof.”
From the tone of her voice, Casey wondered if Valerie regretted writing the article. This situation seemed to have taken over her life. “I’m sorry you’ve been put through all this,” she said gently. “I can’t imagine how hard it must be. At least once you testify, you should be able to get your life back.”
Casey saw a tremor move slowly through Valerie’s body. The woman was frightened. Really frightened.
“Look, I realize the bomb at the Marshals Office worries you,” Casey said, “but like we said, it might not have anything to do with you. We handle a lot of sensitive cases. As for the precautions we’re taking, it’s just the way we do things. Don’t judge your circumstances by our response. I’m sure everything will be fine.” She reached over and lightly touched Valerie’s arm. The reporter jumped like she’d been stabbed.
“I’m sorry,” she said immediately. “I know you’re trying to help. I’m just . . .” She sighed and shook her head. “This isn’t me. I’ve always been pretty fearless. This has really rattled me.” She gave Casey a tenuous smile. “Thanks for being so kind. Sorry I’m such a mess.”
“It’s understandable,” Casey reassured, but she was surprised by Valerie’s jumpiness. She was in the protection of the U.S. Marshals and was going to be turned over to the FBI. What was she so afraid of?
CHAPTER
NINE
Although the warm shades of salmon and blue in the ICU’s waiting room were obviously meant to be calming, there was no way to chase away the reality of death that hovered over the muted elevator music and the soft, pale carpet. Tony had been here for hours, waiting. Praying. Mark had stayed for a while, but Tony finally told him to go home. His pregnant wife needed him.
He’d tried to take up watch right inside the door to the ICU, but the nurses had made him move to this room just outside the unit. He could see anyone who approached, however, and they assured him no unauthorized visitors would be admitted.
Tony rubbed his hands up and down the arms of the overstuffed chair in which he sat. A conversation he’d had with Mark had him on edge. Besides worrying about Batterson, now he was concerned about Casey and Doug—and their witness. There wasn’t much he could do to help them now. He didn’t even know for sure where they were, and Batterson couldn’t tell him where he’d sent them.
Next to him on a table were magazines and brochures. A lot of them about death and grieving. He tried to ignore them. Their presence stoked the fear slithering through him like a snake seeking its next victim.
“How long has it been since the doctor was here?”
Tony checked his watch and looked over at Dr. Karen Abbot. “About an hour and a half.”
“Seems much longer.”
He nodded. Karen’s crimson fingernails tapped out a rhythm on the wooden arm of her chair. Tony wanted to ask her to stop, but he was afraid it might cause her to fall apart. He’d heard the chief was dating Karen, but still, it felt odd to see her here. Observe her fragility. She was the therapist on call when the chief was afraid one of them might “go squirrely,” as he liked to call it. She was certainly attractive, with wavy chestnut-brown hair cut just above her shoulders, deep green eyes, a delicate face with full lips, and a trim body that never seemed to stay still. Even as her fingernails drummed out whatever song she heard in her head, her right leg, which was crossed over her left, bounced up and down to the beat of silent music she used in an attempt to calm herself.
Tony had seen her around the office, but she’d always seemed so cool and collected. This was something new. This was a woman in love. Funny how he’d never seen the chief as a man who could evoke this kind of response from a woman. He was . . . the chief. Not a man. Not a normal man, anyway. Except now he knew Richard Batterson really was human. He lay in a hospital bed fighting for his life. Turned out he was vulnerable after all.
Batterson’s adopted son, Marlon, sat next to Karen, his head hanging down. Tony had tried to talk to
him, but Marlon only answered in grunts or one-syllable words. He might have seemed insolent to others looking on, but Tony knew he was just worried about Batterson. The chief had adopted Marlon after his mother, Carol Marchand, who was also Batterson’s former administrative assistant, was arrested and put in prison. She’d colluded with the head of a drug cartel in an attempt to stop law enforcement from bringing an end to his operations. People had died because of her actions. Batterson cared about the boy and wanted to raise him. Eventually, Carol agreed to the adoption because she didn’t want Marlon to go into the foster care system.
Right now, all Tony really wanted to do was sit here and wait for his fiancée, Kate, to return with something to eat. He was starving, hadn’t eaten since this morning. But he felt the need to talk to Dr. Abbot and Marlon, to help them in some way.
He cleared his throat. “How did you find out he was here?”
“Mark called me. I . . . I couldn’t believe it. I mean, Richard said he was okay when I spoke to him this morning.”
Tony’s ears perked up. “You heard from the chief this morning?”
She nodded. “Not long after the explosion. He called me to tell me he was all right. He was outside—in the parking garage across the street from the building.”
This was the second person who said they’d talked to Batterson before Tony found him unconscious.
“Dr. Abbot . . .”
“Karen. Please.”
“Okay. Karen, can you tell me exactly what the chief said to you?”
She blinked her long black lashes several times. “He didn’t say much. Like I said, he wanted me to know he was okay. He said he’d talk to me again later, but first he needed to make another call. Said it was really important. I told him I loved him, and he hung up. That was it.”
“I know this sounds like a weird question, but did you hear anything else? Background noise? Anyone else talking to him?”
“Yeah, there was something.” Her forehead wrinkled as she tried to remember. “Right before the call disconnected, he was asking someone if he could use their phone one more time before he gave it back to them. Something like that.” She looked at him through narrowed eyes. “Why? Is it important?”
“It might be. Would you excuse me?”
Tony got up and stepped outside the door, walking down the hall to another waiting room that was empty. Using the hospital phone, he dialed Mark’s secure number.
“Just talked to Dr. Abbot,” he said when Mark answered. “The chief said something else before he hung up from talking to her. Asked this person if he could use his phone one more time.”
Mark’s sigh drifted through the receiver. “I’m not sure what all this means. He called Doug. Said he was going to contact the FBI. Seems he also talked to Dr. Abbot. Who else was he planning to call? And whose phone did he use? Karen said the number showed up as unavailable. The only reason she answered was because of the explosion. She didn’t want to take a chance she’d miss a call from Batterson. The chief didn’t have a phone on him when we found him, and his gun was found several feet away. Not sure why it was out of its holster.”
“That does seem odd.” Tony paused, trying to think through this latest information. “Mark, did the dead paramedic have a phone?”
“I have no idea, but I’ll find out. Let me get back to you.”
“Okay.”
“Any change in the chief?”
“No. The doctor was here a little while ago. He said they’re watching him closely, hoping he’ll wake up. But nothing so far. The doctor seems very concerned. Any new leads on the bombing yet?”
“Well, they cleared the building. Only the one bomb. The bomb squad is looking at it. I have no idea what they’ve found. They’re being pretty tight-lipped. Tom Monnier is in charge until the chief returns.”
“You need to talk to him, Mark. Tell him about the chief’s phone calls. I seriously doubt that whoever planted that bomb is through. I mean, why do something so obvious unless you’re trying to make a point? But what is it? We haven’t heard from anyone. No one’s claimed responsibility. I’m worried they might be after the witness Casey and Doug are transporting.”
“I’m not sure how all this ties together, but we can’t take the chance that you’re right. I’ll get in touch with Tom right away. Maybe we need to call Doug and Casey.”
“Let’s leave that decision to Tom,” Tony said. “Give him the number of the burner phone. Of course, if it’s turned off, it won’t do him much good.”
Mark grunted. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s best if we don’t know exactly where they are in case someone else is looking for them, though not having their location makes it impossible to provide backup. It makes me nervous.”
“Wherever they are, they’re supposed to meet the FBI at the secure location Batterson gave them. I’m sure we’ll hear from them then. Hopefully it won’t take much longer. Once the Feds take over, everything should be all right.” Even as he said the words, Tony felt uneasy. Would someone who went to all this trouble just allow Casey and Doug to turn over their witness so easily?
“Okay. I’ll get back to you as soon as I find out something.”
“Same here. If anything changes with the chief, I’ll call you.”
“Thanks, Tony.”
When Mark hung up, Tony stared at the phone. His Italian mother used to tell him that God put warning bells in our heads to tell us when we’re in danger. “You listen to God’s bells, Tony,” she’d say. “When they go off, you stop what you’re doing until you know everything’s okay.”
Well, God’s bells were ringing like crazy. The problem was, he didn’t know what the danger was or how to protect their people from it.
Ben Mattan picked up the newspaper lying on the senator’s porch, staying behind the thick bushes that lined the outside of the house. He used them as a shield until he made it around to the back. Then he unlocked the door to the senator’s office and slipped inside. He quickly turned off the alarm, careful not to step in the blood that had sprayed onto the floor. The senator had only been dead about an hour. Not long enough to cause concern with the time of death. The police would assume the senator picked up his daily newspaper and took it to his office, where he looked at it and decided to end his life. Ben was certain they wouldn’t look past the obvious. American police were sloppy, just like the doctors who would never find the real reason Richard Batterson was dead.
Light reflected off a large framed picture of Warren’s ex-wife that sat on his desk. Divorced, but he still kept her picture. How stupid to let a woman—any woman—become that important. Women were placed on earth to serve men. And that was it. Still, it was lucky for them the senator had been willing to die to protect a woman who no longer cared for him.
Ben had been married once, and he’d never make that mistake again. He touched the scar on his face. The makeup was useless. He needed to get off the streets. The scar was too noticeable. People might remember, and he couldn’t allow them to tie him to the bombing at the Marshals Office. He cursed the woman who’d cut him. His ex-wife. It was the last time that ignorant cow ever touched him—or anyone else.
Ben unfolded the newspaper and put it on the senator’s desk. As had been the case for the past several days, an article about Warren’s ties to terrorism splashed across the front page. Perfect. All that was left was the witness, and they had nothing to fear from her. True, their plan hadn’t gone perfectly. Ben had been shocked by what he’d found on his phone after he took it back from Richard Batterson, but he’d come up with a plan that should fix everything. He had no intention of telling his boss what he’d done. Ali Al-Saud didn’t like changes. Especially changes he didn’t approve. It wasn’t the only secret Ben kept from Al-Saud. Ben told Al-Saud only what he had to.
Ben picked up the two letters on the desk with his gloved hands and opened them. The letter to his ex-wife was fine. No problem. But the other letter was certainly troublesome. Ben almost admired Warren’s forthrightness�
��his willingness to admit to his failures. Unfortunately, no one except him and Al-Saud would ever read these words. The senator had written it in longhand. If he’d used his computer, getting rid of the letter would have been much more difficult.
Ben refolded the paper, put it back into the envelope, and slipped it into a pocket in his jacket. His gloved hand touched the pill bottle he always carried with him. He pulled out the bottle, took off the cap, and put the bottle to his lips. He shook a couple of capsules into his mouth and then put the cap back and returned the bottle to his pocket. He waited a few seconds before chewing the bitter pills. Then he paused to enjoy the rush he knew would come. When it did, he smiled. His father didn’t know about the pills—and he never would. Al-Saud didn’t believe in relying on alcohol or drugs, but Ben needed them. They made him the man his father wanted him to be. Strong, decisive, confident. He didn’t check his every move with his father anymore. He didn’t need anyone telling him what to do. Not even Ali Al-Saud.
Ben grabbed a padded footstool next to an overstuffed leather chair in the corner and pushed it over to the bookshelves behind the senator’s desk. It only took a few seconds for him to find and remove the hidden camera that had allowed him to watch the senator take his life. He put the footstool back, checked the desk and the senator carefully, making sure he hadn’t disturbed anything. Then he hurried to two other rooms where he removed additional cameras and bugs. Once he was finished, he prepared to leave. It had been a long day. Flying from St. Louis to D.C. was tiring. He hadn’t planned on the senator ending his life today. Would have been nice if he could have waited a day or two until Ben could get some rest. But these people rarely thought about anything except themselves.
Ben smiled as he slipped out the back door. Although he’d been thrown a few curveballs, he felt as if everything was finally under control.
CHAPTER
TEN
E.J. stared down at the map he held in his hands. He’d come to rely on GPS. Even though this was a new map, he couldn’t find the turnoff he’d been looking for. For some reason, making mistakes in front of Casey irritated him. He hated the way he responded to her. Since he prided himself on his self-control, he was especially aggravated right now. He sighed and fought to refocus his attention on the stupid map.