Final Stand

by Lisa Phillips

  The paper read Oscar Langdon. A name currently number seven on the FBI’s Ten Most Wanted list. A man responsible for bombings across Europe and one in Denver last year that’d killed hundreds. A man who traded in black market antiquities, art and artifacts, as well as anything he could get paid to pass along in a deal.

  A man whose face nobody knew.

  What it had to do with corrupt FBI agents, Mark didn’t know. But there had to be a connection. One that seemed above his pay grade, given how it had been done.

  Pacer said, “Well?”

  Bordeaux sniffed. “You want Oscar Langdon? You think you’re fishing in a lake, you don’t even realize that lake feeds the whole ocean. You’re rounding up all the bass, you don’t even realize a shark is going to bite you.”

  “So help us get Langdon.” Mark leaned forward. “Before he bites.”

  “Langdon.” Bordeaux sniffed. “Got no clue, do you? You want Langdon, why don’t you talk to Victoria Bramlyn? The woman’s been on a fishing expedition of her own, exposing all this ‘corruption’ like we’re the only ones with something to hide.”

  “Victoria?” Mark shook his head. “That’s who you’re going to flip this back on?”

  She’d done her job, and then she’d left town. He’d left her countless messages, but she hadn’t returned a single one. Now he was done calling. He had enough to do, between healing from a gunshot wound to the chest and taking out the trash in his office.

  Mark had been forced to prove to the Office of Professional Responsibility that he was still an honorable agent who upheld his oath. Every man and woman who worked here were, these days, glancing sideways at each other almost constantly. Wondering who would be swept up next. Cuffs on. Marched out.

  Now it was all about figuring out what the fallout would be. Working on repairing the reputation of the FBI which had taken a serious hit in the media and on social lately.

  “Victoria Bramlyn is only interested in one thing. Victoria Bramlyn.” Bordeaux leaned across the table. “All she wants to do is prove her ridiculous theory correct. Salvage what’s left of her career and her reputation.”

  Like the FBI? Mark dismissed that idea so he didn’t get distracted by more thoughts of Victoria. He knew she’d had an operation go wrong years ago. She’d thought agents from the FBI might have been involved, but since when was that common knowledge? He’d cautioned her to play it close to her, considering she hadn’t exactly had proof.

  Mostly, he cared about her and she’d gotten hurt. Mark had been forced to deal with the fact her job was seriously dangerous, and she might not actually outlive it. Things weren’t much better now. He’d only just learned how to temper his reaction to hearing about her escapades. Along with how she continually pushed him away, “for his own good” as she called it, didn’t make for a very happy Mark. It just made for a life where he had plenty of time for overtime, and working long cases into the weekend.

  Which he had to admit had benefited his career.

  Bordeaux said, “Blaming the FBI for what happened to her? It was Oscar Langdon.”

  “She believed in a link between Langdon and the FBI,” Pacer commented. “What do you think about that?”

  “It was probably she who breached security and sold all that information. The FBI was just someone convenient to blame, and now she’s at it again.” Bordeaux lifted his hands and made air quotes. “‘Cleaning out the corruption’ like it’s not obvious she just wants someone to blame for her mistakes, a way to pass off responsibility. How do you know she isn’t in on it?”

  “She isn’t.” Mark realized what he’d said, and what it sounded like, after the words were out.

  Bordeaux leaned back in his chair. “Is that how it is? I heard you two were close.”

  “She’s an old family friend.” Mark said, “And that bit about responsibility was rich, coming from you.”

  “Sure she is.” Bordeaux said, “And you’ve got enough work cleaning up the FBI on the West Coast to worry about Langdon and Victoria Bramlyn. Not enough time for all of it, so I guess you’ll just have to let that go. Your priority is the FBI, right?”

  Mark nodded. “That’s right.”

  And yet, he’d managed to help Victoria before, plenty of times.

  Did she return his calls, though? No. No, she didn’t.

  “Anyway, how do you know Victoria isn’t the one who is Langdon?”

  Pacer said, “What? Seriously, you’re telling us Victoria is Langdon?”

  “With a guy who could pose as him, a front man. She could pull off being the person behind the screen.” Bordeaux shrugged. “You know she could.”

  Mark did, but that was hardly the point. The woman’s skills weren’t in question here. “Tell us where you got your instructions from. You coordinated bad men. My count, you had three guys picking up payoffs and leaving them where you were told to, right? So how did you log the money, and how did you know where to do the drops?”

  There had to be cell phones they hadn’t found. Or an app built in that left no traces of the conversations. Mark was getting more and more irritated the longer it took for them to get an answer. He was even starting to wonder if someone down in forensics was hindering their search for it.

  “Victoria Bramlyn isn’t the terrorist Oscar Langdon.” Mark shook his head. “And that’s not why we’re here. You swore an oath, and then you betrayed that oath. You know the rules and you know how this will go now.”

  Victoria had been in Mark’s life for as long as he could remember. If there was anyone he was certain was not a black market arms dealer, it was her.

  Pacer took up right where he left off. “Unless you have something to give us, we can’t offer you anything.”

  Bordeaux stared right at Mark. “Watch your backs.”

  “Is that a threat?” Pacer asked him.

  Bordeaux gave a tiny shake of his head. Not to Pacer. But it was a threat to Mark and probably Victoria as well. Watch your backs. She knew that, didn’t she? Otherwise there was no way for him to tell her. The woman wasn’t dumb. She knew there was the possibility of retaliation. Enough to be taking precautions. Wherever she was, whatever she was doing.

  “Tell us where to find the agent, or whoever is in charge of your little corrupt gang.”

  Bordeaux only chuckled. “Too late to find them now.”

  Mark’s phone rang in his pocket. He stood. “You’ll have to excuse me for a moment.” He pulled it out as he stepped into the hallway and swiped to answer. “Welvern.”

  “Yes, Mr. Welvern. This is Bridget over at Gracious Living. I’m calling about Jacob Bramlyn. I’m afraid there’s been an incident.”

  Chapter 3

  Orlando, FL. Wednesday 12.07a.m.

  Victoria stared at the phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the play button. She just needed a second to collect herself before she finished watching the feed of Mark interviewing that agent. Just a moment, that was all. Just a moment to think before she got back on task.

  Her grandfather was missing—she could think of little else. The police were investigating, and she’d sent an email to the committee to find out which detectives were on the case. She wanted to know they were the very best—and if they weren’t, well, she had no problem waltzing in and making their lives miserable. Victoria reserved the right to throw her credentials around in any given situation.

  Mark had interviewed the FBI agents he had in custody today, so she needed to keep tabs on that.

  Then there was her team, reassigned to work—still as a group for the most part—under Homeland Security, at their Seattle office. Niall, the NCIS agent, had a desk at the NCIS office on the Navy base close by.

  Her task force. The one that wasn’t hers anymore, not officially. She’d formed the group by handpicking agents from all different federal branches. They had successfully combatted domestic terrorism for nearly five years now, working in their own way to fight that fight. They’d arrested some serious players and brought down Kennowich�
��s entire operation, just to name one.

  Sure, she’d planned on using Kennowich as a witness in her case against these dirty FBI agents, but that had been a means to an end. He wouldn’t have walked free. She made sure that didn’t happen to men who hurt people the way Kennowich had done.

  Something she would have liked to have explained to Sal, her US Marshal team member. If he actually answered the phone.

  She wanted to call him now and ask if he’d help with the search for her grandfather, but she doubted he’d pick up. Even weeks later it seemed he hadn’t forgiven her.

  Sal and Allyson had both quit their jobs and “retired” to Wyoming. Formerly an ATF agent, Allyson was now apparently working in a coffee shop that was also a bookstore. Victoria had found Sal’s name on the ballot for the upcoming sheriff’s election. How they’d managed all that in just a few weeks was baffling, but apparently they’d figured out what they wanted. Each other. And they no longer wanted to wait to get it.

  A truck door slammed and a family got out of the vehicle that had just parked. The man walked around to the back door and pulled it open. He lifted a child out and carried him to the door of their room while the woman gathered up handfuls of bulging bags. Souvenirs. A day at the park.

  Victoria smiled to herself.

  How many times had she nearly just bought a ticket to that park just so she could go, even though it would be by herself? She didn’t want to think about the photo she’d seen, years ago now, of a family all at Disneyland. Standing in front of that castle, wearing the mouse ears. Smiling. Tired, but so happy.

  She looked down at her phone. That life wasn’t hers, and she was old enough to know it never would be. Old enough she might even have outlived her ability to have children, considering she was pushing forty-six. Not that she’d want to give her DNA to an innocent human. Talk about a life sentence.

  It was why she’d worked to keep a relationship with her grandfather. Because he was her stepfather’s dad and also, out of her entire family—what there was left of it—she’d actually liked him, despite how he treated her sometimes. Now he occasionally had no idea who she was, but she still made sure to visit when she could.

  He was missing.

  Because of her.

  She bit her lips together. Sal would help, or at least he had the ability to find people in a way she’d never seen before.

  Victoria pressed play on the phone screen, the cord running to her earbuds. The interviewee, Steven Bordeaux, knew he was going down. She wanted to make sure he never walked free after what he’d done.

  His sardonic tone filled her ears. “You want Oscar Langdon? You think you’re fishing in a lake, you don’t even realize that lake feeds the whole ocean. You’re rounding up all the bass, you don’t even realize a shark is going to bite you.”

  “So help us get Langdon.” Mark’s voice. “Before he bites.”

  She shut her eyes. Just hearing him was like being there, beside him. Even just having his voice echo in her head, talking to someone else. A long time ago, she’d vowed to have him in her life any way she could get him. Lately, that had involved sitting beside his bed while he recovered from a gunshot wound.

  “Langdon.” Bordeaux went quiet for a second. “Got no clue, do you? You want Langdon, why don’t you talk to Victoria Bramlyn? The woman’s been on a fishing expedition of her own, exposing all this ‘corruption’ like we’re the only ones with something to hide.”

  “Victoria?” That was Mark. “That’s who you’re going to flip this back on?”

  Victoria paused the recording again. Pacer had to have given Mark the name Oscar Langdon. She’d made sure that Mark didn’t know Langdon was the one behind her last mission for the CIA. The one where she’d been betrayed by someone and left for dead.

  That was a different life, and yet it seemed intent on bleeding back into now.

  Dirty FBI agents. That was what she’d suspected years ago when everything had collapsed around her. And so she’d had a committee formed in Washington so she could go after FBI corruption under their authority. Now that she’d done it, she could move on. Right? And yet Pacer was throwing around Langdon’s name.

  What did that have to do with these FBI agents? Unless he thought they worked for Langdon, or that they had at one point. Or Pacer thought the man on the FBI’s Most Wanted list was an FBI agent.

  She shook her head. No.

  And yet…

  Bordeaux was throwing her name around, trying to get suspicion placed on her. Victoria turned her wrist so she could see the skin on the inside of her forearm. She had every reason to be afraid if they started investigating her and a connection to Langdon. Because when she’d been betrayed, they’d left a breadcrumb in her life that lead straight back to them.

  One she’d be hard pushed to argue with.

  She needed to call Mark. To warn him that this might get worse. That he might hear her name a whole lot more. She trusted him and had confided in him probably more than was wise. Definitely more than her gag order allowed her to say. But it was Mark. Given all they’d been through, she was sure that trust went both ways.

  She pulled the earbuds from her ear and tucked them in her purse. Probably a better conversation to have in person, considering she was going to have to plead her case a little. It occurred to her, and not for the first time, that talking to him was a little like going to confession. Always had been and maybe that would never change.

  It didn’t take her long to get packed up and book a flight for first thing tomorrow.

  While back in Seattle, she could check on her team as well. By the time she did both things there would probably be movement on the hunt for her grandfather, and she’d hopefully be able to come back. Have a regular visit where she walked through the front door, and they sat down for some tea.

  She slept a couple of hours, then more on the plane. With a connecting flight in Salt Lake City, Victoria had time for an extra-large, black coffee. But not before she used the facilities. They were always packed, normally. She walked farther and found an out-of-the-way bathroom just so she could avoid the press of humanity for a little while. She could get the drink on the way back to her next gate.

  The door clicked behind her.

  A toilet flushed and an older woman dragged her suitcase out without washing her hands. Victoria made a face no one saw and headed to a stall. She pushed the door open, purse swinging against her side.

  Before she stepped inside, someone shoved her.

  She flung out a hand, but there was nothing there. After stumbling onto the toilet seat, she turned herself around and kicked up at her assailant, jabbing her heel into the person’s thigh.

  A woman this time. She cried out.

  Dressed like any other traveler. Leggings and a T-shirt. Running shoes.

  Victoria dropped the purse and lifted her hands, curling her fingers into fists.

  The woman grinned. Never mind that she looked like a muscly soccer mom. “This is gonna be fun.”

  She launched herself at Victoria in the small space. Victoria swiped away both of the woman’s attempts to hit her. She grabbed the woman’s shoulders and pulled one knee up into her stomach. “Guess they didn’t fully brief you on who I am.”

  The woman chuckled, though out of breath.

  The next blow came out of nowhere. Before she realized what’d happened, Victoria fell against the side of the stall. Head butt. She grunted. Why did those always hurt so much? Usually on both sides. But this woman seemed unaffected.

  Her fist darted toward Victoria’s left side. Something sharp jabbed into her. When she pulled her hand back, Victoria realized it was plastic ware from a restaurant. Not a weapon security would have seen. She’d probably grabbed it on the way. Following Victoria. Stalking her.

  She tried to breathe around the pain as she locked her knees. There was no way she was going to end up on the floor.

  Victoria grabbed her purse as she straightened and threw it at the woman. She brought her
arms up to defend herself. The purse hit the woman’s hands and face. Victoria punched her in the stomach. It hurt a lot, but she did it. Then she kicked the woman again, and when she was down, slammed her head onto the tile floor.

  Someone entered the bathroom. The young woman tugged on her companion’s arm, probably her daughter, and the two of them left.

  Victoria went through the woman’s pockets. All she found was a picture of herself. Nothing else, not even ID. Victoria shoved the photo into a pocket in her purse. Then she pulled out a penlight. She lifted the woman’s arm and shone the black light on the skin on the inside of her forearm.

  Bingo. She lifted her own arm and shone it there as well. Like it would have disappeared since the last time? She shook her head and stowed her flashlight before clambering to her feet with a hiss.

  She grabbed a bundle of paper towels and shoved them over the wound, between her blouse and her skin. Who knew what that woman had hit? She held her elbow over the suit jacket she wore and checked her hair in the mirror before leaving the bathroom.

  Now she really needed that coffee.

  Victoria strode out of the bathroom just as security raced there from the opposite direction. She followed the signs for baggage claim and took that way out of the airport, hailing a cab at the curb.

  She needed clothes and a new way home if Langdon knew she was here—plus security would be looking for her. Probably she also needed stitches. Then a rental car, which she’d drive to Boise. She could fly to Seattle from there. It would take all day, but what else was there to do? She had to get home.

  In the cab, Victoria pulled out her phone and stared at it for a while.

  Then she called Talia.

  Chapter 4

  Seattle, WA. Thursday 6.47p.m.

  Mark showed his badge and got checked in through security at the office of Homeland Security in downtown Seattle. It wasn’t far from the FBI office, but he’d had to finish up his work day before he could get over here. Thankfully Talia was still in the office.