by Ellen Butler
The FBI looked skeptical, but nobody bothered to correct him.
We leaned against the SUV, arranged like some ragtag police lineup—Rick at one end, Jessica next to him in a red power suit, me in my stained navy pants suit, Rodrigo in jeans and sweaty madras shirt, Josh and Jin still wearing tactical gear—while FBI agents bustled around taking photos and gathering evidence.
Upon arrival, Jessica declared all of us her clients, and would only allow us to tell the bare bones of facts. Any agent asking questions—McGill had sent a few our way—had been shooed away by a single word and a flick of Jessica’s wrist. I knew our silence would only take us so far. Soon enough, we’d have to tell the story. Now we watched the show and waited.
The X-Files sang out.
“Isn’t that your FBI friend?” Rodrigo pointed to the phone in my hand, which I stared at as if it was an adder ready to strike. “You should get that.”
“Maybe later.” I sent him to voicemail. I had an inkling our next conversation wasn’t going to be pretty.
I should have known he wouldn’t leave it be. A minute later, an FBI agent with a blonde ponytail and aviator sunglasses came over to me.
“Are you Karina Cardinal?” she asked in a no-nonsense way.
“That would be me.”
“This is for you.” She passed me her cell phone.
My stomach knotted. “Hello?”
“K.C.?”
“Hey, Mike, what’s up?”
“Not much. I got your message,” he said in a monotone voice.
“Oh, riiiight.” I pressed two fingers against my temple. “You can disregard it. Everything is fine. We’re all fine.” I tried to convey nonchalance.
“So, I understand.” There was hardness to his response.
Divert! Divert! my mind screamed. “Did you get your man?”
“As a matter of fact, I did. We’re transporting him home tonight.”
“Good for you,” I injected jovially.
Mike seemed to be waiting for me to say something more.
I didn’t give him the satisfaction.
He finally broke the quiet. “And, you? Anything new to report?”
“Not really.”
“Nothing?” It’s amazing how much sarcasm can be infused into one word.
“Oh, you want to know about Rivkin?”
“You’re testing my patience.” I’m pretty sure he spoke through gritted teeth.
“Well, I’m here with a bunch of FBI agents, Rodrigo, my lawyer Jessica—you remember meeting her at my house—right? Also, Rick and Josh, from Silverthorne—your favorite security specialists.”
Jin, three people down, leaned forward and cocked his head at me.
“Oh, and Jin too. He helped us trap Rivkin as he stalked us down the highway.” Jin gave me a thumbs-up which I returned. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you, there’s been another murder. Karen Ferngull is dead. Rivkin garroted—garroted . . . is that the right word? Anyway, he did her in. I didn’t see it, but apparently it was pretty gross. Rodrigo lost his lunch.” I got a sock to the shoulder for that one.
What? I mouthed at my coworker.
Mike made a choking sound.
“TMI? Don’t worry, the ME has already tagged and bagged her. Considering Rodrigo’s reaction, I didn’t watch. The rest of the team is scurrying around like squirrels, photographing, collecting evidence . . . you know the drill. I think we’re also waiting for a wrecker to come for the car. It’ll undoubtedly be sent back to some forensics lab. But I’m sure you know that too. We’re just waiting for everyone to clear out. Basically, our cars are trapped until they do.”
“K.C.—”
“Any who,” I continued, ignoring the warning in his voice. “Your boys already took Rivkin away, for interrogation purposes, I imagine. Did I forget anything?”
I looked left and right. Everyone stared straight ahead except my officemate.
“Did you tell him Rivkin shot out my passenger mirror?” Rodrigo piped up. “Who’s going to pay for that? Will the FBI cover it?”
“Rodrigo wants to know if the FBI will pay for his busted mirror? The one that Rivkin shot out.”
Silence.
“Mike? Are you still there? Will the FBI reimburse Rodrigo for his mirror?”
“Those are like three hundred dollars to fix,” Rodrigo spoke into the mouthpiece.
More nothing.
“Mike? Hello? You haven’t stroked out, have you?”
“Please pass the phone back to Agent Reinhart.”
“You mean the blonde?”
“Yes.”
“Okey doke. Good talk.” I let out a sharp whistle—Agent Reinhart hadn’t gone too far—and wiggled the phone when I caught her attention. “He wants a word.”
She took the cell. “Hello? Yes. . . . No. . . . Uh-huh. . . . I see. No, we didn’t. I’m on it.”
Lucky for me, the phone went back into her pocket. I guess Mike didn’t have anything more to say to me right now. I wasn’t looking forward to the next time we spoke.
“Which one of you is Rodrigo?” she asked.
Three of us pointed to my coworker.
“I understand your side mirror was shot?”
“Yes, it was,” Rodrigo said proudly.
“Show me.”
He left our questionable cast of characters to show Reinhart the Subaru’s broken mirror. “Can you fix it?”
“I’m an FBI agent, not an auto mechanic. It needs to be entered into evidence.”
“What does that mean?” His voice faded as they went around the SUV and I didn’t hear her answer.
We all heard Rodrigo’s response: “What? NO! Not my car!”
I suspected Agent Reinhart just told Rodrigo his vehicle was going to be impounded for evidence.
Jessica sighed and pushed herself away from the SUV. “I’d better go help him. Not a word.” She pointed at all of us.
I checked our lineup. Rick sported his normal straight face, but Josh was shaking from holding his laughter, and Jin had broken into a wide grin.
“Don’t laugh now, Jin. We wouldn’t want to ruin a hot streak. Not within hours of your last outburst.”
“You can’t take my baby! Karina! This is all your fault!” Rodrigo hollered.
An unguarded chuckle escaped from Jin.
“Damnit.” Josh pulled his wallet out and passed a twenty to Rick’s outstretched hand.
I tutted, “I told you not to bet against me, my friend.”
Rick shook his head. “I pity Agent Finnegan.”
Much to his distress and Jessica’s ire, another wrecker came to take Rodrigo’s car away. Jessica negotiated with the FBI, and we were allowed to retrieve our personal belongings after it had all been photographed. I didn’t understand the necessity for taking Rodrigo’s car, and I began to wonder if this was simply Mike’s way of getting back at us for disregarding his request. Though that seemed a bit petty.
I lost track of time. Full darkness descended, and the moon peeked over the rooftops before FBI cars began rolling out. Finally, Director McGill approached our motley group.
“We need statements from each one of you,” he said.
My stomach rumbled. It’d been awhile since my last meal, and Rodrigo’s stakeout snacks went with the wrecker. I’ll admit, I regretted declining his generous offer to share the BBQ chips hours ago. “Do you think we could do it over a Big Mac and fries? I’m starving.”
“Director McGill, my clients have had a trying day. Perhaps we could take statements in the morning.”
“Jess—Ms. Williams, as I’m sure you’re aware, witness statements immediately after an incident are vital.”
“Fine. But, they need some food, and we’ll do this all at once. We’re not splitting them up and playing FBI interrogation tactics. Remember, my clients are the heroes here. They’ve helped capture an international fugitive.”
Leon didn’t look happy about that, but he conceded.
Rodrigo and I rode in Jess
ica’s car, while the Silverthorne boys followed in the SUV, to an FBI facility in Crystal City, Virginia. They got us sub sandwiches and chips and put us in a nice conference room with cushy swivel chairs. Much better than the gray interrogation cell I’d been fearing. We shared the day’s events as they played out chronologically. McGill occasionally interjected with clarification questions. It turned out Rick’s lawyer was in Bermuda, so Jessica remained as his attorney. He basically spoke for his crew using short sentences without much elaboration. Rick wasn’t known for lengthy exposition. He might have left out the part where there were other men as part of the take down. I tried to keep it short and sweet. On the other hand, Rodrigo, better known for expansive descriptions, had to be quelled a few times by a simple look from Jessica. One might call it a glare. I mentioned the only real piece of information that Rivkin gave us—Troika Star was the tip of the iceberg, and there seemed to be a conspiracy afoot when it came to Harper’s and Finley’s death.
My testimony was duly recorded with a head nod and surprisingly little interest, as though I’d just told them crows are black. Either the FBI already knew those little bits, or they didn’t deem it important to the investigation. I preferred to believe the former.
“Well, I think that wraps it up.” Leon finally closed his handwritten notes into a file folder, the two other agents in the room did the same.
“What will happen to Rivkin?” I asked.
“We’ll interrogate him. Try to find out what he knows.”
“Trained Mossad?” I rolled my eyes. “Ha. He won’t crack. You’ll have to make him a deal.”
“Don’t worry, Ms. Cardinal. We’ve got things under control.”
“I’m saying, he knows. He knows who’s responsible. You need to do whatever it takes to make him tell you.” I pounded the table in frustration.
Leon’s brows drew together, Josh’s head shook ever so slightly, and Jessica turned her hard stare on me.
I drew back. “Never mind. I’m sure you’ve got this in the bag. I apologize. It’s been . . . a long day.”
“Indeed, it has.” My lawyer wheeled her chair back and rose. “Since we’re through here, I think it’s time my clients got some rest.”
We gathered our things. Josh offered to give me and Rodrigo a lift. Rodrigo took him up on it, but Jessica insisted, since I lived in the opposite direction, she could take me home. I suspected she had some words of wisdom to impart.
As soon as we exited the underground parking garage, she started, “What did Rivkin tell you?”
“I don’t know what you mean.”
“Someone punched him before the FBI showed up. What did he say?”
“That he wanted to kill me. It wasn’t a job for him. He made it personal. I think I kind of . . . grated on his nerves.”
“Karina . . .” She brought the car to a stop at a red light. “How do you get yourself into these messes?”
“I’ve no idea.”
Her brows rose in disbelief.
“Seriously, I promised Mike I was out of it. It was Rodrigo. He pulled me back in,” I said in my best Michael Corleone impression.
My lawyer simply stared with brows raised.
“Hey, it can’t be that bad. We just apprehended an international criminal.”
The light turned green and she returned her attention to the road. “That’s what concerns me.”
I had no adequate response. Instead, I directed her to my office so I could pick up my car. Fortunately, rush hour had long since passed and the uncomfortable ride only lasted a few minutes.
Chapter Twenty-six
I dropped my purse and computer bag by the door, kicked off my ruined pumps in the hallway, and collapsed on the couch. Any sort of adrenaline coursing through my veins from all the excitement had long worn off, leaving me physically drained. Unfortunately, the passage of time hadn’t had the same effect on my mind, and it took awhile before the relative peace of my apartment worked like a balm to quiet the stormy thoughts.
We had captured a professional assassin. A killer. Murderer. That felt good. I knew, tomorrow, I’d go back to work and carry on with the mundane day-to-day. Thank heavens. Catching bad guys was stressful. And a little dangerous.
Of course, there was that last bit of information that Rivkin didn’t supply, which was going to drive me nuts. “Follow the money.” Clearly, there was a conspiracy surrounding Finley’s and Harper’s murders, and I was dying to get to the root cause. I had Teason and J & P. Who else made up the motley group of murderers? Were these companies so concerned about the possibility of legislation that would cut into their profit margins that they’d kill for it? Or was there something more? Something deeper? I wondered if the FBI would get what they wanted out of Rivkin. Or, maybe the guy Mike apprehended would confess.
My phone blinked a calendar reminder at me. I’d scheduled the first appointment with a security company at seven, before work. It was past midnight, too late to call and cancel, so I dragged myself through the shower and fell into my fluffy bed, utterly beat.
I must have forgotten to set my alarm because the X-Files ringtone woke me at half past six. I’d also forgotten to charge my phone, and the little red bar blinked at me.
“Morning,” I mumbled. “If you’re going to yell at me, could we table it until lunch?”
“Rivkin’s dead.”
I shot upright, all thoughts of returning to sleep gone. “What? What do you mean, he’s dead? What happened?”
“He was in a holding cell. Someone got to him. Slit his throat. Guard found him this morning.”
“Who was it?” I shoved a wad of hair out of my eyes. “There must be cameras.”
“Working on it.”
“Was it an inside job?”
“I hope not. But it’s not out of the realm of possibility.”
“Do you think the Israelis got to him?”
“Also a possibility.”
Considering Rivkin’s last words to me, I confess, I wasn’t completely brokenhearted over the fact that he was gone. Had he ever escaped . . . well, I wouldn’t have slept again.
“Jeez. What about your hacker? Is he still alive?”
“We have him at—"
The cell cut out. “Damn it.” I reached over to my bedside table to retrieve the landline and dial Mike back.
“K.C.?”
“Sorry, my cell died. What were you saying about the hacker?”
“He’s safe at a different location, and we’ve put a double guard on him.”
“Has he talked?”
“Not yet. We’re letting him stew for a bit.”
“Don’t let him marinate too long. This is dirty. I mean, pig-in-shit dirty. Rivkin said to follow the money. Karen and Teason Pharmaceuticals are definitely in on it. This isn’t some hate crime due to immigration policy.”
“We’re checking all the avenues.”
I ignored his interruption. “Rivkin told us they were only the tip of the iceberg. I got the feeling there was more and connected to someone big. You need to get answers out of the computer nerd. I’m telling you this goes deep.”
“I’m working on it. Are you okay?”
“Me? I’m fine. Why?”
“Why? You’re kidding, right?”
“Oh, you mean yesterday’s business. Yeah, we’re all safe. Although, it wasn’t very nice for the FBI to take Rodrigo’s car just because of one little bullet hole. It’s not like his car had a dead body in it.”
“I’ll see” —Mike let out a big yawn— “what I can do to get it released.”
“Thanks. What about you? You sound tired. Any difficulties getting your man?”
“No. The take down was textbook. Couldn’t have gone any smoother.”
“Great.”
“Yes, great. Yesterday would have been a great day. Except for the message you left.”
I thought back to my panic. “Ah, right. Terribly sorry about that. I was a bit worked up.”
“If I was an older ma
n, a message like that would’ve given me a heart attack.”
“Look on the bright side. You’re still a young man.”
“It aged me a dozen years.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Would you like me to replay it for you?”
“Uh, no.” I had no interest in reliving those desperate moments. They’d snuck unpleasantly into my dreams last night. “Listen, I’ve got to go. I have a security company arriving in fifteen minutes and I’m not dressed yet. Can I call you later?”
“I’ll call you around lunch.”
He rang off and I scrambled around to get dressed and put on makeup, praying the security guy would show up a tad late. He, of course, arrived five minutes early. I liked what he proposed. The price was right, and they could get the system put in on Saturday. I signed on the dotted line and escorted the guy out the door by eight thirty.
On my way to work, I phoned Rick. He answered on the second ring.
“Rivkin’s dead,” I said.
“What happened?”
“Someone got past security. Slit his throat.” I saw no need to sugarcoat it, figuring Rick, being a man of few words, would appreciate my brevity.
He didn’t respond.
There must have been an accident, traffic crawled particularly slowly this morning. “Rick, I know we made threats last night . . . you didn’t, uh, happen to mention to your Israeli friends that the FBI had Rivkin in custody, did you?”
“No, I didn’t. However, I alerted my contact that we had a lead on Rivkin. Karen’s murder made it into the local news. Also, that the FBI had a suspect in custody . . .”
“You think they put two-and-two together?”
“Possibly. I can think of a number of people who would want Rivkin silenced. However, I find it more likely the Israelis would take a diplomatic approach to get him back.”
“The Israeli government, yes. But, Mossad? There must have been some angry folks when Rivkin flipped. Maybe a rogue operation?”
“I can’t say.”
“Let me know if you hear anything.”
“Sure.”
Rick tended to play his hand close to the vest, the way he said that one syllable made me doubt I’d hear back from him on this matter. I changed the subject. “By the way, I hired one of the companies you recommended. They gave me a discount when I mentioned your name.”