The American rk-1

by Andrew Britton

Worst of all were her eyes. They reflected what she had recently seen, made her look scared when she needed to be confident and assertive, at least for the next few hours. Then she would be free to have her breakdown, which she was actually beginning to look forward to. After several minutes of scrubbing and adjusting, she emerged from the restroom looking just marginally better. She purchased two large cups of coffee from the attendant and tried to avoid his curious gaze.

  She left the car where it was and crossed the street, simultaneously glancing at her watch. It was almost 11:30, much later than she would have liked for this conversation to occur, but tracking down Lindsay Hargrove had proven to be an incredibly time-consuming task. Naomi had finally managed to get hold of Hargrove’s sister in Clarksburg, West Virginia, where Lindsay had apparently been staying for the week. She was now heading back to Virginia, and unfortunately didn’t carry a cell phone. The sister had informed Naomi, however, that Lindsay fully intended to stop by the office on her way home.

  And that was why she was here. The woman she wanted to talk to was a long shot for additional information, but better than nothing at all. Hargrove, whose name had been on the Missing Persons Report faxed to the TTIC, had seemed like a better bet than the realtor’s husband, who wouldn’t have had any reason to meet his wife’s clients. Hargrove, on the other hand, had been working for Nicole Milbery for the past four years. Naomi was guessing that the woman might know more than she thought she did, despite the fact that she had already talked to the sheriff’s office. At this point, all Naomi could do was hope that they might have been asking the wrong questions.

  Once she was outside the office, she didn’t have to wait long before a white Nissan Altima pulled into one of the empty spaces in front of the building, and an elderly woman hopped out with surprising agility. Hargrove’s smile quickly faded to concern when she saw the state of the woman standing before her. “My God,” she said, with genuine alarm. “What happened to you, hon?”

  Kharmai studied her as she unlocked the door and they moved inside. Hargrove was a plump woman in her late sixties, with a pleasant demeanor and healthy skin that belied her age. Naomi liked her immediately, and saw no reason to lie. “My name is Naomi Kharmai, Mrs. Hargrove. I was on Chamberlayne Road this morning.”

  The older woman’s eyes went wide as she took a seat and offered one to her visitor. Hargrove gratefully accepted a cup of coffee and didn’t question who Naomi was, or how she knew her name. “That raid that was all over television? You were there?”

  Naomi nodded. “Unfortunately.”

  “It was the only thing on the news… Are they any closer to finding Nicole?” she asked hopefully.

  Naomi didn’t have the heart to tell her that Milbery’s body had already been found in a shallow grave on the property, along with a red Ford Escape that had been driven deep into the undergrowth and strategically covered with mud and fallen tree limbs. That piece of information had yet to make its way into the local news, and it wouldn’t help matters to share it now. “They haven’t found anything yet, Mrs. Hargrove, but they’re still looking.”

  The older woman’s faded blue eyes began to mist over. “She’s such a good girl… I hope she’s okay. I just don’t understand it. Usually, I’m pretty good at reading people, but that man really fooled me, I don’t mind telling you. He must be the devil himself.”

  “The one who leased the property?” Naomi asked. Hargrove nodded in agreement, but Naomi was confused. “Wait… How did you know that’s why I’m here?”

  “My son-in-law is a state trooper,” Hargrove explained. There was a touch of pride in her eyes. “I asked him to keep me up-to-date, so he called me when your department asked for additional information.”

  Naomi frowned inwardly at the VSP’s lack of discretion, but told herself to let it go for the moment. “Could you tell me exactly what happened, Mrs. Hargrove?”

  The older woman shifted her weight in the seat and nodded enthusiastically. “We were pretty slow on the day he came in. Nicole whisked him right into her office. She didn’t say anything specific, but I saw that look in her eye… You know that woozy look a young woman gets when she sees a diamond necklace or a pair of shoes she really wants?”

  Naomi couldn’t help but smile at the analogy. “I’ve probably had it myself, more than once,” she offered.

  Hargrove shot her a knowing smile in turn. “I’m sure you have, hon. Anyway, that was the look that Nicole had. I knew what she was thinking, too, and her a married woman… Well, that’s another story.”

  “And this man went directly into her office? He didn’t say anything to you at all?”

  “Oh, no,” Hargrove said, taking a small sip of her coffee. “He was very nice and all, charming too, but he only said hello to me. I think he was just as interested in Nicole as she was in him.”

  “How long did he stay?”

  “Not long at all. They were in there for… maybe ten minutes. Then they came out and drove off in Nicole’s SUV.”

  “Together?”

  “Yep.” The older woman smiled at the scandal of it.

  “How did he arrive in the first place?” Naomi asked. “You have some big windows in the front here. You didn’t see him pull up?”

  Hargrove was already shaking her head. “No, I didn’t see anything at all. I already told that to the police.”

  “Are you sure, Mrs. Hargrove? This is really important.”

  “I’m completely sure. Besides, he told me he didn’t have a vehicle.”

  Naomi looked up, suddenly interested. “I thought you said he didn’t talk to you.”

  The older woman frowned. “Well, not coming in, he didn’t…”

  Naomi tried to be patient. “And?”

  “Well, on the way out he mentioned that he didn’t have a vehicle, but was in the market for one. So I asked him what he was looking for, and he said that he wanted a van.”

  “And what did you tell him?” Kharmai felt something stir in her chest, recognized it as excitement.

  Hargrove looked embarrassed. “Well, you see, I have a brother who lives down by Rivers Bend. He quit workin’ recently, so I knew he needed some extra money. And even though he’s pretty worthless, he’s still my brother, so I gave the man Walter’s number.”

  “Walter’s your brother?”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “And he has a van?”

  “Yep. It’s a big one, too. He used it on all his jobs. He was an electrician for twenty years. Not a very good one, mind you.”

  Naomi was confused about something. “Why didn’t you tell the police all of this?”

  The older woman shrugged. She was a little nervous, trying to figure out if she was in trouble or not. “Well, I didn’t see how it would help them find Nicole, for one thing.”

  Naomi had to admit that she had a point there. Up until about twelve hours ago, this had been a routine missing persons investigation, and there had been no reason to suspect one of Milbery’s clients. “And the other reason?”

  “He said that it wasn’t what he was looking for. He didn’t want a big, commercial van… too much on gas, he said. He just wanted something to run around to distributors in Richmond. I guess he was some type of salesman, but I’m not really sure.”

  She thought about that for a second. “How often do you talk to your brother?”

  Lindsay Hargrove shrugged her shoulders once again. “Not all that often. Like I said, he’s kind of no-good. I don’t get nothin’ outta talkin’ to him. In fact, it usually ends up costin ’ me something.”

  “Did you ever find out if he sold the van?”

  A third shrug. “I called him that day to tell him about it, but he didn’t say ‘Thanks for tryin’ or anything like that, so I’ve been givin’ him the cold shoulder ever since. Why?”

  “No reason. What kind of van does your brother have, Mrs. Hargrove? Specifically, I mean.”

  “I can’t be sure, hon, but I think it’s a Ford. A white Ford, and reall
y big.”

  “What about the outside? Anything unusual about it…?”

  “No, not really. It might have a ladder rack. Apart from that, it’s just a plain-old white panel van, maybe a little dinged up. Walter isn’t a very good driver.”

  Naomi got to her feet, sweeping a lock of dirty black hair behind her ear and trying hard not to show her excitement. “That’s great, Mrs. Hargrove. You’ve been very helpful. Do you think I could use your phone?”

  “Sure, hon. Anything you need.” She hesitated. “Um, Walter’s not in trouble, is he?”

  Naomi looked up and said, with complete sincerity, “Trouble? No, not at all. In fact, his information could be vital to national security.”

  “National security? Walter?” Lindsay Hargrove thought about that, appraising the disheveled state of her visitor once again. She lifted an eyebrow. “Huh.”

  When the call came in to the TTIC, Jonathan Harper had to stop her twice before she slowed down enough to give him a coherent account of the conversation.

  When Kharmai was finished, he said, “But you don’t know if the van was actually sold or not?”

  “No, but the story he told her doesn’t sound right to me, sir. Maybe he was just trying to keep her out of the loop, you know? One less witness he’d have to worry about.”

  Harper heard the excitement in her voice, and had to admit that it sounded promising. He looked at his watch. “Jesus, Naomi, they’re wrapping up the speeches right now.”

  She was almost frantic. “Sir, you have to stall them, or at least have them take a different route. He kept coming the whole time, despite every effort on our part to stop him. He knows something, or he would have backed off. He has to know something.”

  “You might be right about that.” He was thinking back to Kealey’s warning about the missing laptops at the State and Justice departments, a warning that they had both quickly dismissed at the time. If Vanderveen had managed to get his hands on something like that, he would have certainly known how to put it to good use. And the Secret Service still hadn’t released their report on the matter. “I’m sending this all the way up, Naomi. I hope to God this isn’t a false alarm.”

  She had never been more sure of anything in her life, but knew that he wasn’t questioning her judgment. It was just that he had to ask it. “He’s there,” she said emphatically. “He’s pushed it too far to stop now. He’s there and he’s waiting.”

  A brief hesitation. “Okay. I gotta run. See if you can pin down Hargrove’s brother, find out for sure what he did with the van. And listen… good work.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  “… And so, I am pleased to join President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi in announcing a gradual downsizing of European oil interests in the Republic of Iran over the next three years, beginning with an immediate decrease in production by 200,000 barrels per day in the South Pars gas fields, and culminating with the complete withdrawal of survey and exploration teams in the region by 2008. Production will also be reduced in the Dorood, Salman, and Abuzar oil fields which, combined, account for more than 70 percent of Iran’s offshore output.

  “The United States has made no secret of the fact that it has maintained sanctions against Iran since 1979. These measures have been strengthened over the years, most notably with the Iran-Libya Sanctions Act of 1996. While it is our wholehearted desire to see these sanctions lifted and the full restoration of diplomatic relations between the U.S. and the Republic of Iran, there should be no doubt that we are willing to stay the course if the Iranian government persists in its attempts to acquire tools of mass destruction.”

  President Brenneman paused, then held up his hand to quell the sudden surge of voices from the crowd of reporters standing before him. “I’d like to take this opportunity to personally thank President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi for accepting my invitation, and for working as hard as they have to make this goal a reality. The agreement that has been brokered here today is the direct result of their commitment to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty and its intended purpose: to render the threat of nuclear war a thing of the past, and to make the world a safer place for future generations. Now I’d like to step aside and let them tell you more about the specific implementations that are scheduled to occur…”

  As she surveyed the scene, Jodie Rivers shook her head and thought, This is insane. Despite the fact that the guest list had been kept to a minimum and carefully screened, the area bordering the waterfront was packed by more than 200 people, each and every one of whom, in her eyes, was a potential threat.

  The three heads of state were standing on an elevated podium perhaps 50 feet wide and 20 feet deep. President Brenneman was moving aside to give the French ambassador room as he stepped up to introduce President Chirac. Although there were large numbers of Diplomatic Security and Secret Service agents both on and around the podium, Rivers was well aware that this was a huge security risk. As a result, her eyes never left the stage, even when she flipped open her ringing cell phone and lifted it to her ear. She definitely didn’t appreciate the interruption.

  “Agent Rivers? This is Director Landrieu.”

  She recognized the urgency in his voice immediately, and felt suddenly cold. “Yes, sir.”

  “Let me start by saying this is a four-way line. You’re talking to Deputy Directors McCabe and Susskind as well. Listen carefully. We have some information that puts Vanderveen in the city with an Improvised Explosive Device. I can’t give you better than 90 percent on that, but it was enough to put the wheels in motion, and I don’t need to tell you who the target is.”

  Dear God, she thought. Her worst nightmare was coming true, and she had to force herself to pay attention.

  “…Rivers? Are you still with me?”

  “Yes, sir. Go ahead.”

  “You’re looking for a white Ford van, commercial type, probably an Econoline. We don’t have a plate number or a name for you yet, but we’re only a couple of minutes away, so keep your line open.”

  “What about the-”

  “Jodie.” It was a new voice, and one she recognized immediately. “AIC Storey has already been alerted. We’re gonna keep the question-and-answer session with the press pool going as long as we can without arousing any suspicion, okay? We finally got through to the people in Norfolk… Under the name of Timothy Nichols, Vanderveen took possession of forty crates at a total weight of just over 3,000 pounds less than two weeks ago.”

  Her eyes went wide at the numbers. “Jesus, the city is packed-”

  When he cut back in, McCabe’s voice had the clear ring of authority. “Listen to me, Jodie: Your only concern is for the president, okay? You have that waterfront locked down, I’ve seen it myself. There’s nothing Vanderveen can do to you there unless he’s suicidal, and the general consensus, the hope, is that he isn’t. Normally we’d move the president as fast and far as possible, but that’s not going to work in this case. So we’ll keep him at the marina for now; Storey knows what to do, just follow his lead. As soon as I get off here, I’m headed to your location.”

  Yet another voice, coming fast before she could respond: “Agent Rivers, this is Emily Susskind. HRT is already up and running. They’re fanning out around the area, and some are in plainclothes, okay? You need to get that to your observers as soon as possible. I don’t want my people getting shot by mistake.”

  She was nodding to herself as the instructions came fast over the phone. “Got it.”

  Then, from Deputy Director Susskind: “Hold on.” Over the sounds of the crowd around her, Rivers heard static and voices raised in excitement. It seemed like minutes later when McCabe came on and said, “Got a name, Jodie. Claude Bidault, French national. The vehicle was registered in Virginia less than a month ago. Plate number is… RND-1911. Ready for a description?”

  “Go.”

  “Black hair and brown eyes. He might have a beard, but that’s not 100 percent. A little heavier than Vanderveen, at about 200 pound
s. We’re not sure how he’s doing that; padding, maybe. Same height, of course. There’s nothing he could do there.”

  “I’ll get it out to my observers.” Rivers was a little bit frantic now. “Sir, I have to move.”

  “I know.” McCabe’s voice was tense over the line. “Get to it, Jodie.”

  Ryan had been on the street for two-and-a-half hours. Nothing so far had grabbed his attention, although he had to remind himself that Vanderveen wasn’t exactly going out of his way to appear conspicuous.

  There had been nothing planned out or expedient in his route; he had headed north from 7th and Maine, scanning faces and checking vehicles along the way. There wasn’t much he could do other than to look through the windows and drop down to visually inspect the undercarriages, and his strange behavior had earned him some curious glances, as well as a few fearful ones.

  He recognized the futility of his search, but there was one overriding fact that bothered him more than anything else: there was no feasible way to detonate a bomb by command wire on a crowded city street, and a timer wasn’t practical, either, even if Vanderveen had somehow managed to get hold of the Secret Service’s list of scheduled movements.

  In other words, the only realistic way for Vanderveen to succeed was by remote detonation, which meant that he would be close by in an overwatch position. Kealey knew the man well enough to know that he would detonate the device regardless of whether the president was in target range; the public would believe it because of what they had seen him do to the Kennedy-Warren on national television, but proof enough for Ryan was the raised scar that resided an inch to the right of his own sternum.

  He stayed on 7th until the National Air and Space Museum appeared on his right, then crossed the street onto the wide open space of the Mall. Heading northwest over the grass, with the dome of the Capitol Building framed high at his back, he smiled at the excited noises coming from a group of schoolchildren who were lined up at the glass doors to the Smithsonian. The smile soon faded, though, as he was too tightly wound to share in their enthusiasm. For all he knew, their bus might be passing Vanderveen’s position on its way back to their school…