“Grayslake.” He’d decided to answer the call.
“I’m going to call you once you reach your car.”
Merrick froze. It was the first contact he’d had with the mystery caller since he’d picked up the cell phones. And how, he mused, did the person know he was leaving for the day? Was something at the CIA monitoring his whereabouts?
“I assume you’re going to call me on the phone with the lowest serial number?”
“You assume right. I’ll call you in a few minutes.”
Merrick was tempted not to leave, but then what? Would the sicko call him back on the government’s line? He would leave as planned. Whoever it was that sought to push his buttons had succeeded because he was anxious to uncover just what the person wanted.
It took Merrick ten minutes to get an elevator and make it down to the parking lot. As soon as he sat behind the wheel, the disposable phone rang.
“What do you want?” His greeting was brusque, rude, but he was beyond caring about social etiquette.
“I want you to meet me.”
“Where?” Merrick listened when he was told the address.
“That’s not a very nice neighborhood,” he drawled sarcastically.
“That’s why I want you to meet me there. The only vermin you’ll encounter will be of the two- and four-legged variety.”
He’d been instructed to go to a crime-infested section of D.C. only blocks from where he’d been assaulted and left to die years before. Unlocking the glove compartment, he took out a small automatic handgun and secured it in the small of his back.
“Come alone and come unarmed.”
“I’m coming alone.”
“Don’t bring the firearm.”
It was too dark in the parking lot for Merrick to see if someone was watching every move he made. After all, he was sitting in the parking lot at CIA headquarters with high-tech surveillance equipment everywhere.
“Goodbye.”
“Wait…don’t hang up.”
A small smile of triumph parted Merrick’s lips. “Are you saying I can bring the gun?”
“Bring it. Come to the second floor. I’ll see you in an hour.”
The call ended and Merrick saw a message flashing the number of remaining minutes. Their conversation had lasted exactly two minutes.
Merrick started up his truck, driving away from Langley toward southeast D.C. He hadn’t gotten more than a mile when he remembered Alex’s phone call about finding a house. He activated the hands-free device and dialed her number.
“Hi, baby.”
Merrick smiled. “Hi, yourself. I’m calling to let you know I’ll be late.”
“How late?”
“I’m not certain. But I don’t think it’s going to take too long. Put away your pots. We’ll eat out tonight, and then you can show me our new house.”
“Thank you, Merrick!”
His smile widened. “You’re welcome, Ali.”
Merrick continued to talk to his wife until he turned down the street to the address his caller had given him. Slowing, he peered at the dilapidated and burned-out buildings lining the block. A hand-painted number in fluorescent paint shimmered in the darkness on the last house on the street. Someone really wanted him to find the building. He parked across the street.
Merrick alighted from his truck at the same time he reached around his back and gripped the handle of the holstered automatic. The gun was small enough for him to palm it easily.
He entered the building, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the light from a dim naked bulb hanging from a frayed wire. He tested the first stair. It groaned beneath his weight, but held. Counting the number of stairs, he made it to the second-floor landing. Firearm drawn, he knocked on the door.
“Come in,” ordered the diffused voice.
Pushing open the door, Merrick was assailed with the smell of stale urine and other unidentifiable odors. He automatically reached for a wall switch but quickly discovered there was no electricity. There came the distinctive scrape of a match, followed by the smell of sulfur, then the weak flickering flame of a candle.
“Sit down,” came the disembodied voice. Merrick complied, reaching for a wooden crate, and sat down. “This will not take long because I know you want to go home to your very pretty wife.”
“Who the hell are you?”
“You don’t need to know who I am. Not yet.”
“And you don’t need to bring my wife into this,” Merrick retorted.
“She’s in it because she is your wife.”
“This is not about her, is it?”
“No. It’s about your mother.”
Merrick closed his eyes. “What about her?”
“I know who killed Victoria Grayslake.”
Chapter 28
Merrick swayed slightly before righting himself. He tightened his grip on the gun butt. “Why are you telling me this?” His query was whispered. “Why don’t you expose the murderer?”
“She wasn’t my mother.”
“She abandoned me, so why should I feel anything for her?”
“She abandoned you to save your life.”
Merrick closed his eyes for several seconds. “In other words she sacrificed herself for me?”
“It was the ultimate sacrifice. Your mother was an undercover DEA special agent assigned to the Mexican border region. She’d infiltrated a group who’d operated openly and without impunity between the U.S. and Mexico.
“She’d been assigned to gather evidence to put several high-ranking Mexican Federales, at least eight U.S. Border Patrol agents and two Texas and Arizona ranchers in prison for the rest of their lives.
“Victoria, who’d discovered she was pregnant, requested a leave but before she was scheduled to depart Mexico she was abducted and held prisoner until it was time for her to give birth.”
“Are you saying someone blew her cover?” Merrick asked perceptively.
“Yes. A senior agent gave her up.”
“What happened?”
“Victoria was flown by private jet to a ranch in south Texas where she delivered a son. The baby boy was left in a church. Victoria’s body was discovered weeks later in a shallow grave near the Mexican border. She’d been tortured, her tongue cut out, then shot in the back of the head.”
“How do you know all this? And why are you telling me about something that happened more than thirty years ago?”
“I was her partner on one undercover mission, and I swore an oath that I would always protect her.”
“It’s apparent you didn’t protect her. What do you expect me to do?” Merrick asked.
“I want you to expose the man who eventually became an associate director for the DEA. I want you to bring down the son of a bitch who ordered the hit on Victoria Grayslake.”
“You expect me to take revenge for someone I never knew?”
“I can understand your reluctance, but Victoria gave up everything to have you. If she hadn’t compromised her mission you wouldn’t be here. She forfeited her life so that you could enjoy your life, your wife and await the birth of your own child.”
Merrick longed to spring across the space and snatch the man by the throat. He wanted to know who was it that knew so much about him. “What do you mean she compromised her mission?”
“She cut a deal—her baby for the identities of undercover field agents.”
“How do you know this?”
“It was on videotape. It sent shock waves through the DEA. Agents were pulled, assigned to desk duty or transferred to other agencies. It was the administration’s most serious breach in security and the fallout was catastrophic. Victoria was tried in absentia, charged with treason and sentenced to life in prison. The man responsible for her death was promoted and is now a very influential D.C. lobbyist.”
“Victoria is gone, she can’t be vindicated and you want me to take this person out? Other than my being the son of Victoria Grayslake, you’re going to have to give me another reason.”<
br />
“He knows who you are, and he’s afraid that one day you may decide to seek retribution for what he did to your mother.”
“If that’s true, then why hasn’t he tried to take me out?”
“He did try.”
Merrick froze, holding his breath until he felt his lungs exploding. The roaring in his head intensified and he felt faint. He let out a lungful of constricted breath. He knew the answer even before he asked it.
“When?”
“When you were shot and left on the corner two blocks from here. The woman who’d asked you to meet her was also in on the conspiracy.”
Merrick closed his eyes, reliving the scene as if it were yesterday. Corrine Grice, who’d moved into the apartment building in Silver Spring a month after he had, was the consummate neighbor. She picked up his newspaper when he failed to stop delivery because the Company hadn’t given him enough notice whenever they called for a new mission. And whenever she cooked too much she shared what she had with him.
There was never anything personal about their relationship, so a year later when Corrine told Merrick that she planned to buy property in a less-than-desirable section of D.C. because she was tired of paying rent he offered to help her with her fixer-upper.
He spent hours painting the kitchen and bathroom, and when he told Corrine he was going home she came on to him like a cat in heat. More shocked than repulsed, he told her that he didn’t see her in that way and left, running headlong into three men whose intent was to rob him. What he’d thought was a botched robbery in reality had been a conspiracy for murder.
“Where is Corrine?”
“She and her three flunkies were found a little well done in a burned-out establishment around the corner. No witnesses, no blame.”
Seconds ticked off into a minute before Merrick said, “Who is he?”
“Chandler Duffy.”
A sardonic smile twisted Merrick’s mouth. “Chandler Duffy. The unofficial president of the United States.”
“The same,” confirmed what Merrick now thought of as the voice.
“Why don’t you go after him yourself?”
“I can’t.”
“Well, neither can I,” Merrick argued softly. “If I’m going to do it legally, then you know I’m prohibited from collecting foreign intelligence concerning the domestic activities of U.S. citizens. That falls under the jurisdiction of the Bureau.”
“I’ll provide you with what you need to go after Duffy.”
“Whatever you tell me I’ll have to pass along to my superiors.”
“I don’t give a flying fig who pinches him. It could be CIA, FBI, DEA, ATF, Secret Service or the friggin’ Boy Scouts of America.”
Merrick nodded, doubting whether his informant could see him. “I’ll see what I can do.” He stood up. “Now, if you’ll excuse me I have to go home and get out of these clothes.”
“I’ll be in touch,” said the voice.
“Oh, I’m sure you will.”
Merrick gripped the gun as he made his way down the rickety staircase and out into the crisp cold air. He sucked in a lungful before letting it out. The cloying stench of human and animal waste lingered in his nostrils.
Merrick drove back to Arlington. He stood outside the door and had Alex bring him a large plastic garbage bag. Not concerned with who saw him in his birthday suit, he stripped off his clothes and shoes and left them in the bag on the floor outside the door.
It was only after he’d showered and washed his hair, twice, that he felt clean again.
Chapter 29
All eyes on the gun range were focused on Merrick Grayslake as he executed his marksmanship skills. Using his right hand, he fired at the target, all sixteen rounds hitting dead center. Expelling the spent clip, he inserted another and repeated the action with his left hand.
A spattering of applause followed the awesome exhibition as Merrick took off the protective gear covering his eyes and ears. He ignored those standing around talking quietly amongst themselves. He’d come to the gun range to let out some of his pent-up frustration.
He’d reacted like an automaton when Alex parked in front of the home where she wanted them to live. He told her he liked the style of the house, the neighborhood and the shopping area. What he couldn’t tell her was what he’d gleaned earlier that afternoon. That he knew about Victoria Grayslake, who she’d worked for and how she’d died. It haunted him that she’d agreed to give up names of undercover agents to save the life of her unborn child.
Chandler Duffy. The name played over and over in his head, becoming a litany. The former DEA supervisor had set up Victoria Grayslake to be tortured and executed. Why? Merrick asked himself over and over, unable to come up with a plausible explanation.
Retribution. The word seeped into his consciousness, nagging at him like a gnawing ache. Duffy had to pay, not only because he was responsible for an agent’s death; he also had the blood of four hired thugs, five if they’d killed him, on his hands and who knew how many more?
Whether it was retribution, revenge, payback or reprisal, Chandler Duffy knew who he was and Merrick Grayslake knew Chandler. It was time for him to level the playing field, settle the score.
He’d come to work earlier than usual, hoping to meet with Carl Ashleigh or William Reid, but was told that the two men were out of the building. Merrick knew he couldn’t do anything to Duffy unless he cleared it with Ashleigh and/or Reid. Until then he would take his stress and frustration out on the gun range target.
Ashleigh and Reid returned to CIA headquarters later that afternoon and were told that Merrick Grayslake needed to speak to them ASAP. They shared a knowing look, then summoned him. He was forthcoming when he told them of his meeting with the voice.
Ashleigh spoke first. “Chandler Duffy is no small-time punk looking to make a big score. He’s been peddling influence in Washington for two decades, and everyone knows he’s the best at what he does.”
Lacing his fingers together, Ashleigh avoided Merrick’s gaze. “He’s what you’d call a power broker extraordinaire. He has backed our last two presidents.”
“Do you have anything on him?” Merrick asked.
William Reid looked at Ashleigh, who nodded. “Duffy’s name has come up in connection with his firm accepting cash payments from the head of an African nation who has been accused of human rights violations and rumored to offer refuge to known terrorists.”
Merrick’s gray gaze shifted from Reid to Ashleigh. “How do you know this and where do we fit into that equation?”
A rare smile found its way to Ashleigh’s pale eyes. “We’ve uncovered an offshore account in Duffy’s wife’s name, and there’s been talk that he brokered a deal for several senators and for our incumbent president’s opponent to meet secretly with this leader.”
This wasn’t the news Merrick wanted to hear because personally he liked the man who was certain to receive his party’s nomination to run against the weak and ineffective incumbent president.
“I’d like to request permission to head the team to investigate Duffy.”
Ashleigh shook his head. “I don’t know, Grayslake. It wouldn’t work, because something of this nature would be too personal for you.”
Leaning forward, Merrick impaled him with a lethal stare. “I’m not going to lie and say it’s not personal. But I didn’t have to come to tell you what went down last night. I could’ve gotten into my vehicle, stalked Duffy and taken him out at a thousand yards with one bullet, one kill. Far enough away to see his head explode, and far enough away not to have pieces of his DNA on me.
“The fact that I’ve come back to the Company is like waving a red flag in front of Duffy. Unlike the last time, I’ll be ready for him and his hired thugs. But what I won’t do is put my family at risk. Either you approve me going after Duffy legally or I’ll take care of him my way. And you both know how that will end.”
If Merrick Grayslake had been any other subordinate Ashleigh would’ve written him up.
The director had half hoped Grayslake would take the bait, but it’d gone better than they’d planned because Duffy wasn’t above killing women. And because Grayslake, dubbed the “Lone Wolf” by those involved in Operation Backslap, had taken a mate it made the mission that much more personal.
“Okay, Grayslake,” Ashleigh said grudgingly. “You can be first chair on this one. Do you want to pick your team or do you want to leave that to me?”
“We can do it together.”
Carl Ashleigh felt a measure of relief for the first time since he’d been ordered to indirectly involve Merrick Grayslake in the mission to neutralize Duffy.
“Good. Let’s get together at the end of the first week in January.” He flipped a page in his planner and circled a date. “If I can’t get someone else to lead the sniper training, then we’ll put it off until you close out the Duffy investigation.” He closed his planner, struggling not to do the happy dance. He’d lied to Merrick. There never was going to be a sniper-training course. “If you need some time off to make arrangements to protect your wife, then take it.” He stared at Merrick, then his assistant. “Gentlemen, this meeting is over.”
Merrick left the conference room and returned to his office. Propping his elbows on the desk, he covered his face with his hands. How, he thought, was he going to tell Alex that she would have to stay in Florida with her parents until Duffy was either in custody—or dead? He lowered his hands and stared at a wall calendar displaying eighteen instead of the usual twelve months. He’d circled the last day in April—the day Victoria Cole-Grayslake was predicted to make her appearance.
Chapter 30
Alex’s plan to change her flight reservation to leave Virginia with Merrick backfired. The snow, which had begun falling two days before Christmas, continued nonstop for three days and two nights. Snow totals from Maine to portions of West Virginia averaged more than two feet.
It would become the first Christmas that the second generation of Coles, Kirklands and Grayslakes would not celebrate Christmas and New Year’s in West Palm Beach, Florida. Gabriel and Summer, Michael and Jolene and Merrick and Alexandra were unable to leave their homes.
Stranger in my Arms Page 24