A blaring whistle pierced the silence, and a disembodied voice instructed him to approach the door. Heart slamming against his chest, he thought – fuck them. If they wanted him, they could come and get him. The voice repeated the instructions, but he didn’t move. The door swung open and two guards, weapons drawn, strode into the cell. In the hallway outside the door he saw another guard standing with his gun drawn. The spectacle brought the indiscriminate rage bubbling to the surface again. What did all these people think he could do to them?
The taller of the two stern-faced men barked commands and kept a pistol aimed at his chest. “Stand up. Move over here – now.” He stared at them, breathing hard. The guard repeated the commands, and then both of them stepped in front of him.
The shorter of the two rolled his eyes at his companion, holstered his pistol, bent down and got in his face. “Hey, raghead, we’re talking to you.” Rage overflowing, he balled his fist and smashed the man in the mouth as hard as he could.
Chaos ensued as the man fell backward, cursing, blood gushing from a split-open bottom lip. The other guard pounced, rolled him over, and cuffed his hands behind his back. Lifting him upright, the guard turned him around and shoved him back down on the bed. He watched helplessly while the guard who’d stood in the hallway slapped on leg irons. Both of the men were red-faced and out of breath. The other one sat on the floor, a hand over his mouth, blood dripping down his arm.
Glowering at him, the guard from the hallway spoke. “What are you trying to pull? You can’t get away with assaulting federal agents. You’re going to make things a lot more difficult for yourself.”
Jaws clenched, he focused his attention on the grimy cinderblock floor. The barrel of a pistol tapped the side of his head. “Hey, look at me.” Sullen and subdued, he stared at the angry young man. “When you are asked, step to the door and place your hands and feet in the appropriate sliders. That is the procedure at Quantico, and you’re expected to follow it to the letter. Do you understand?”
They could do all kinds of things to him, and they could keep him from doing anything, but goddamn it, they couldn’t make him talk. The two guards looked at each other and the taller one shrugged. “Maybe he doesn’t speak English.” While he sat on the edge of the bed, his nose started to run like it always did, and he sniffed. The other guard frowned at his companion. “Don’t you know who this guy is? He’s the FBI double agent who turned himself in this morning. I’m sure he knows exactly what you’re saying. He’s just stubborn. But that’ll change. It always does. C’mon, we’ve got our orders, so let’s get to it.”
The other guard nodded. “Fine, let’s take care of this.”
Certain he’d earned a beating, he watched the men warily. Each one grabbed an arm and yanked him off the bed. Pulling him toward the door, they waited until their injured colleague scrambled to his feet and stepped ahead of them into the hallway, a white handkerchief plastered to his mouth. The three guards walked him down the hall, around a corner, and then down another hall. After turning yet another corner, they stopped while the injured guard pulled keys from his pocket and unlocked a steel door.
They entered a chilly, cinderblock cell like the one they’d dragged him from, except this one didn’t have a bed, sink or toilet, just an eye bolt drilled into the ceiling and a corresponding one in the floor. What looked like sprinklers were set at intervals in the ceiling and a black surveillance camera with a winking red light was mounted high in a corner of this cell also. Along one wall sat a metal step stool with a thick silver chain draped over its top.
After positioning him in the middle of the room, one guard squatted down and snapped the chain on the leg irons to the eye bolt. The tall guard grabbed the foot stool and chain, snapping the weighted links to the cuffs holding his hands behind his back. While his companion offered a hand for balance, the young man stepped on the stool and snapped the other end to the eye bolt in the ceiling. As simple as that, he’d been rendered completely helpless to do anything but stand in one spot.
The three men surveyed him, hands on hips, except for the one he’d punched, who still clutched the bloodied handkerchief to his mouth. The tall guard stepped forward and smacked him on the back of his head. “Have a nice day, jerk. We’ll see if this improves your attitude and your ability to answer questions.” The three men filed from the cell and slammed the door. He heard the lock turn and hung his head. His left foot ached and he realized that his enervated mind hadn’t even reacted when the cuffs went on his wrists. The fluorescent lights burned bright. He closed his eyes.
* * *
CIA agent Sal Capello chewed on a toothpick while he watched Rowan Milani on the monitor from the observation room in the maximum security wing of the brig. Over the course of his career he’d dealt with hundreds of detainees, and he couldn’t wait to get started on this one. He chuckled. The noble fool had surrendered to the FBI to save his girlfriend, but Rowan Milani didn’t know that Rodney Ainsley had already turned the tables and agreed to remand custody of him to the CIA.
The girlfriend had been tagged for pick-up by Seth Hancock and Lucien Talbot. Eager to exculpate themselves, they’d asked for the assignment. Taking a last look at his prisoner, it pleased him to see the man standing with his head down. Grunting in satisfaction, he turned to the agent on duty. “Here’s what I want you to do…”
* * *
Stepping carefully down the aircraft steps, Danielle marveled at how quickly they’d arrived on the island of Kauai. Nearing sunset, the fragrance of fresh flowers hung on the light breeze. The quick good-bye to Derek, the hair-raising drive down I-29 with Chad in the Mustang, and meeting Rowan’s colleagues seemed like a dream after the months of interrogation and detention. Hurrying across the tarmac on the private side of Omaha’s Epply Airfield and onto the waiting jet had left her breathless.
In the midst of her chaotic departure, she’d never felt more certain of the rightness of what she was doing. But her heart ached, knowing that Rowan had surrendered to secure her freedom. Michael and Gabriel had been friendly and solicitous, getting her blankets and a pillow, and offering drinks and food, which she couldn’t stomach. Jerry and Bryan – the same pilots, they told her, who’d flown Rowan to safety last spring, had treated her kindly. But none of them could fix the devastating emptiness that overwhelmed her.
Michael stepped to her side and touched her elbow. “We’ve got a vehicle waiting in the parking lot, Danielle. Once we get to the estate you can settle in, see Bettina and meet Ralph’s wife, Marion. Did you know that Rowan’s parents are here, too? If you feel up to it, I know they’d love to meet you.”
Responding as gamely as she could to his kind demeanor, she nodded as they walked. “That sounds fine. I did know Rowan’s parents were here, but I hadn’t thought about meeting them.” Michael stopped in front of a shiny, black Cadillac Escalade and opened the passenger side door for her. Gabriel, Jerry, and Bryan stowed the bags and piled into the back seat.
Closing her eyes, she tipped her head back and half listened to the quiet conversation around her. She wondered what time it was in Washington, D.C. and what was happening to Rowan. Thinking about him, at the mercy of people who’d never believe he was innocent, who’d hurt him to get the answers they wanted, brought stinging tears to her eyes. Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she blinked the tears away and turned. Gabriel smiled sympathetically from the back seat. “Honey, don’t you worry – we’ll get Rowan out of this mess. After you get settled I’ll tell you some stories about how many times the four of us have pulled his nuts out of the fire.”
When he rolled his chocolate-brown eyes dramatically, she couldn’t help smiling. “Thanks, Gabriel. I would love to hear your stories about Rowan. It’s just…knowing they’ll hurt him is so awful.”
Gabriel gripped her shoulder. “Danielle – honey – the first thing you have to remember is that Rowan is one tough hombre. He knows how to handle himself. The second thing is this – we are very
good at what we do. Failure isn’t an option for us. When we go after Rowan, we will succeed. You just think about that. And tonight, if you want, I’ll give you something so you can get some rest.”
Telling herself to buck up, she managed another smile. “I’ll try to think positive. And if you can give me something later, after we talk, I’d like that.”
* * *
Monday Morning
When a loud knock on the front door alerted Shasta, Derek glared at the big dog as she barked and growled. Following her, he muttered to himself. “It figures, now I’m stuck with this mutt for good.”
Opening the door, he grabbed Shasta’s collar and looked questioningly at the two men standing on the front steps. Recognition dawned and he felt a shiver of fear. He’d seen the stocky black-haired man and his muscular blonde companion at the airport meeting that fancy CIA jet. Shasta growled again and practically dragged him out the door. “Shasta, sit.” The big dog sat, but the hair stood up all along her back. “Sorry. Can I help you?”
The men pulled out ID’s and flipped them open. He couldn’t read the names, but he couldn’t miss the letters in bold print. These men were CIA agents. The taller of the two, the blonde, smiled at him. “We’d like to talk to Ms. Stratton. Would you mind if we came inside?” The man sidled toward the door.
Shasta bared her teeth and snarled. Holy cow, was the guy nuts? Tilting his head at the dog, he said, “Uh, I don’t think coming inside is such a good idea. I can’t always control her like Dani, I mean Ms. Stratton. But anyway, she’s not here. She left and I don’t know when she’s coming back or where she went.” Chad had given him a cell number, just in case, but neither Danielle nor Chad had told him anything, and for once he was glad. Looking from one man to the other, he doubted they would buy his story, even though it was the truth.
The black-haired agent stared at him with hard, disbelieving eyes. “Ms. Stratton left without telling you when or even if she’s coming back, and you’re stuck with her dog?”
Smiling weakly, he looked from one man to the other. “Sucks to be me, I know. Can you leave me a card or something? If I hear from her, I could have her call you.”
The two agents looked at each other. Then the shorter man frowned at him. “We’ll check back in a couple days. You don’t have any plans to leave, do you, Mr. Norris?”
How did they know his name? Swallowing, hoping he could talk, he answered. “Nope, I’m a working stiff, stuck here for the foreseeable future.”
The blonde agent looked pointedly at Shasta. “When we come back, you’ll have to do something with the dog.” With a final smirk, the tall agent turned and walked down the steps and his companion followed.
* * *
Michael looked up from the deck chair, watching as Gabriel stepped off the brick walkway onto the sugary white sand. After shedding his shirt for an impromptu swim, he’d retreated to the deck chair to clear his mind and assess their options. Now the light breeze made him shiver and his saltwater soaked shorts weren’t helping. “How’s Danielle doing? Did she settle in all right last night?”
Gabriel flopped down next to him on a matching chair. “I gave her one of my special pills so she could get some rest, but she’s so sad. I tried to cheer her up, but all she can think about is how much Rowan is suffering, and she blames herself.”
Momentarily captivated by the sunlight sparkling on the waves, he nodded. “The sooner we get Rowan out of Quantico the better. But fuck me – we have another problem.”
Gabriel looked at him, alarm written on his face. “What now? What else could possibly go wrong?”
Waiting for his friend to finish, he grimaced. “Are you done whining?” He stared pointedly at Gabriel, and then continued. “Here’s the thing. Danielle lived with a guy – Derek. He’s been approached by those two CIA assholes we dealt with last spring. They came to the house, looking for Danielle. Derek called Chad. Chad called me and then I called Derek. The poor guy is scared shitless of being taken in for interrogation. The last thing we need is another lever in the hands of the CIA. The way I see it, our only option is to fly back to Omaha today and haul his sorry ass out here, too. What do you think?”
Gabriel stared anxiously at him, making the sign of the Cross as he began to speak. “Sweet Mother of God, what else can we do? You know as well as I do that Rowan would never let the gringo be incarcerated because of him. You want me to fly back with Jerry and Bryan? Or do you want me to stay here with the women?”
He shrugged. “You stay here and keep an eye on Danielle. I’ll call Derek and make arrangements. It’s five hours later in South Dakota, and he needs to get ready to leave.” He scowled at Gabriel. “And here’s the frosting on the cake. Danielle has a dog, a freaking Rottweiler. I don’t know what to do about that. We can’t waste time making arrangements for a dog.” He stood up, reluctant to leave the soothing waves.
Gabriel pursed his lips and raised an index finger. “Wait a second – what about sending the dog to the ranch? We could send Derek there, too.”
Why hadn’t he thought of that? “You know, that’s a damn good idea, at least for the dog. But Derek, I don’t think so. The guy’s too much of a wild card right now. When I talked to him on the phone, he sounded badly shaken up. I think we better bring him out here and let him chill.” Taking the time to rub his jaw, he squinted at Gabriel, wondering where he’d left his sunglasses. “Then we can help him decide what he wants to do with the rest of his life. It hasn’t dawned on the poor bastard yet that he’s another victim of the Rowan Milani saga.” Starting up the brick pathway, he stopped and gestured to his stocky colleague. “You better come help me with these phone calls. I’ve got to reach my mother and have her meet me in Sioux Falls, and I need to rent a car at Epply. We’d better get on this before it turns into a real pain in the ass.”
* * *
Janice Milani sat comfortably in the cheery sun room off the kitchen, sipping a cup of tea and enjoying the tropical breeze. Outside the screened windows an overgrown tangle of flowers, shrubs, and deep grass spread across the wide lawn. The house itself was nestled in a semi-circle of tall trees with a brick walkway that cut through the lawn and led directly to the beach. Now that she and Khalil were settling into their new life, she planned to revamp the gardens and landscaping around the estate. The satisfying task would take her months, if not an entire year. Happy to have something productive to occupy her time, she looked forward to creating a new look for the sprawling property.
Working with the soil and the plants distracted her mind from the latest catastrophe involving Rowan. Although Khalil had cautioned her against watching the news footage of his surrender, she couldn’t help herself. Hungry for a glimpse of her son, she’d been shocked at the hard-faced man with a beard and hair that grazed his chin. Watching had left her in tears, but she’d needed to see him.
Glancing up, she saw a slender woman with dark red hair pouring a cup of coffee in the kitchen. Oh dear Lord, that had to be Rowan’s friend. Hurrying in from the sun room, she stopped and smiled as the woman fixed her with a desolate gaze. “Good morning. You must be Danielle. I’m Rowan’s mother, Janice. It’s nice to meet you. Welcome to Kauai.”
Danielle smiled back at her. “Hello Mrs. Milani. It’s very nice to meet you. I have, I mean Rowan has mentioned…” As she watched, Danielle sat her coffee cup on the kitchen counter and took a deep breath.
The raw ache in the younger woman’s eyes moved her. “Oh my dear, I know it’s hard. Believe me, I do. Come and sit down. You can tell me everything and we’ll say a prayer for Rowan to remain strong and be released quickly. And I would love to hear all about how you and he met – I’m sure it’s a beautiful story.”
* * *
Monday Afternoon
Sitting in a booth at the busy deli not far from his father’s office, Chad sipped iced tea and gazed out the window. His father crossed the street with long strides, impeccably dressed in a dark blue suit, white shir
t and snazzy tie. The oppressive heat and humidity of the District during the summer never fazed his father. He always looked cool and refreshed. Sliding into the booth across from him, Clifton Cantor smiled. “It’s great to see you again, Chad.”
Eyeing the older man’s tie, a bold paisley print in lemon, navy and white, he had to chuckle. Only his father could pull that off. “It’s good to see you too, and that’s a great tie. You want some lunch? It’s on me.”
Clifton shook his head. “I’m meeting a client for an early dinner. That iced tea looks good, though.”
After the harried waitress slammed a tall, dripping glass of iced tea in front of his father and refilled his, he ran an index finger up and down the glass, turning the condensation into rivulets of water. “Thanks for meeting me here. I hope you can fill me in on what, if anything, you’ve learned from your inquiries on Rowan’s behalf. And Dad, I just got in. Would you have a problem with me staying in the Georgetown condo?”
Clifton sipped the tea and glanced casually around the noisy deli, then regarded him solemnly. “What I found out is disturbing, to say the least. The president wants to believe your friend is innocent, but he’s been pressured by the Directors of both the FBI and CIA, as well as foreign sources. Besides, if the president were to speak out, he’d divulge his own hand in the violation of numerous sovereign governments.”
His father stopped talking and ran two fingers around the inside of his collar in a subconscious concession to the weather. “I’d be almost certain Mr. Milani is cognizant of the fact that any admission or support from the president would undermine national security. If the situation hadn’t become a media firestorm and if he hadn’t been influenced by so many powerful sources, I believe the president would have stopped the whole thing.”
Consummate Betrayal Page 23