Girabaldi gritted her teeth, trying to gain control, the upper hand, as she always had. Robin watched the familiar strangeness of her mother’s face as she struggled for composure.
She’d given them up when they were so young, when Robin was only four and Amanda two. Left their father, left their life, to globe-trot for the CIA. Her dad, bless his heart, was crushed, but remarried, giving them a mother figure, a sweet lady who they both called Mom. Regina returned to her maiden name and was referred to—if she ever needed to be—as their distant aunt.
Amanda was too young. She never really knew what had happened. But Robin remembered. She remembered it all. When she was eighteen, she showed up on Regina’s doorstep, wanting answers. Regina turned her into a weapon instead, then came for Amanda when she, too, came of age.
Clouds of purple were billowing around Robin, and she fought through the darkness. Regina had made sure they were both taken care of, put to work in the family business. She took one look at an adult Amanda and nestled her sweetness into her bosom, under her arm, where she could be protected. And one look at Robin—the coldness, the emptiness, the lack of empathy and the potential for destruction—and put a long-range rifle in her hands.
Robin had seen her private CIA induction file once. It read like a clinical wasteland. Emotionless sociopathy. Lack of empathy. Penchant for violence. Ability to compartmentalize. Comfortable with extreme isolation. And then the ultimate stamp of approval. Recommended for field work.
Amanda’s file was different. It had always been different. Warmer. Nicer. Plays well with others and shares with her friends. Shares herself with her friends, it should have read. In more ways than one.
Robin didn’t know what was worse, being completely closed off and frigid, or finding love in the arms of strangers. She knew both their lives were in direct reaction to the abandonment of their mother. The anger boiled up again, threatening to overflow.
“You made us both, Gina. And now you’ve killed one of us. I don’t think I’ll let you kill me, too.” She stood and started toward the sliding glass door, to the darkness, the anonymity that was her world.
Regina spoke softly. “Robin. Please don’t leave. You need to see this.” She nodded at the Secret Service agent. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small tablet.
“This will explain everything.”
She hit Play, and Robin stopped at the door, halted her escape and nearly cracked into pieces.
Amanda.
She listened to her sister’s honey-colored words, wondering what it all meant. Why she had to die for this case. Why she hadn’t pushed for help when she got in too deep.
She wanted to prove herself, Robin. To you, to Gina. You know that. She always did. And she had asked. You abandoned her when she needed you the most. You are no better than your mother.
When the video was finished, she sat down, trying not to lose it. Trying to compartmentalize, as was her forte. Pushing away the horror and loss of her baby sister to a cause that would kill them all, and going into a more operational state. It was too late to save Amanda. It wasn’t yet too late to save the world.
If what Amanda said was true, about the coming attack, this was bigger than all of them and their petty family squabbles. An attack on their soil with a biological weapon delivered in a most innocuous manner would derail the world.
The now-familiar doubt crept in. It had come recently, borne on a piece of shrapnel, sanded with desert muck, into her side, and whispered to her of all her failings.
She couldn’t stop this. They were screwed. Absolutely, one hundred percent screwed.
Robin walked to the small kitchenette and fixed herself a stiff shot of bourbon. Forced all the emotions that had been swirling around her since the accident back into the black hole inside her, found her focus, her bitter cold center, the one place she felt truly herself. She shot the bourbon, then turned and leaned against the hard counter.
“Why me, Regina? You have two agencies at your beck and call.”
Girabaldi’s face creased in relief. Her daughter had acquiesced once again, and she was back on top, calling the shots.
“I don’t trust anyone but you right now, Robin. I need your protection. I need you to find out who killed Amanda, and who is after me. I’ve already had one team member involved in this killed today. I wish I could convince myself he’s the only one involved, but I can’t. Only a handful of people knew about the medicine and vaccine.”
“Who was it?”
“Jason Kruger. I would have never expected him to betray me like this. I’m not sure how deep his betrayal goes, though. And the D.C. police killed him an hour ago.”
“He was onto Amanda. Chasing her.”
“She brought the samples in, and he managed to take them from her. I have no doubt they were—at some point today—in his possession.”
“Did he kill her? Was it Kruger?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know who else it could be, but there could be any number of people working this, Robin. You know how terrorists work.” Girabaldi grew cold then, back into her role. “I want you to hunt them down and eliminate them. You heard your sister. She knew she was in danger and that I am in danger. We will all be affected if there’s an attack.”
Robin laughed, the sound harsh against the night air. “So you want to wind up your little sociopath and watch her go?”
Those hands, those old-woman hands, clutching at the wooden tabletop, leaving filmy prints on the shellacked finish. The voice had always been stronger than the flesh, and it held a familiar hint of annoyance.
“Now is not the time, Robin. When we’ve secured the tainted medicine and arrested all those involved, you and I will talk. You can berate me, you can beat me up, hell, you can kill me. But our duty lies with this country, and we must stop this attack.”
“Is this sanctioned? Or are we off book?”
“This is sanctioned. I have cleared it with your superiors. I spent the day having you reinstated. Do this, and I will make sure you’re given your old position. Or a new one, should you desire. You can have anything you want. Robin, we’re talking about an unknown terrorist attack that could come at any time. I need you. Your country needs you.”
Your country needs you. The very words that had driven all three Souleyret women into a life of public service, into the morass of death and destruction, the carnage of their beliefs and duty laid to waste behind them.
Family was always second to country.
Robin shook herself, and the cloud cleared away. “Riley says I’m a suspect in Amanda’s murder. How exactly do you propose I do this job? I can’t have people hunting me. I need my back clear.”
“I will work everything. Consider yourself cleared. I’ve already got the FBI on board.”
“I want to talk to the investigators. I want to hear firsthand what they have to say.”
“I can arrange a meeting for you.”
“No, Gina. I want to do this myself. I want to talk to the woman, the FBI agent, the medical examiner who did Amanda’s autopsy. I want her. And no one else. If I get a hint that there’s someone else involved, I pull out and disappear, and you can go fuck yourself.”
“That’s fine, Robin. I don’t blame you a bit. But you need to be careful. I don’t know who to trust anymore. I’ve been compromised, and so was Amanda. You should operate under the assumption that you have, as well.”
Chapter 46
Georgetown
THERE WAS SILENCE when the screen went black. Xander had grabbed Sam’s hand a few moments before Amanda finished the recitation of what led to her death. She was glad of the familiar pressure; she felt like she might fall down otherwise. This was as bad as it got. How in the hell were they going to stop an attack they couldn’t see coming? They still had no idea who was behind the plot. Not to
mention, if Amanda was right, and the superbug was airborne, spreading it through the populace was as easy as importing sick people on planes. Sam shuddered at the thought.
No one moved as Daniels closed the laptop. Mouse was by his side, eyes wide, unconsciously seeking what succor she could find during Souleyret’s recitation. She met Sam’s eyes and shrugged.
“Jesus,” Fletcher said, visibly shaken. “This is bad. This is really bad. She did get the medications in, and we’ve lost them, and Bromley, and probably Cattafi, too.”
Daniels looked pleadingly at Sam. “We have to raise the alarm now, ma’am. If what she says is true, we can’t take the chance. If this is already in our inoculation system, we’re too late. We have to stop all the vaccines being given nationwide immediately.”
Sam didn’t hesitate. “I agree. We can’t take the chance. Call Charlaine, tell her what we’ve learned. This will take a massive coordination—let her get things started. We’ll have to talk to the CDC and Homeland immediately. Get them to pull all the vaccines that have shipped this season. And we need to warn them we could have an attack coming, or even under way. But, Daniels, this has to be done very carefully. We can’t take the chance of starting a panic.”
Daniels raised a brow. “I’m panicked already. I got a flu shot last week.”
“Then you needn’t worry. She specifically said the virus kills within forty-eight hours. If she’s right, and terrorists have gotten hold of this, they haven’t managed to get it into our systems yet, or we’d have bodies stacked like cordwood in the street. It would be hard to do now. The vaccines for this season were produced months ago. We’d already know. But going forward, anything new coming in—yes, we need to get everyone on alert. And we need Regina Girabaldi in real protective custody, right now. Go, Daniels, now!”
Sam turned to Denon. “Sir, we have to find out who in your company might be behind this, and we need to get that name immediately. There’s no more time to waste. Are you willing to allow us access? Xander and Chalk, plus Mouse—if you let them into your servers, they’ll be able to find the link.”
He nodded. “What do you need? Passwords? Everson can get you everything you—”
There was a commotion in the kitchen. The shatter of breaking glass, guttural shouts, a strange gurgling choke. Sam sprinted into the hall just in time to see the front door swing closed, a smear of reddest blood in bas relief against the white paint. She started toward the door as a babble of voices filled the house. She heard Xander shout, “Fletcher, call 9-1-1, we’ve got two down.”
A heartbeat later Xander was in the hallway, blood on his chest, moving fast, the SIG Sauer in his hand. “Watch it, watch it. They need you in the kitchen. Stay inside.” Then he was out the door, Thor a blur of tan-and-black fur beside him. She saw Chalk sprinting down the street. Daniels pushed past her, going after them. The door slammed behind him.
Sam ran toward the kitchen and into utter chaos.
Everson was on the floor, clutching at his throat, gouts of red spouting from a slit in his carotid. Bebbington was already dead, his head nearly severed, tipped to the side as if he were listening to his shoulder tell a story.
Sam caught the spray of Everson’s blood in her face as she knelt beside him. She yanked a tea towel off the cabinet below the sink and held it hard to his throat. “Hang on, damn it. Hang on,” she yelled at him, but she could see it was too late. His eyes were unfocused, staring at a world only the dying could see, and the warm stickiness pulsing over her hands was slowing.
Denon was standing, horrified, in the entrance to the kitchen. Fletcher was on the phone calling for help. And Sam knelt in blood again, holding the useless towel to Everson’s neck as he left this world. He gave one last burbling gasp, and then he was gone.
Damn it.
She forced her focus back to the surroundings and counted. There was someone missing.
She let the soaked fabric drop to the tile floor and grabbed Fletcher, dragged him toward the front door. She caught Denon’s sleeve as she went, towed them both into the shockingly clean hall with its eerie handprint on the door. “Where is Heedles? Where is Maureen Heedles?”
Fletcher shook his head, shoved the phone in his pocket. “I don’t know. We have to search the house. You stay here, cover Denon.”
Sam pointed at the bloody handprint. “She must have run out the front, but wait.” Sam pulled open the closet door and quickly punched in the code to the gun safe. She pulled out two automatics and two handguns. She pressed a Glock .40 into Fletcher’s hand, and two magazines. She tucked the second into her pants at the small of her back, filled her pockets with two more magazines. “Now go,” she said, nodding toward the kitchen. “I’ve got this.”
Fletcher bent down and pulled his throw-down gun from his ankle, then, double-fisted, started moving toward the kitchen, walking soft. The sudden silence bled around them. Sam arranged the M4 strap around her shoulder and handed the other to Denon. “Do you know how to shoot?”
He nodded. “A shotgun. We hunt. Fox hunt. In the country. Not allowed to shoot the buggers now, but I have done in the past.”
He was in shock. She stepped right up to his face, shook his shoulders a little to get his attention.
“Maureen Heedles. I need to know her background. You said she’s your head of R and D. What does she research for you?”
“The best places to put in pipelines, terminals, offshore drilling. She’s a geologist. She’s a fucking geologist. Not a killer.”
“James,” Sam said, softer now. “There are two men dead in the kitchen to refute your claim. She’s on the run. She lit out of here with a knife, and God knows what other weapons she has. Xander and Chalk and Daniels are after her. She’s betrayed you. She’s killed your people. She must be the leak. She must be the one who is funneling the money into the development of this medicine. Think, man. When did she come to you? How did she get hired?”
And thought to herself, Xander, where are you? Please tell me that was Mo Heedles we saw tearing out of here, and not Robin Souleyret.
She saw Denon starting to come back to himself, just as Fletcher came back into the hall. “We’re clear. She must have gone out the front door after she killed the two men. I—”
Denon raised the rifle, and suddenly Sam was standing between two well-armed men on alert and pointing guns at each other.
Denon’s voice cracked. “He wasn’t in the room. The lieutenant had stepped away. He could have done this.”
Fletcher didn’t move an inch. “You’re imagining things, Denon. I was behind you the whole time. It was your woman who did this. Now, put the weapon down, slowly, and no one will get hurt.”
Sam faced Denon, her own gun casual in her hands. “James? We’re all friends here. We’re all just trying to help you. Please lower the weapon. Lieutenant Fletcher is on our side. I swear to you.”
Denon took a ragged breath and the nose of the gun began drifting down. Sam gently relieved the man of the weapon. “I think I’ll hold on to this, if you don’t mind.”
Denon nodded, slumping back against the wall, pale and sweating. “Forgive me. I was hasty.”
Fletcher nodded. “Sam, my people are converging on the neighborhood.”
“Warn them that Xander and Chalk and Daniels are out there with Thor.”
“Already did. Why don’t we go into the living room, and we can talk some more.”
Fletcher jerked his head, and Denon started moving. He stuck his head into the guest bath, pulled out a towel and tossed it to Sam. “You’re covered in blood.”
“Seems to be a pattern,” she said, wiping her face. Sam saw Mouse crouched on the floor in the corner of the living room, fingers going wild over her laptop.
“Sorry, Mouse. We’re clear, you can come out.”
“It’s okay. I’ve tapped into the CCTV camera
s. They have her cornered near the university entrance.”
Sam hurried over and stared at the screen. It was black-and-white, but she could see clearly enough to make out what was happening. Thor had Heedles backed against the steps. Xander and Chalk had drawn down on her. Daniels had both a handgun and a phone. The only light came from the soda vapors lining the street. It appeared Heedles was taunting them, shouting something, and Sam saw Xander’s hand flex on the gun.
“This is it. They’re going to take her.”
Heedles dropped to the pavement.
Chapter 47
XANDER WAS BREATHING hard, more from anger than anything else. His night vision was messed up; he’d run in front of an SUV and the driver had flashed the brights at him in annoyance. He was following Thor’s barks—the dog was at least fifty yards ahead of them. He went frantic, and Xander knew he’d cornered the woman.
He called to Chalk. “Thor’s got her. Turn around forty-five degrees, come down from the north. We’ll take her from the street. Daniels, to me.”
Daniels was right behind him.
“Where do you want me?”
“Loose box, coming up the southern perimeter, your back to Key Bridge. Make sure she doesn’t dart down there. We might lose her if she manages to hit the bridge. Clear the civilians as you can, and be quiet about it.”
“Yeah, we might lose her over the edge, when I toss her off,” he muttered, jogging into the darkness.
Xander moved carefully toward Heedles. He wanted to take her alive, that’s why he’d set Thor on her. He regulated his breathing, shut his eyes to help them readjust, then jogged the last half block to her location.
Heedles was stuck at the base of the main entrance steps to Georgetown University. Thor was dancing near her, snapping and growling. She caught Xander’s gaze, watched him come into view. He saw fright on her face, but defiance, and that certain sense of inevitability he’d seen on the face of every terrorist he’d cut down. She knew she was going to die, and she wasn’t afraid. It was a foregone conclusion.
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