Endgame (Last Chance Series)

by Dee Davis

  Payton frowned, but held his tongue, and Gabe was grateful for his self-restraint. Nigel could be a bit of a prima donna at times, but it didn't change the fact that there was a match and that there was an apparent connection to their situation.

  "So we have a tenuous tie between two events," Gabe said, "but nothing to lead us to the killer."

  "Well, we do have the name of the group. And unless I'm mistaken, it's one of the two that Payton mentioned earlier as possible organizations that had reason to want the accord to fail."

  "So who do they use for black ops?" Gabriel stepped back from the computer, the wheels in his brain cranking. "Payton, can your sources help pinpoint any names? Maybe there's a link between our W. Smith and someone they use in the U.S.?"

  Payton nodded, his attention still on Nigel, his expression masked.

  "I can check the data in our computers, as well," Harrison added. "By cross-checking the incident with the group itself, I might be able to come up with something I missed before."

  "Good. At least it's something positive I can report to Cullen. Have you found a match for the fingerprint, Payton?"

  "Nothing local. I'm checking state by state now. And I've got a call into Interpol to see if they have anything. I'll get back to you if something turns up. But to be honest I'm not that hopeful. There's not much here to go on. Certainly not enough for a statistically significant match. But I figure it's still worth a try." Payton shrugged.

  "It's a step in the right direction. Anything else come back from Tracy's with regard to Bosner's shooting?"

  Harrison picked up a report. "No casings or fingerprints on site. The building was supposed to have been locked, although there's no apparent tampering with the door. So either it was inadvertently left unlocked, or our killer knows his way around locks. Based on the epicenter of the shattered glass, the location of the slug in Bosner's wall, and the entry wound on the man, they're almost one hundred percent certain the shot came from the second floor window you found open." He looked up from the papers. "For someone to make that kind of shot he'd have to be really good. And have the right equipment. You said you heard a hiss?"

  "Silencer, but not a big one. Just enough to muffle the report."

  "All of which supports our theory that it's a pro," Harrison said, holding out the report.

  Gabe took it, wishing that it held something more in the way of answers. Something that would help him nail the killer.

  "Cullen's asking for us." The sound of Madison's voice surrounded him like an embrace, and he steeled himself to keep the resulting emotion off of his face.

  She was dressed in black pants, her white button-down perfectly pressed, not a hair out of place. But in his head, he saw her naked, gleaming with sweat, her body locked against his. His blood pressure shot up, his heart pounding in his ears. Through sheer force of will, he banished the thought, managing somehow to keep his smile impersonal.

  But their eyes met, and the message sent and received was purely sensual in nature. A promise of things to come.

  "Let's go," he said breaking eye contact, trying to compose his jumbled thoughts. "I've just been getting an update of where we are, I'll brief you on the way."

  She nodded, smiled at Harrison, which irked him more than he'd like to admit, and turned to go. He followed after her, knowing full well that three pairs of eyes were still locked on them. Eyes that were trained to see even the smallest detail. To find truth in lies, and reality buried beneath subterfuge.

  In short, he was toast.

  *****

  "SO BASICALLY WE'VE got nothing." Cullen Pulaski sat at his desk, hands clasped in an effort to remain calm.

  Gabriel sat in a chair across the desk, next to Kingston. Madison sat on the windowsill, fidgeting with the blinds' cord.

  "We know that the murders are tied together, and we believe there may be a link to an organization in China," Gabriel said. "Harrison and Payton are working to follow up on the lead."

  "Where do things stand with the accord?" Madison asked.

  "The Chinese are running scared, just as we suspected." Cullen picked up a pencil and twirled it between his fingers. Anything to help him maintain an illusion of ease. "The president got a call this morning."

  "It's gone that high?" Gabriel frowned, surprise blending with concern.

  "Started there, actually," Kingston said. "This has been the president's game from the beginning. We're merely the lucky players who get to dodge the bullets."

  "And bring home the money, if it succeeds." Gabriel's eyebrow lifted, a hint of cynicism coloring his voice.

  "There's always a payoff, Gabriel, you know that." Cullen shrugged, wondering again if he'd been wise to bring Gabriel and Madison into this.

  "Yes, but is this one worth the price?" Madison's voice was soft, her eyes probing as she watched him.

  "That's not a question I can answer." Cullen dodged her words as best he could, struggling to shift the conversation to safer ground. "Besides, it isn't my call. The president is the only one that can put an end to negotiations."

  "The president or the Chinese," Kingston reminded.

  "Which leaves us playing a bluffing game. We have to convince the Chinese government that everything here is fine, when in fact everything here is far from that."

  "But you can't hide it from them, surely?" Madison stood up, rubbing the small of her back, and Cullen noticed the shadows under her eyes. "I mean Jeremy and Candace's murders have been all over the papers. You've managed to quash it a bit, but not entirely."

  "Yes, but the connection between the two of them has been nothing more than speculation at this point. And that gives us what we need to create doubt."

  "But there isn't any—" Madison started, but he cut her off with the wave of a hand.

  "It's enough for now. And unless I hear something different from Washington, it's the way we're going to proceed. The summit is on unless I tell you otherwise, which means that we must work all that much harder to find the culprits and bring them to ground." He snapped the pencil in two, the pieces clattering across his desk.

  There was silence for a moment as Gabriel, Madison and even Kingston stared down at the broken pieces of wood.

  "A bit overdramatic that." Cullen laughed uncomfortably. "Why don't we write it off as symbolic of the tension we're all feeling. The clock is ticking, and I'm afraid we're at endgame, so to speak. If we don't stop it now, whoever is behind all of this is going to win."

  "We're working as hard as we can, Cullen. But I can't make any promises." This from Gabriel, who was still looking at the pencil pieces.

  "You'll make it happen, because it must be so." Cullen heard his voice rising, and struggled for control. It would never do to let them know just how panicked he really was.

  "I'm not a miracle worker, Cullen, I can't conjure up a killer just because you want me to." Gabriel stood up, towering over the desk, and just for a moment Cullen actually felt afraid. But just as quickly as it had come the emotion passed, and Cullen reminded himself that he was the one in charge, not the other way around. Gabriel Roarke worked for him.

  He stood up, as well, the rising tension in the room palpable. "If I need for you to do so, you'll do just that. The president needs this accord to go through. Much of his economic policy rests on its success. And if he needs us to embellish the truth, then that's exactly how we'll proceed. Am I making myself clear?"

  "Perfectly." Madison's voice was like balm. Calm and to the point, she obviously wasn't ruffled by their posturing. "But as far as I can tell, we haven't reached the point where untruths are necessary. All we have to do at the moment is keep as much information as we can away from the press, and continue our full-court press to find answers. Right?"

  "For now." Cullen nodded, his gaze still locked with Gabriel's. "But if you don't find those answers soon, we may have to take more drastic action."

  "Like lying," Gabriel growled.

  Kingston shrugged, like Madison, purposefully ignoring th
e undercurrents. "Whatever it takes, I'm afraid. This is about a hell of a lot more than the money we have invested. And with Washington pulling the strings, anything is possible."

  "But right now it's status quo." Again Madison was the voice of reason.

  "Yes," Kingston admitted.

  A knock on the door interrupted the moment, and Cullen for one was grateful for the reprieve. He hated pissing matches, and even though he usually won, taking on Gabriel Roarke was not a task he had any particular relish for. "Come in."

  The door swung open, and Harrison Blake poked in his head, his expression reflecting his obvious reticence to interrupt. "Sorry to barge in," he said, stepping fully into the room, "but I thought you'd all want to know."

  "Know what?" Gabriel swung around to face him, the line of his back still radiating tension.

  "I think we may have found W. Smith."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  EVERYONE HAD MOVED to the operations room, and as far as Madison was concerned it couldn't have been too soon. She had no idea what had gone down between Gabriel and her godfather in Iraq, but it was pretty clear from the posturing in Cullen's office that there was a certain amount of animosity still present.

  She shook her head, clearing her thoughts. Maybe it was nothing more than the fact that neither Cullen nor Gabriel was the kind of man to take orders easily from another. And the truth of the matter was that she had enough to deal with without trying to understand the dynamics between the two of them.

  Point in case: W. Smith.

  Harrison had moved to his computer, as usual preferring the anonymity of his kiosk to center stage. Low-profile, old-fashioned and charming, Harrison was the kind of man who opened doors for women, and really listened when they talked. He had that sunny grin and Southern charisma that made him irresistible to the opposite sex. Which was only heightened by the fact that he was totally oblivious to his effect on women. He was too immersed in his own little world.

  "So I tried aliases like Payton suggested," Harrison was saying, his voice holding an edge of excitement that meant he'd found something more than just a name, "but I couldn't find anything remotely connected." He paused, looking up at the assembled players, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. "And then I ran the W as a middle initial."

  He clicked on the computer database for effect, and the scanning names flashed by to settle on one.

  Ernhardt W. Schmidt.

  Madison shot a look at Gabriel, surprised to see a similar look of excitement reflected in his eyes. He was enjoying himself. She fought her own smile. She was surrounded by little boys.

  "Ernhardt Wilhelm Schmidt." Harrison read the words on the screen, supplying a name for the W. "His sheet is a mile long. Everything from suspected bombing to sniper activity. But the best is that he's a crack shot." He hit another button and a face filled the screen.

  Ernhardt Schmidt had blond hair and blue eyes, and the aquiline nose of a German. His features were hard, but it wasn't the face of a killer. Not that they ever were. Killers came in all shapes and sizes and rarely were they recognizable. Most of them had had years to perfect their masks.

  Only someone who spent their life observing them could read the signs. The cruel twist of the lips, the hard edges to the smile. The total lack of emotion in the eyes. This was a man who'd ceased feeling anything a long time ago. Or perhaps had never felt at all, something inside him programmed differently from others.

  Not a fiend in the sense of a serial killer, just a man without remorse or regret, driven by his own needs, interested in getting paid more than the pleasure of the kill. Although the kill itself would yield some form of release, just not an end in and of itself.

  She pulled away from the photograph to meet Gabriel's questioning gaze. She knew that he'd seen her withdraw. Watched as she put herself in another man's place, tried to think with his mind. Some men would have been frightened by it. Or repelled.

  But not Gabriel Roarke.

  His mouth curled into the smallest hint of a smile, and she would have sworn she read approval in his eyes. Hope fluttered inside her.

  Maybe she'd finally found someone who could understand.

  "Madison," Cullen interrupted her thoughts, and reluctantly she turned from Gabriel's icy gaze, "have you seen this man before?"

  "No." She shook her head. "But I know the type." She proceeded to outline her thoughts for the group.

  "So he fits the profile for our killer?" Kingston asked, his brows drawn together in a frown.

  "I can't say for certain without more evidence." Madison blew out a long breath. "But if I had to go with my gut alone, I'd say he meets all the necessary criteria. Unfortunately, if he's any good, he'll be hard to trace. I'm surprised we've been able to find out as much as we have."

  "I agree." Payton's expression was troubled, his eyes narrowed in thought. "I've said all along that this has been too easy."

  "Easy?" Cullen exploded. "Eight people are dead, a crucial economic accord is hanging by a thread, the president is politically vulnerable and we still have nothing concrete to tie us to a killer or a group behind the murders. Just what about all of that, may I ask, is easy?"

  Payton shrugged. "I don't pretend to understand the ins and outs of the political maneuverings of governments, Cullen, but I do know how these kind of men work. And they don't leave calling cards. If they do, they wind up dead."

  "So what?" Kingston asked, clearly intrigued. "You think the man wants us to find him?"

  "I've no idea," Payton said. "I just know it feels off to me."

  Madison understood exactly how he felt. "One doesn't last very long in this business without trusting gut instincts, Kingston. Even if they aren't quantifiable." She shot a look at Gabriel, disappointed to find his expression masked.

  "At least it looks like we're well on the way to finding our man." Cullen's tone was decisive, clearly intent on taking control of the discussion.

  "If only it were that easy," Harrison mumbled.

  "Do we have any idea where Schmidt is?" Gabriel asked.

  Harrison responded with a shake of his head. "He moves a lot. Last known address was in Hamburg. But that was almost a year ago. I've got sources there checking to see if it's still valid."

  "I'm betting not," Gabriel said. "If he's our man, he's been here for quite some time. Although he could be going back and forth. Any known aliases for him?"

  "The list is pretty long." This from Nigel, who was holding a printout. "We're cross-checking the computers to see if there's anything in any of the other data banks. He's been tagged by your home security forces, so with a little luck that means they're watching him for entry into the States. I've got a call in to London to see what they know."

  "How about W. Smith? Does it show up as a known alias?"

  Harrison shook his head. "We only found him because of the correlation between the names. Other than that we have nothing to tie him to our murders, really."

  "Except that the M.O. for the last few murders fits him to a tee." Gabriel shot a look at Madison for confirmation, and she reveled in the fact that at least for the moment he'd accepted her as part of the team. "Payton, have you talked to Lin Yao?"

  "Yes. He'd heard the name. But couldn't confirm that the man had actually worked with either of our suspected groups. He's supposed to see what he can run to ground in Beijing and get back to me as quickly as possible.

  "All right." Gabriel was all business now, preferring action to cerebral gymnastics. "I'll check with some folks I know at Langley. Madison, you talk to the FBI, and the rest of you follow up where you can. Cullen, you and Kingston talk with anyone you think needs to know the situation, but other than that keep it as low-profile as possible."

  "If this guy is in the city, I don't want to scare him off." Gabriel glanced down at his watch. "Why don't we all meet back here in an hour. We're running out of time. And we need answers ASAP."

  *****

  MADISON SAT in the office of the FBI's regional
director in New York. She'd met the man a couple of times, but had never actually worked with him, and even though she had clearance from a presidential level, she still was uncomfortable coming to him for help, particularly since she could only give him sketchy information at best.

  "Ms. Harper." Loren Waxman was short by FBI standards, and perhaps a tad long in the tooth. She figured he was nearing sixty, which was surprising in an organization that prided itself on only hiring the best the brightest and the youngest. Still, the man moved with a grace that belied his age, and although his hair was gray, his dark eyes sparkled with intelligence.

  "Mr. Waxman." She stood up and offered her hand, pleased when he shook it with vigor. "Thank you for agreeing to see me on such short notice."

  Waxman took a seat across from her, laying a manila envelope on the table between them.

  "You'll have read the file I've provided."

  He nodded, waiting for her to explain further.

  "As you know, I've been pulled out of active duty to work on a task force for Cullen Pulaski."

  A muffled cough was indication of his disapproval. Not that Madison disagreed. "I know about the task force. And to some extent its purpose. What I'm not clear on is what you think I can do to help you."

  "I need access to any information we might have on a mercenary by the name of Ernhardt Schmidt. Most importantly his present location, if we're aware of it. The files I need to check are eyes-only, and I need your permission to access them."

  She could have gone above his head, but she wanted to ruffle as few feathers as possible, and following chain of command would go a long way toward keeping things on an even keel.

  "You think this Schmidt has something to do with the case you're working on?" Waxman's expression was bland, disinterested even, but she could see the spark of curiosity in his eyes.

  "Yes. I have reason to believe he may have been responsible for a series of deaths I've been investigating." And that was as far as she could go by way of explanation. Hopefully, it would be enough.