by Carsen Taite
When she walked into the conference room she found Harry, Blake, and Eric already assembled, reviewing the information gathered at Mitchell’s house, she briefly considered calling Zoey and inviting her to join them. Another brain could only help, right?
She dismissed the thought as fast as it came. The White House had hired her to make sure this scandal was contained. Zoey had failed to tell her about her encounter with Mitchell, and if she’d gotten wind of Mitchell’s death first, she probably would’ve alerted the local police and her superiors, no doubt letting the ambiguous letter Mitchell had left behind leak into the public domain before they’d had a chance to decipher its meaning. Zoey wasn’t part of her team; she was the arm of a bureaucracy Rook had been hired to work around. The searing kiss they’d shared last night was proof she had become a distraction.
Pushing all thoughts of Zoey aside, Rook took her seat at the head of the table and pointed at Blake. “Tell me everything you have.”
Blake consulted one of the tiny Moleskine notebooks she always carried. Rook used to give her crap for using pen and paper to keep case notes when she’d come from the high-tech CIA, but Blake insisted she’d be the only one with any good intel in the event of a terrorist attack on the power grid or a simple power outage. “Not much to tell. Gun was registered to him. We found an aging box of the same caliber ammo in his desk missing only one bullet. His were the only prints on the gun and the angle of the shot was consistent with a self-inflicted wound.”
“And the note?”
“I’ll take this one,” Harry said. “I showed it, along with some confirmed samples of his handwriting, to an analyst I know. Best in her field. She says he wrote the note. There are a few letters and words that are shaky, but that’s to be expected considering the circumstances.”
“Okay, we know two things for sure,” Rook said. “He shot himself and he left a note. Here are the things I want to know: what does the note mean and what was his involvement with the Lorraine Darcy Agency?”
Eric raised his hand. “My turn. I examined the computers at the house. The one in the main study appears to be for family use and it was clean, but the one in his study was a treasure trove of inappropriate material.”
“Let me guess. He used that computer to hook up with ‘escorts’ from the Darcy Agency?”
“More than that.”
“Really? You’re telling me he had even deeper secrets?”
“The deepest, for a high ranking military officer.” Eric punched a button and the images from his laptop were projected onto the built-in screen at the front of the room. The display showed a cascading series of emails, but many of the sentences contained in the messages had words redacted. Rook squinted at the strings of incomplete sentences and tried to make sense of them.
“What are we looking at?” Blake asked.
Eric set his cursor on the first sentence and pointed at the blacked-out spaces. “I haven’t had a lot of time to analyze this, but at first glance it looked familiar so I started working on a theory.” He divided the information on the screen into two sections. “Over here,” he said, pointing to the left side of the screen. “There are three emails Mitchell exchanged with the Darcy Agency. Notice the dates.”
“Two years ago.”
“Yes. Just FYI, I found some chatter online saying that was the same time the Darcy Agency started renting space at the address you and Major Granger visited yesterday.”
Had it only been yesterday? “Okay,” Rook said. “So, he’s like a charter member of Escorts-R-Us. I’m not getting where you’re going with this.”
“Read the text of these three emails and give me your first impression.”
Rook started to tell Eric to blurt it out or she was moving on, but she held her tongue in the face of his earnest expression. She’d indulge him for five more minutes, but then she was pulling the plug on this little detour. She shifted her attention back to the screen and started reading. “The language is stiff, broken. Like the author is not a native English speaker.”
“Exactly.”
“So what you’re saying is the escorts at Lorraine Darcy might be well skilled in other areas, but drafting emails in English, not so much.”
“I’m saying way more than that.” He pointed again at the redacted words. “There’s a pattern here with the missing words. I’ve seen something like this before.” He started banging on the keyboard. “Hang on.” More typing. “Here it is. Take a look at this.”
Rook stared at the screen, the right side of the screen showing the emails from Mitchell’s computer and the left a letter on some official looking letterhead with a scattered series of small redactions. The pattern didn’t make sense to her, but it was eerily similar. “What is this?”
“Bear with me because this is going to sound crazy.” Eric pushed his laptop to the side and faced them. “It’s code.”
“I’ve seen something like this before too,” Blake said, her eyes trained on the screen.
“I bet you have,” Eric replied. “I heard the CIA still trains their operatives in old-style Soviet coding systems, you know, for historical perspective. Betcha didn’t know they were still using it.”
Harry struck his knuckles on the table. “Hold up. Are you two trying to say Mitchell was working for the Russians?”
Rook kept staring at the screen while the rest of her team started talking all at once. If Eric and Blake were right and they’d uncovered messages utilizing a Russian coding system, then this case had suddenly mushroomed into way more than her firm was equipped to handle. She let them talk for a few more minutes then held up a hand to signal it was time for her to talk. “Eric, can you break the code?”
“Yes.”
“How long would it take?”
“I can write a program—a few hours, tops. But if you want me to do that, I should get an air-gapped computer.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s a computer that’s never been connected to the Internet. That way we can be sure that no one will get access to the information once the code is broken unless they have physical possession of the computer.”
Rook paused, her mind spinning through a list of options. She could call Julia right now, set up a meeting and tell her what Eric had found. They’d turn over the emails and NSA hackers could break the code and let the White House know if there really was some kind of Russian meddling with the Pentagon. And the Daniels Agency would be free to go back to dealing with Senator Newman’s public relations nightmare and whatever new scandal was due to hit the evening news.
That’s what she should do. But once she turned the information over, she’d never know what the messages were or what they meant. Her other option was to have Eric break the code here at the office. Once they knew what the messages were, they could notify Julia and assist with managing the fallout. The practical choice was option A. But then you might never know if Zoey was involved or in danger.
Did Zoey know about any of this? Why had Mitchell mentioned her specifically in his suicide note? Rook didn’t think she could let this go until she had more answers, but depending on what this information was, hanging on to it could constitute a federal offense. She looked at the three faces staring at her and made a snap decision. “I want to know what these messages say, but I have a feeling our client would prefer that we turn over the information we’ve got so far and let them sort it out. Whatever decision I make impacts all of us, so let’s take a vote. All in favor of stopping now and handing this off to whatever agency the White House wants to involve, raise your hand.”
She waited, but every one of them—the hacker, the lawyer, and the former CIA agent—sat perfectly still, hands flat on the table. “Okay, then.” She pointed to Eric. “Someone go buy this man a new computer.”
Chapter Sixteen
Zoey sat at her desk with her eyes trained on the door, wishing she’d arranged to meet Major Riley somewhere else. She’d managed to avoid Dixon most of the day, but
he could show up any minute and she wasn’t interested in discussing her theories about Mitchell’s death with him.
Not that she had any workable theory. Mostly all she had was a hunch that Mitchell had left a clue in the letter he’d left behind. A clue meant for her and she was determined to sort it out, hopefully, with Major Jack Riley’s help. Like she’d conjured him, he poked his head in the partially open door. “Major Granger?”
“Come in, please. And it’s Zoey.” She motioned for him to sit. “Thanks for coming by.”
“Happy to.” He stepped into the room and pointed at the door. “You want this open or shut?”
“Closed is good.”
He shut the door and settled into the chair in front of her desk. “I would have invited you to my corner of the building, but there are a lot of gatekeepers. It’s definitely easier this way.”
Zoey cast a quick look at his card that she had positioned on the corner of her desk and read the single word under his name. “Intelligence, like if you tell me what you really do, you have to kill me?”
He assumed a super serious expression. “Absolutely, but I don’t think I was even supposed to tell you that much.” He broke into a smile. “To be honest, most of what I do is pretty boring. Analyst stuff.”
She wondered if that was really true, but played along. “Quite a change for you.”
“It’s definitely been an adjustment from running ops in the field, but I’m not as young as I used to be.”
Zoey wanted to ask him about his experience running a Delta Force unit, but she suspected like most soldiers who’d worked in Special Forces, he wasn’t big on sharing. Besides, as interested as she was in his service, she’d asked to meet with him for another reason entirely. Before she could get to the reason for their meeting, she was interrupted by a knock on the door.
“Come in,” she called out, scrambling for an excuse to get rid of Dixon. But it wasn’t Dixon. Lieutenant Louden strode in and started walking toward her desk, but he stopped abruptly when he saw Major Riley.
“I’m sorry,” Louden said. “I didn’t realize you were in a meeting.”
“It’s okay. Major Riley, this is Lieutenant Louden, General Sharp’s assistant.”
Jack reached his hand out to Louden who stared at it for a moment before accepting the handshake. “I know Major Riley,” Louden said. “Nice to see you, sir.”
“Of course you do,” Zoey said, remembering Sharp was Jack Riley’s godfather and probably knew most of the general’s staff. “I forget everyone around here is connected in some way. Lieutenant, how long have you worked for General Sharp?”
Louden shuffled in place as if he was uncomfortable to be in the spotlight. “For a while now, ma’am. The general and I have developed quite a productive working arrangement.”
Odd way to phrase it, but Zoey understood what he meant. It wasn’t unusual for an officer moving his way up the ranks, like Sharp had, to single out other soldiers to be part of his inner circle and support them along the way. If she’d been more interested in setting down roots than seeing the world, she imagined she would have been by Sharp’s side all along as well. As it was, she’d benefitted plenty from Sharp’s at-a-distance assistance over the years in the form of several below the zone promotions.
“I brought the files you requested,” Louden said, handing over a sealed envelope. “Are you going to want the conference room again this afternoon?”
“No, not today.” Zoey knew she should schedule interviews with the higher ranking officers who’d used the Darcy Agency, not to mention set up a re-interview of Donny Bloomfield as soon as possible, especially in view of Sharp’s admonition to bring this matter to a close, but she wasn’t up for spending the afternoon sitting across from Rook, acting as if nothing had happened between them. Not yet.
Louden looked at the door. “If you don’t need anything else then.”
Zoey dismissed him and waited until the door was firmly shut before she resumed her discussion with Jack.
“He seems like a nice guy,” Jack said. “Has he been helping you find your way around?”
“He’s been great. This place is so big I forget what a small world it can be. Louden worked with the general all these years, you and your sister are both Sharp’s godchildren. Did I hear correctly that your father served with General Sharp?”
“You did. They were both part of the Ranger unit that led the invasion of Grenada. General Sharp received the Medal of Honor for saving my dad, along with the rest of their unit when they were ambushed by the resistance forces.”
“Wow, I had no idea. I mean I’ve seen the medal, but he doesn’t talk about it. Grenada, huh? That was a long time ago.” She marveled at the fact she’d never heard the story of Sharp’s heroism. There were a lot of soldiers who would’ve traded on the telling, but he had never breathed a word of it as far as she knew.
“Yep. My dad was barely out of West Point and had just finished Ranger training. It was his first assignment and he wound up dropped in a hot mess, pinned down between resistance fighters. Sharp risked his life to draw enemy fire and saved all but one man from a certain death. Dad and the rest of the guys who served with him still call him Mr. Hero whenever they get together. Sharp hates it.”
Zoey filed the story away, determined to look up the details at some point as a way of gaining further insight into her mentor, but for now she seized on the mention of the Rangers to turn the conversation back to her original purpose. “Thanks for telling me about this. I don’t want to keep you longer, but I had a question about the Rangers I was hoping you could help me answer. Do you happen to know Colonel Nicholas Mitchell?”
“Isn’t he an instructor at McNair?”
“He was.” Zoey hesitated before blurting out, “He committed suicide last night.”
“You’re kidding. That’s horrible.”
Zoey nodded, as the memory of seeing Mitchell’s body in a pool of blood and brains came flooding back. Words couldn’t convey how horrible it truly was, so she only nodded in agreement. “This is going to sound like a strange question, but do you know if Colonel Mitchell was ever part of a Ranger unit?”
If Jack thought the question was odd, his expression didn’t show it. “I don’t think so. I mean I don’t pretend to know everyone who is, but I do know of him and I think I’d know if he’d been a Ranger. Are you investigating his death? Have you looked at his file?”
She didn’t know the answer to the first question. Did investigating Mitchell’s death fall under her mandate to sort out the Darcy Agency mess? If it did, surely she had the right to talk to anyone she thought might have valuable information and share information she had. She wasn’t entirely convinced that was the case, but Sharp hadn’t given her much guidance other than she needed to “wrap it up.”
“His file is on restricted status,” she said. “And it has been for at least the last few days, but he left a note. I’d show it to you, but I don’t have a copy.” She took a breath before plunging ahead. “It was addressed to me.” She reeled off a summary of the points in Mitchell’s letter, ending with, “He signed off with the motto, ‘Rangers lead the way.’ I checked his public profile, but I don’t see anything about having served as a Ranger. Even if he was a Ranger, it seems a bit odd, but if he wasn’t, then I think he was trying to tell us something.”
“Like a coded message?”
“Exactly, but I’m not equipped to figure it out. I thought if he was a Ranger, then at least I’d have somewhere to start.”
“Where is the letter?”
“I don’t know.” The last time Zoey had seen it, the tall, leggy blonde on Rook’s team had been slipping it into an evidence envelope. Several times that morning, Zoey had contemplated texting Rook to see if she could get a copy so she could study it some more, but reaching out to Rook now after she walked out on her last night felt weird.
But Jack knew Rook. Zoey remembered the way the two of them had kidded around at Addison’s party. Maybe he
could get the letter from her.
But this wasn’t his case. He had his own work to do, but the voice in her head prompted Zoey to blurt out, “I think Rook Daniels has a copy, but I can’t ask her.” At his questioning look, she said, “Long story. But if you asked her, maybe she’d give you a copy.” A few beats of silence passed and she had a feeling she was losing him. “That letter is the key to his death and…”
This was it. Time to decide if she was going to tell him everything or just enough bits and pieces to get him to acquire a copy of Mitchell’s letter. The letter would be valuable sure, but if she told him the rest, he might be able to help her sort through the information she and Rook had gathered so far and determine what to do next. Since Rook wasn’t around to be her sounding board, she needed someone and he was in intelligence after all. She took a moment to organize her thoughts and then started to tell him the story of the late night call to the police from the Ivy Hotel. She told him everything, from how much Dixon’s annoying presence bothered her to her dissatisfaction with the lack of guidance she’d received.
When she finished, she stared at him and waited for a reaction. She didn’t have to wait long. His drawn expression told her he believed some, if not all, of what she’d told him, but she could tell he was also conflicted.
“And you’ve been talking to witnesses?” he asked.
“Yes, but we’ve only scratched the surface. I could use your help. I know you have your own work, but if there’s any way you could help me get a little of the information I need to put this to bed, I would appreciate it.”
“Don’t you have a team assigned to work on this?”
Zoey thought about her “team.” Dixon, who she’d planned to ditch as soon as possible. And Rook. Rook had a team, but they reported to Rook, not her, and so far, she wasn’t getting any information from Rook’s team. “It’s just me. Look, I know you probably have better things to do, more important things, but I sure could use the help. If you’ll just point me in the right direction and sit in when I re-interview Donny Bloomfield, that’ll do. Okay?”