He lifted the woman as if she were a ragdoll and laid her gently on the carpet. She didn’t react. “There. Now all we need to do is figure out which locker is Essiah’s.”
He turned and surveyed the row of lockers with a frown. Sasha bent and removed a small key from Dana’s hand.
“Probably seventeen.” She flashed him the key. A number was painted on the key’s silver head with red nail polish.
She stepped over Dana and inserted the key in Locker 17. She stretched up on her toes and removed an armload of stuff.
“Here, let me help you.”
She handed him half the pile and they spread it all out on a low wooden bench that was situated in the middle of the floor between the two sets of lockers. A jacket; a set of Magic: The Gathering cards; a case of poker chips; a battered cardboard Scrabble box; and a Battleship box that was in decent shape.
While Sasha checked out the Battleship game, he gathered up the rest of Wheaton’s belongings and returned them to the locker. He relocked the door and pressed the key into Dana’s outstretched hand then wrapped her fingers around it. She moaned and shifted but didn’t wake up.
“We should get out of here,” he whispered.
Sasha nodded but her attention was on the contents of the box. She’d lifted the gray, plastic cases that housed the pegs and the pegboards out of the box to reveal a stack of papers.
“Look at this.” She passed him the top sheet.
He skimmed it.
If you’re reading this, I’m dead.
If the circumstances of my death were suspicious, please look to a man named Fletcher Lee Holden and a group called the Heritage Brotherhood, located in Texas. Holden vowed to kill me, and I have no doubt he will if he ever finds me.
You’ll see why if you review the enclosed documents. I’m sorry for putting them in code, but I don’t want anyone to stumble on this information by accident and find themselves in the crosshairs with Holden like I did.
If you value your life, you’ll proceed with caution.
Sincerely,
Essiah Wheaton
“There’s a code?”
She spread out a handful of papers. “It’s all digits, just row after row of numbers.”
“No key, right?”
She shot him a look. “What do you think?”
He realized it was a stupid question, but a guy could hope.
“That’s okay. The data analysts’ll be able to crack it in their sleep.”
She returned the game cases to the box and replaced the lid. Then she shuffled the papers into a tidy stack, plucked the note out of his hand, and placed it on the top of the pile.
“What analysts would those be?” she asked in a conversational tone while carefully sliding the papers into the pale blue leather bag she used to transport everything from her laptop to massive client files and emergency changes of clothes for the twins. She tucked the game under her arm.
“The NCTC analysts,” he answered slowly.
She locked eyes with him. “The geniuses who figured him for a terrorist? The ones who convinced Morgan to leak Wheaton’s name on the internet? How do you think the Heritage Brotherhood found him, Connelly? Your precious NCTC led them right to his front door. There’s no chance I’m giving these papers to the NCTC.” Her gaze hardened. “Or you, for that matter.”
“Sasha, don’t do this. Those papers could have national security implications. I’m going to have to—”
A massive crash, like a table being overturned, or chairs being thrown, sounded from the break room just outside the door. A furious shout rose, “Chase, you son of a bitch!”
He put a hand on his holster and called up a mental image of the building. The closest exit was the blind metal door that he’d parked near that first day. It was just through the break room and then down a short hallway that doglegged to the right.
“Who’s Chase?” she whispered.
“I am.”
“You killed Essiah! Get out here, so I can kick your ass.” The words were a guttural scream.
“Listen, there’s a back exit. You just need to go through the break room and head to the right. Get out of here.”
“What about you?”
“They’re drunk, and they’re civilians. I might have to fight a few of them, but it’ll be fine.”
“Don’t shoot anybody unless you have no other choice.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
She whirled around and grabbed his collar. She pressed her face into his neck. “I’m still mad at you. But don’t get hurt.”
He kissed the crown of her head. “I’m not going to get hurt. I love you. I’ll call you when I get out of here and we can figure out next steps. Let Hank know what’s happening if you can. I don’t understand where these guys got the idea that I killed Wheaton.”
She nodded into his shirt. Then she gave a quiet gasp and raised her eyes to his.
“The guys. I was about to tell you and then Dana came in. Two men were watching the building when I got here. They came in not long after me, looking for somebody. They’re both wearing cowboy boots, jeans, and those big old belt buckles.”
“Like they do in Texas?”
“Exactly.”
He reconsidered his plan. If Holden’s men had fingered him, they’d no doubt shown Wheaton’s buddies copies of the pictures. Maybe he was going to have to shoot his way out.
This was not good. And then it got worse.
“Sirens,” Sasha said with a tremor in her voice.
“They’re still a ways off.”
She glanced at the waitress, still prone on the floor. Her eyes darted from side to side and she pressed her lips together in a firm line. She was calculating a plan. After a moment, she nodded.
“No offense, but your plan sucks. Follow my lead.”
“What’s the play?”
“No time. Just trust me. But you’re going out the back door. I’m walking out the front with my new friend.”
She shouldered her bag and crouched beside the waitress.
Outside, the shouts were getting angrier.
“Dana? Dana, wake up.” She gave her a little shake.
“What?” Dana struggled to a seated position and looked around, bleary-eyed, trying to get her bearings.
Sasha helped her to her feet. “Come on. We need to get you home so you can rest.”
Dana nodded and got to her feet unsteadily. Sasha put an arm around the taller woman’s waist, and Dana looped her arm around Sasha’s shoulder.
She turned to Leo. “Ready.”
He shook out his hands. “Let’s do it.”
Sasha opened the door and stepped out into the break room, still supporting Dana.
He followed the two women.
C.J. and Slim stood in the middle of the room, feet planted wide, fists up. Ready to fight. Closer to the door, the two cowboys Sasha had described stood off to the side. One of them had a bottle of beer in his right hand. They both had short buzzed hair, tanned faces, and massive forearms. The metal table lay on its side near the wall on the left side of the room.
Leo stepped around Sasha and raised his hands in an appeasing gesture. “Let’s take it easy, fellas.”
Slim growled. “It’s a little late to talk your way out of this. They saw you creeping around Essiah’s place.” He jerked a thumb toward the pair near the door. “Bill already called the cops. You’re trapped.”
It was a fair assessment.
Sasha cleared her throat. “Is one of you named C.J.?”
C.J. gave her a boozy, uncertain nod. “I am.”
“Your girlfriend’s not feeling well. Maybe you want to call her a cab?”
C.J. shot Slim a worried look then turned his attention back to his girlfriend. “You okay, baby?”
Dana groaned. “I think I’m gonna be sick.”
Slim’s nostrils flared. “Get her out of here,” he told C.J.
“I can help you,” Sasha offered. “We should get to t
he bathroom.”
C.J. dropped his fists. “Thanks. Come on, baby.” He walked around to Dana’s other side and hugged her to his side. “I got her. You get the door.”
Sasha crossed the room, skirting Holden’s men, and pulled the door open. As C.J. and Dana shuffled through it, she pierced Leo with a stare. He watched the rise and fall of her throat as she swallowed. Then she tightened her grip on her bag and followed them out into the hallway.
35
Sasha kept one hand wrapped around the thick straps and hugged the bag to her body as she followed Dana and C.J. to the ladies room. The rest of the crowd at the bar appeared to be oblivious to the scene happening in the break room.
That was good. But it wouldn’t last long. The sirens were growing louder.
They reached the bathroom.
“Do you want me to go in with you?” she asked Dana.
The boyfriend threw her a grateful look.
Dana shook her head. “No, I’ll be okay.” She pushed through the door and disappeared inside.
“I didn’t think she had that much to drink,” C.J. mumbled.
“She didn’t. But it just hit her hard—no sleep, no food, and I’m sure emotions have been high around here since … you know.”
He nodded. “Is that guy really your husband?”
“Yeah. But he didn’t kill your friend.”
“I know what I saw, lady.” Anger flared in his eyes.
“He’s a federal agent. Essiah got himself mixed up in something he shouldn’t have. I don’t think he did anything wrong, but he got on the wrong side of some very bad people. My husband was trying to help him, not hurt him.”
She wasn’t actually sure what Connelly had been trying to do, but there was no reason to bare her soul to this guy.
He narrowed his eyes. “Then who killed him?”
“I don’t know for sure, but my money’s on your new friends with the cowboy boots.”
His jaw hinged and his mouth fell open. “We gotta tell somebody! The police are on their way. C’mon.” He started back toward the break room.
She put a hand on his arm to stop him. “He can take care of himself. You take care of Dana. And don’t drive anywhere. Can you call someone for a ride?”
He nodded slowly, but his eyes kept going to the break room door. “Yeah. But, are you sure about this?”
No. Not even remotely.
“Yes,” she said. “I’m sure. Listen, I’m going to go now. Make sure Dana gets something into her stomach. Maybe some crackers.”
“Uh … okay.” He bobbled his head, slightly dazed by the latest turn of events.
She gave him a reassuring smile and speed-walked through the bar’s main room. Her heart pounded and her leg muscles twitched, desperate to obey the signal her brain was sending them: Run. Run!
No, she told herself firmly. Stay cool. She pulled back her shoulders and kept walking.
As she was pushing open the door to the parking lot, she ran smack into two uniformed police officers on their way in.
“Officers,” she said in greeting.
“Ma’am.” The male officer nodded.
His partner gave a distracted look at the Battleship game she carried on her hip, but held the door open for her.
“Thanks.”
The female officer holding the door didn’t respond. She was busy arguing with her partner.
“C’mon, Lewis. I don’t want to get twisted up because we didn’t wait for the feds. They’ll be here in a minute. Just stand down until they get here.”
He rounded on her. “Why are we letting a bunch of dweebs from the FBI take over, Macklyn? This is our murder, in our jurisdiction.”
Sasha’d heard enough. She raced toward her car.
The FBI was on its way. That was good for Connelly. Wasn’t it? At this point, she wasn’t sure. Usually, he and Hank worked independent of the official channels. Would the FBI even know about his assignment, whatever it was?
The growing sensation that her husband was a virtual stranger threatened to overwhelm her. It was a distraction she didn’t have time for right now.
She rested her bag in the foot well of the passenger seat, placed the box beside it, jammed the key into the ignition, and started the car. She zipped out of the parking lot and headed for the highway.
Before she had the chance to call Hank, her phone rang. She activated the hands-free feature.
“This is Sasha.”
“It’s Naya. Your friend Angela Washington called again.”
“I left her a voicemail and told her Gella’s not available this morning, what’s her deal?” She didn’t have time for this.
“I’ve got her on hold. I’ll conference her in because you’re never gonna believe this. She’s bargaining against herself.”
Sasha heard two short beeps then Naya was back.
“Attorney Washington?”
“Here.”
“Sasha?”
“Yep.”
“Excellent. So, Ms. Washington, why don’t you repeat your client’s new offer for Sasha’s benefit.”
“Hi, Sasha. I know your decision maker is out of pocket, but I have a new offer for you to communicate. She can take the weekend to think about this one. I have to imagine it’ll be a fairly easy decision, though. I was just telling your partner that my clients have jointly decided they really want to head off a long and distracting legal battle that could drag on for years. They’re willing to increase their offer to seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in exchange for a dismissal with prejudice of the complaint and your client’s signature on a non-disclosure agreement.”
“I need to be sure I understand. You’re offering three-quarters of a million dollars, pre-discovery, pre-briefing to make this case go away?”
“Yes, I’d say that’s quite generous. Wouldn’t you?” Angela Washington sounded inordinately pleased with herself; her tone was just this side of gloating.
“Actually, I’d say that’s desperate.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your clients must be worried that something pretty damaging could come to light to make this offer.”
“That’s absurd.”
“Is it? So Sentinel Solution Systems isn’t concerned that their actions may have resulted in a murder?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Right. And let me guess, this dismissal would be drafted in such a way as to prevent my client from bringing suit against anyone else on these grounds, wouldn’t it?”
“Well, yes. But there’s no other entity you could sue for the alleged data leak, anyway.”
“Sure there is. Listen, Angela, I’m in the car and I can’t really talk. Put your offer in writing. I’ll forward it to my client with my recommendation. In the meantime, I’ll continue to research my client’s possible claims against the National Counterterrorism Center. I’ll be in touch when DoGiveThrive’s made a decision.”
“You can’t sue the NCTC.”
“Sure I can.”
The woman sputtered. Naya muffled a laugh.
“I have to end the call now. Goodbye, Angela. I’ll talk to you later, Naya.”
She disconnected the call. She would have loved to call Naya back and dissect the bizarre offer in detail, but she had other priorities at the moment.
“Call Hank,” she said.
Hank answered right away. “Richardson.”
“I found Connelly. He’s at a bar in Mars. The place is called Mugsy’s, and he’s got himself in a jam.”
“What kind of jam? Are you there now?”
“I’m in my car. I left, but he’s still there. Two guys, who we’re pretty sure are working for the Heritage Brotherhood, have convinced some bikers that Connelly killed Mr. Wheaton. He’s outnumbered and the police are there, but they’re currently standing in the doorway arguing over whether to call the FBI.”
“He told you about the Heritage Brotherhood?” Hank sounded furious.
“No. We found some of Essiah’s papers.”
“Good. And don’t worry about the police. I spoke to Leo after you and I last talked. Our boss is going to make the connection between Leo and Mr. Wheaton go away.”
“What do you mean, make it go away?”
“I don’t know the substance of her conversations, and I wouldn’t share them if I did. But she spoke to Washington and has received assurances that the matter’s being cleaned up.”
Sasha’s surreal conversation with Angela Washington was still top of mind. If it hadn’t been, the statement would have slipped right past her.
“When you say she spoke to Washington, do you mean someone in Washington? Or someone named Washington?”
He chuckled. “Both, actually. There’s a talented young attorney working on some matters for this task force we’re on.”
Sasha clenched the steering wheel. “Her name wouldn’t happen to be Angela Washington, would it?”
“As a matter of fact, it would. You know her?”
“You could say that. She’s trying her hardest to make sure the NCTC doesn’t get caught up in a lawsuit. You guys think you can buy your way out of taking responsibility for what you’ve done.” Her hands shook, but her voice was steady. “I can’t believe this.”
“I don’t know what anyone else has done or not done, but every action Leo took was authorized and appropriate, Sasha.”
She barely heard him through the haze of anger clouding her mind.
He rambled on. “And the papers you two found will probably go a long way toward explaining what happened to Essiah Wheaton and toward making the country a safer place.”
“Not really. They’re written in code.”
“Doesn’t matter. Leo can just turn them over to the—”
“No, he can’t. He doesn’t have them. I do.”
“I’ll meet you somewhere so you can hand them off. Where are you now?”
Sasha stared through the windshield at the highway unfolding in front of her car. She felt a spark of fire in her chest. She sat up straighter.
“No.”
“What do you mean, no? You can’t be running around with sensitive information that might jeopardize ongoing national security activities.”
Intentional Acts Page 18