"How can you be so sure?" Jacob asked.
"I knew I’d seen this before." His finger drew a circle encompassing the entire table. "It’s in Kari’s room. The toy table with the bears sitting around it There are only five bears but six chairs. This is the missing one."
Robyn gasped. Grant was right. She’d walked by that toy tea party hundreds of times. Kari had moved the bears, reseating them in different places, yet the same chair was always empty. As if it was a message Will was trying to give her.
"Who is this man?" Grant put his finger on the position which had been empty in the toy representation.
"Earl Totten," Robyn and Jacob answered in unison.
"Then, Robert Totten is Alex Jordan," Grant spoke. "What did these men have in common with Will?"
"They were the old guard." It was Jacob’s turn to explain. "McAdams wanted to set up Jordan as the leader of a worldwide syndicate of assassins. He proposed a new order, but the old chiefs refused to buy into his plan. He had them killed."
"How do you know that?" Robyn’s hands went to her sides and her body froze. Jacob spoke as if he’d always known the men in the photo and of their connections to each other. She was convinced. He didn’t need to tell her. "You knew then, didn’t you?"
"I didn’t know about McAdams’s connection." Jacob didn’t have to ask her when then was. Robyn could tell he’d been aware of the formation of the Crime Network. "When you discovered Alex Jordan’s intent six years ago, we’d been aware of the Network’s movements for some time. We didn’t know who the leader was. He was very adept at eluding us. Now, I know it was because the father-son team swapped the leadership. An action which intentionally misled anyone who might try to infiltrate the organization."
"But it was infiltrated?" Robyn was still rigid.
"Yes, eight men had been recruited. They were the best. Some of the most spectacular assassinations were credited to them. When Gianelli ordered the destruction of organized crime, these men were sent. But you discovered the plot, and all eight of them were captured, tried, and remain imprisoned."
"How did Will find out about me?"
"He didn’t know for sure, or he’d never have shown his hand," Jacob explained. "He was in intelligence. He could have contacts and a network so deep, it would be impossible to discover. But still he was unsure."
"He’s also proved to be extremely patient," Grant added.
"But how did he find me now? I swear I didn’t reveal anything. What happened to confirm his suspicions?"
"I told him," Grant said. He stood up, facing the two pairs of astonished eyes. "Not in actual words. I didn’t know for sure until Jacob told me the truth. Each time we met he was very interested in Brooke, even suggesting you might be a spy."
"What did you say," Jacob barked.
"When he came to the airfield to see me," Grant answered Jacob, but his eyes were trained on the pale face of the woman he loved. "Kari was with him. We talked and I told him you were never married to Cameron Johnson. He was a decoy, and your real life was a classified secret."
"Classified," Jacob snapped. "You used that word?"
Grant nodded, glancing at Jacob before returning his attention to Brooke. "Please, Brooke, don’t be angry. I didn’t know he had any connection with you."
Robyn was angry. How could he have been so thoughtless? How could he endanger the life of his own daughter? She stepped back, taking a long breath. It wasn’t fair, she told herself. Grant didn’t know what he was doing, and hadn’t she mysteriously sidestepped issues that would make him curious enough to confide in a friend? Robyn’s shoulders dropped as she let the anger fall away. Grant hadn’t been trained like she was. He didn’t know how one small sentence could change the course of her life.
"What are we going to do now?" She looked at Jacob. "We’re running out of time, and we haven’t come up with any method he might use on Kari."
"You think it will be another one of his spectacular kills?" Jacob asked.
Tears formed in her eyes. Both men moved toward her. Jacob stopped, and Grant cradled her against him. "He won’t do that." Grant eyed Jacob above Robyn’s head. His voice was soft. Robyn responded to it. Craning her head, she looked up at him. "He’s here for Brooke, not Kari," Grant said.
"But he said I took his son, and he was going to take my child."
"He won’t be able to do it."
"Go on," Jacob knew there was more.
"Will had four daughters and Alex. The girls have children. Children he’s seen only a few times. He wouldn’t tell me why, but he thinks it is an injustice that his daughters kept the children away from him. Kari is an innocent. It’s you he wants." Grant looked down into her eyes.
"Then we have to go back," she said.
"Hold it." Jacob joined the small group in front of the computer terminals. "If you think I’m willing to trade you for Kari, I won’t do it."
"It’s not your decision, Jacob!" Robyn screamed. "Kari is my child, and I will decide how best to save her life. Not you. I’ve let you run my existence for five years, and I hate it. This time it’s my choice." Her eyes reflected the anger now raging in her body she stepped out of Grant’s arms and confronted Jacob.
"All right," he agreed. "We do it your way."
***
Clarence Darrow Christopher III felt every one of his fifty-nine years. It was four o’clock in the morning. He should be home, in bed with his wife. Instead, he stood looking out of the window of his office at the Federal Bureau of Investigation. A light rain coated the streets of Washington. Street lamps reflected in pools of concentric circles. Chase Dalrymple, Director of the U.S. Marshal’s Service stood silently on the other side of the office. The two had already discussed the situation for an hour and neither understood what Jacob was up to?
Clarence thought he knew the man. But in all the years they’d crossed channels between the CIA, FBI and the justice department, this was the first time anything negative had been brought to his attention. Jacob was straight, bright, honest, a regulations-only man. If there was anyone who could handle the security of the United States, Clarence would have no reservations in recommending Jacob. Despite the incident with Cynthia, they didn’t come any more reliable than Jacob Winston.
Yet, tonight, he had let all the years of hard work go right down the drain, the way the rain was going into the openings in the street. And for what? Clarence didn’t know. He’d read Robyn Warren-Richards’s file. She had helped to put Alex Jordan away, and the United States taxpayers were thanking her for the effort. She was a beautiful woman, both before and after she entered the program. But that was no reason for Jacob to commit career suicide. Unless. . .He refused to complete the thought. Even Jacob wouldn’t be that stupid.
Well, he had to do it. He might as well get it over with. Going to the phone, he pressed the button to summon one of the twenty-four hour secretaries who manned the station outside his office. Immediately, the door opened, and a woman of forty stood before him, a pad in her hand. She glance at both him and Chase, but her attention returned to him for comment.
"Tell him we want to see him," he said with a sigh. Without a word she closed the door. Clarence dropped down into his chair. He glanced at the folder of Brooke Johnson open on his desk. He’d read it and there was nothing there that seemed to make sense out of what Jacob had done. He lifted the black-and-white glossy photo and looked into the sad eyes of a woman with dark hair framing her face. It must have been the eyes, he thought. I can see how a man could get lost in the silent vulnerability spoken there. But Jacob, he’d thought Jacob was a better man.
***
The phone rang. Jacob snatched it up. "Winston," he said.
"Mr. Christopher would like to see you in his office, Mr. Winston," an efficient voice said.
"I’ll be right there," he answered and hung up without a salutation.
Robyn looked directly at him as did every other pair of eyes in the crowded room. Robyn could
n’t remember when Hammil and the other agents returned. But the room was crowded again.
"Keep working," he said, as his body slowly left the chair. "I have to see Christopher."
Robyn took a step toward him and stopped. "Clarence Christopher?"
He nodded.
"Let me go with you?"
"No!" his voice snapped, then in a softer tone. "You have to stay here and finish what you’re doing. If there’s any chance at all of finding McAdams, it’s got to be here."
Robyn nodded. She knew further argument would be fruitless. Jacob’s face was relaxed but closed. He smiled at her and squeezed her arm before walking away.
Jacob closed the door behind him, turning left and walking to the private elevator at the end of the hall. He inserted his key into the security panel and waited for the car which would carry him to Clarence’s office. He wasn’t surprised to find the director of the bureau in residence at this hour. He’d known it would come to this when they stood in Robyn’s living room and when he still had time to change his mind. Robyn thought Kari was in danger, and she was, but Robyn and Grant’s lives were also in peril. And he wouldn’t let William McAdams win. Not this time. This time he was protecting Robyn, and he wasn’t going to let anything happen to her. She wasn’t like Cynthia. Cynthia had done everything his way while Robyn challenged him, fought for some control of her own life. And Cynthia had died. And someone like McAdams had killed her.
They were going to find a link, whatever clue they could to determine where he’d taken Kari and what he planned for her. Jacob hoped Robyn was right, and the date on the note was a message of McAdams’s plan. But even if it was, they were running out of time, and they were no closer to finding anything than they had been in her living room.
The door to the elevator slid silently open, and he stepped into the subdued lighting of the plush car. Well oiled cables raised him to the executive floor. Then, the doors slid back, and he stepped into Clarence’s office.
"Come in, Jacob." Clarence stood with his back to him. He stared out of the window interested in the rain or the street below. Jacob stood in front of the recessed portal of carved doors, waiting. He glanced at Chase Dalrymple. His face said nothing.
Jacob had been in this office few times, but tonight he expected would be his last. The overhead lights were out, and the room was illuminated by a lamp on Clarence’s massive desk. Another lamp poured its yellow glow from a small end table next to the maroon leather sofa. Above the sofa, fifteen years of a man’s life were reflected in several groupings of photographs. While most of them coupled Clarence with presidents, judges, and an occasional movie star, Jacob’s face smiled from a fishing boat and from the background at a picnic.
"What does she know about you, Jacob?" Clarence left his position and came to sit behind his desk. Jacob lowered himself into the chair in front of it. Chase occupied the other chair.
"Only what she needs to know, sir." The look Clarence leveled at him was not lost. Jacob had rarely referred to him as "sir," yet, tonight, it was warranted.
"Then, why, damn it?” Dalrymple spoke for the first time. “Why have you decided to throw your career into the Potomac and dive in after it?"
"Her child has been kidnapped," Jacob answered quietly. He saw the open folder on Clarence’s desk. The contents of that folder had been sealed when she was placed in Buffalo. Clarence must have been extremely concerned to have it exhumed.
"Why aren’t you letting the authorities handle this? It’s out of our jurisdiction," Clarence said.
Jacob’s body left the chair like a bullet. "Our jurisdiction?" He spit the word. "Where is the line for our jurisdiction, Clarence? Can you find where it lies today? Do you know where it will be tomorrow? When Alex Jordan was on trial, our jurisdiction extended to anything to get Robyn Richards to testify. We did everything whether it was within our authority of not. Then, it was all right. What about now, Clarence?” Again he swung his gaze between the two men, but his look was direct. “She’s downstairs, under who knows what kind of stress, trying to find some key, something to piece together an investigation we dropped five years ago, because it may provide a connection to save her daughter’s life. And she’s got less than two days to get it done. What do you think I should have done?"
"You should have followed the rules,” Dalrymple shouted. “Brooke Johnson should be living a quiet life without the need for constant care from us."
"Chase, have you forgotten you gave me this assignment?" Jacob reminded the man who’d called on him when Brooke was initially brought into the program.
"No, I haven’t forgotten, but I never thought I’d have you on my carpet at four o’clock in the morning in the office of the FBI."
"We owe it to her," Jacob said quietly.
"Jacob, what are you talking about? She got the same, better than the same, treatment as any of the members who ever went through the program."
"Did she, Clarence? We took from her. She gave us what we wanted. We put Alex Jordan away. But we took everything she had. We gave her nothing, but an empty shell to exist in until she’s too old to care. She walked away from us with nothing, not even the husband she loved."
"Don’t lay that at my door, Jacob." Clarence’s hand came down hard on the desk, rattling the pencil cup and causing the phone to give a tiny chime-like ring. Clarence was on his feet coming around the desk. "She made that decision without our help."
"What kind of decision would you have made, Clarence, if you were in the same position? If you were a material witness in a federal case, and your government used the fact that your wife was being held in a foreign prison. And, as added incentive, they spring Project Eagle on you. The only attempt to free her rested with your testimony. Would you refuse to testify and leave her there? Or would you take her into the program with you where everything about her is different. Everything, Clarence. She’d be physically altered. The woman you married would cease to exist. A different woman would live in her place.
"And then, everything she liked to do would suddenly become taboo. She could no longer paint. Those hand-drawn Christmas cards she sends out each year would be forbidden. She could never again see any of her family. No more reunions or homecomings. No old college friends or people she worked with. Do you honestly want to tell me you’d opt for that kind of life for the woman you loved?"
"Jacob, we’re not talking about what I would do. And that’s all past decisions now. The truth is we’re not doing our jobs. We’re no closer to finding who’s after Brooke Johnson than we were months ago. For years, we’ve been running round-the-clock surveillance on her. Do you know how much this is costing the taxpayers?"
"No," Jacob lied. He knew exactly what the cost was.
"The past five years alone have run into the millions. And, if I project it out for the next thirty years, the cost is astronomical. When do you plan to close this? Do you plan to ever close it?"
Jacob remained silent. He knew as long as Robyn needed protecting he’d make sure she got it. Clarence stared at him for a long moment then sighed and went back to his position by the windows. Jacob also knew Dalrymple was concerned about Jacob’s feelings for Robyn. Alex Jordan had been a thorn since Robyn uncovered the Network. McKenzie Cranford had been deputy director, second only to Clarence, and he’d been at the top of the ring Robyn had discovered. Jacob knew Clarence’s thoughts tonight were on the scene that had taken place five years ago.
"Unauthorized used of aircraft, unauthorized entry into a federal facility, unauthorized movement of secured files, unauthorized used of government equipment, unauthorized access to sensitive computer information including an investigation in progress." Clarence recited the broken rules as if they were charges against him. "What do you want me to do?" Clarence’s voice was low. It held none of the anger of a few minutes ago.
Jacob looked at his friend. He’d turned to face him. Jacob saw the hastily donned shirt still wrinkled from the previous day, hi
s feet pushed into brown leather slippers that had been Jacob’s Christmas present to him last year. His hair was uncombed, and he looked older than Jacob had ever noticed before.
"I want you to trust me, Clarence." His voice was friendly, too. Taking a moment, he looked at Chase Dalrymple. His gaze asking for his understanding, too.
Clarence was quiet for a long time. Finally, he walked back to his desk and sat down. He glanced at the file still lying open and picked up the photo of Robyn. Jacob watched him without words.
"Are you in love with her?" he asked, not looking up.
Jacob sat down. There were several things he could say in answer to that question. He could have told him she was still in love with her husband. He could say he was married to his work. He could lie and say, ‘no.’ But he met the eyes of the man across the desk directly and said, "Yes, I love her more than a sister, but less than a wife, if that’s your point. I am not sleeping with her and I never have."
Clarence let out his breath slowly as if he were willing himself to control it. "Does she know?" Dalrymple asked.
"I’ve never told her. But I’m sure she knows." Jacob had only kissed Robyn once. But, in that kiss, he’d told her everything. After that, each time he saw her he could see her feelings in her eyes. He knew she loved her husband. None of the warm looks she directed at Grant ever came his way. Yes, he loved Robyn, but his allegiance lay with another woman.
Robyn was not the woman for him, but she was the one who had shown him what living was about. He would be hurt when all this was over, and she was gone from his life, but he could take the hurt. And he would go on. He would stop existing and begin living. The woman downstairs, so full of life despite the sadness in her eyes, had scratched and clawed to have a life. While he had existed from day to day, refusing to get involved because he felt guilty over Cynthia. He couldn’t have saved Cynthia. He knew that now. No matter what he did. There were too many people against her. If the men in the helicopter hadn’t gotten her, she still wouldn’t have lived through the day. Jacob admitted it to himself. He’d done his best, and that’s all he could ask of himself.
Under the Sheets (Capitol Chronicles Book 1) Page 28