Riding up the side of a mountain in a big tram was a different story. She knew she’d have to face that reality when she gave her luncheon speech, but she didn’t want to think about that right now. Instead, she settled back in her seat, picked up her copy of the Journal again, and read the editorial page.
The cabin attendant came through with a cart and asked if they wanted a beverage. Homer requested a Diet Coke while Samantha settled for a bottle of water. They enjoyed their sandwiches, chatted about Samantha’s speech, and discussed the notes they had both submitted to Secretary Pickering.
They flew west against a strong headwind and then changed planes. Finally, they prepared to land in Jackson Hole, the only airport located in a national park. “Take a look at those mountains,” Homer said, pointing out the window at the Grand Teton.
“If you don’t mind, I’d rather not look,” Samantha said.
“Oh right. Sorry. Hopefully, we’ll be on the ground soon. Do you know how far away the hotel is?”
“Yes. The Jackson Lake Lodge is a bit of a drive from the airport. We have to go a long way through the park. Then it all depends on how many moose breaks there are.”
“Moose breaks?” Homer asked.
“My assistant gave me a whole list of things that happen out there. Whenever there are moose around, the tourists stop their cars, get out, and take pictures. It can tie up traffic for a while. That’s why the locals call them ‘moose breaks’.”
He rolled his eyes. “What else do I need to know?”
“Let’s see,” she said. “You have to stop at a checkpoint where a ranger charges everyone a fee to drive through the park. Well, except for the senior citizens who have lifetime passes.”
Homer chuckled. “Why would anyone need a lifetime pass? How many times would you want to go there anyway?”
“Well, it’s how you drive to Yellowstone. There aren’t many other roads out of Jackson. Three really. Anyway, I don’t think we’ll have time to hit Yellowstone with our schedule. We’re not here to sightsee.”
“I know. I got my orders from the secretary: meet the delegates, drum up support for our initiatives, help you in any way I can—including security. I’ll stay on my toes, especially now that the FBI has tipped us off to a possible threat,” he said.
“Thank you. I’m sure the Treasury people can handle whatever it is, so let’s not worry about it,” she said.
Homer looked at her across the middle seat and said, “I don’t know how you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Compartmentalize everything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, a guy took a shot at you at your apartment, you have FBI protection, and now there’s talk about something else going on out here. And you just sit there, calm and collected. How do you do that?”
Samantha sighed and finally answered, “What other choice do I have?”
THIRTY-NINE
WEDNESDAY EVENING;
WASHINGTON, D.C.
“OLEG, WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?” Jolene was practically weeping into the phone.
“What do you mean, what have I done?” Otto asked, clutching his cell.
“An FBI agent was just here. He showed me a drawing of someone they’re looking for, and it looked just like you. They had a different name. Otto. But that’s so close to Oleg! Is it really you they’re after?” she asked, sounding desperate.
Oh no. They must be checking every hotel in Washington.
He took a deep breath and asked, “What did you tell them?”
“I told them I didn’t know anybody like that,” she said. “But tell me the truth. Are they looking for you?”
What can I tell her? I need her help, but I don’t want her to get in trouble too.
Otto finally said, “Look, there’s something going on, and I need to talk to you.”
“Something is going on?” she echoed. “What is it? You’re scaring me.”
“I don’t mean to scare you. I just need to talk to you. There are some things I want to explain. Really. When can I see you?”
She hesitated. “Oleg, listen to me. Every time we’ve been together, you’ve evaded my questions and never told me why you’re really here. And now it looks like you’re caught up in something bad. You may have been nice to me, but I’m not about to see you now. Maybe not ever. So, I am going to ask you again, what have you done?”
“Look, Jolene, I’ll explain everything when I can tell you in person.”
“No. Tell me now. If the FBI comes back, I swear I’ll tell them I’ve thought about that drawing and how similar it looks to someone I know.”
“No!” he shouted into the phone. “Stop. Remember I told you I was working for my uncles?” When she didn’t respond, he went on. “I don’t know about all of their businesses, but I’m pretty sure they’re involved in something bad.”
“So, you’re saying it’s your uncles the FBI really wants, not you?” she pressed.
“Well, sort of,” he said. “It’s complicated, okay?” He glanced at his watch and added, “I’m leaving. Obviously, I can’t stay here any longer.”
“I still don’t like it. Maybe your uncles are bad, but it sounds like you’re involved with them. And that means I can’t be involved with you. My shift is over now. I’m leaving too.”
“Wait, wait,” he said. “I’ll work it out, and then I’ll call you and explain everything. You’re the only friend I have here.”
There was a long pause. Jolene finally sighed and said, “Oleg, I thought you were smart. Whatever is going on definitely isn’t smart, and I want no part of it.”
“If I can work it out, can’t I call and fill you in?”
“I don’t know.” She clicked off.
Otto frantically started packing. He had to get out of the hotel and find someplace else to hide. The agents might come back and talk to other employees, maybe one of the maids or somebody in the restaurant downstairs. Any of those people might figure out that he was the guy in the drawing.
He yanked open the bureau drawers and piled his jeans, pants, shirts, and socks into his suitcase on top of the Glock that was still wrapped in a T-shirt. He grabbed his slacks off hangers, folded them haphazardly, and shoved them in. He grabbed his extra pair of running shoes, pushed them into the suitcase, and then went into the bathroom to gather up his razor, toothbrush, toothpaste, and some extra soap and shampoo the maid had left.
He quickly checked a couple of news sites on his iPhone. Nothing about Samantha Reid. Except for one article about a speech she was giving out west, there hadn’t been any news about her since that night he took a shot at her. Maybe he had missed her. But they could be hiding her real condition if she had been hit. He had no idea. But at this point, he didn’t care.
He only cared about getting away and Jolene.
Not long after they moved her into her new apartment, they spent the night together. She had been spectacular in bed, and he had never known any girl like her. She was fresh, nice, and turned out to be a pretty good cook. Kind of like his mother.
Now he would lose her. He couldn’t blame her for being scared. Who wouldn’t be? Their little affair had happened so fast, she was probably berating herself and thinking he was some kind of demon. Was he?
Yes.
Yes, he had agreed to plant that bomb in Naples.
He remembered what they had told him before they sent him there. Vadim had said that the C-4 would cause some damage and might take out the White House woman, someone he said was their real enemy. Otto knew how enemies of the oligarchs were treated in Moscow. They were simply eliminated, and nobody raised much of a fuss except for a few reporters.
Even though Vadim insisted that Samantha Reid was in a position to ruin their businesses, Otto was incredibly relieved when no one was hurt in Naples. He never wanted to become a murderer.
He dashed to the desk, turned off his computer, and unplugged the charger. As he put both items into his suitcase, he wondered how his m
om was doing out on the farm. He knew she would be shocked if she learned everything he had done.
He checked his wallet. He still had some cash as well as the credit cards. He glanced around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, flipped off the lights, and hustled to the elevator. In the lobby he saw that Jolene had left the desk and been replaced by other staff. He pulled down his hoodie, walked over, put his room key card on the counter, and said, “Checking out.”
“Certainly, sir,” the clerk said. “Would you like your receipt?”
“I guess so. Just put it all on the credit card.”
“Of course, sir.” The woman hit a few computer keys, reached for the printer, handed him the receipt, and said, “Hope you enjoyed your stay. Come back and see us again.”
“Don’t think I can. I’m flying to Chicago,” Otto said, hoping that would send any other inquiring agent in a different direction.
“Safe travels,” she said and then turned to answer a ringing phone.
Otto quickly walked out the door, dragged his luggage to the rental car, shoved the bag into the trunk, drove onto Wisconsin Avenue, and turned left. He steered down to M Street, turned right, and then took a left to cross Key Bridge. As he drove, he glanced back toward the Whitehurst Freeway. That’s where the Reid woman lived. Otto swore never to drive by there again.
He accelerated and headed south on 395. Where was he going? He had absolutely no clue.
FORTY
WEDNESDAY EVENING;
WASHINGTON, D.C.
BRETT WAS WORKING LATE. SAMANTHA was in Jackson, so he didn’t have the evening protective detail, though he wished he did. He was still upset about their last conversation. He had practically begged her to cancel the trip. Didn’t she realize that there could be real danger at this conference? What was more important? Giving a speech to a bunch of economists or protecting her life? He pondered that thought as he scrolled through reports and recent searches on his computer.
By now, most of the agents had gone home to their families. Just the overnight crew and one or two other specialists were still working. Maybe they didn’t have families to go home to. Brett didn’t have anyone except his mother back in Indiana. When was the last time he had called her? He pushed that thought to the back of his mind with a mental reminder to contact her over the weekend.
Even though he had many other files to work on, he wanted to examine the search for the shooter again. How many times had he gone through the data? Had he missed something? Was the guy still in the city? He couldn’t believe they still hadn’t found this kid.
The suspect had set off an explosion in a hotel and made two attempts on Samantha Reid’s life. But every time Brett tried to analyze the kid’s actions, he couldn’t figure out a motive. And every time Brett repeated that process, he almost seized up with a personal fear for Samantha’s safety. Now that Samantha was in Jackson, Brett should have felt relieved. With all the Treasury security and the Denver agents in town, he should feel better. But he didn’t.
He grabbed a sheaf of Nori’s translations and reviewed them again. Russians going to the conference. Russians talking about security and rumors of a problem with the markets.
Brett checked his watch: 9:00 p.m. A lot of his work days seemed to extend to 9:00 p.m. or later. He thought about taking a break and going out for coffee and a sandwich down the street, but he wasn’t really hungry. In fact, his gut was telling him to get the hell out of his office and out to Wyoming.
During his FBI training, he had been told to pay attention to details. And when those details added up to too many questions, a perverse reaction to a suspect, a plot, or a target, you took action. And that’s precisely what he wanted to do. The only roadblock was Trevor.
He had to get a hold of his boss, convince him to change his mind, and then see if there was a plane on standby at Dulles. He’d also have to talk to the Denver agents. He looked at his watch again.
They’re two hours behind. I’ll ask them to double-check the tram and the restaurant and everything else on that goddamn mountain tonight. But I want to get out there to double-check everything myself.
Brett picked up his phone and dialed Trevor at home.
“Trevor Mason here,” said a gruff voice.
“Trevor, it’s Brett.”
“This better be good. Did you find the kid?”
“No, not yet. But I need your help,” Brett said.
“You need my help? Well, that’s a first,” his boss said. “What is it?”
“I’ve been going over Nori’s Russian translations about the Jackson conference and their concerns about security and rumors. And damn it, Trevor, I have to get out there myself. Before you say anything, just let me say that it’s a hunch. But with all those officials out there, they need all the help they can get. And I need to be on the ground, working with Denver, with Treasury, with everyone.”
Trevor heaved a long sigh. “You really are a persistent son-of-a-bitch, aren’t you?” He paused and then said, “Well, I have to admit you came to us with an excellent record, and I know you’ve been working your ass off on all these issues.” He stopped again for a long moment. “What the hell. If I don’t okay the travel, I’ll probably never hear the end of it. Get your gear together, and I’ll call in the order to transportation at Dulles. Keep me posted on everything. I want a tick-tock on this entire trip. Is that clear?”
“Absolutely clear, sir. Thank you.”
Now he needed to confirm that he could get a flight on one of the FBI’s private jets. He waited a few minutes to give his boss time to make the first call. When he finally got through and explained his mission, the dispatcher said they had just heard from Trevor Mason. The only plane that would be available was due to land at 7:00 a.m., and they couldn’t be certain it would be on time. They would also need an hour to refuel and get a new crew in place.
Brett had no choice but to say he would be at Dulles and ready for takeoff at 8:00 a.m. With the time difference, the three and a half hour flight would get him to Jackson at ten o’clock in the morning local time, if they didn’t hit strong headwinds. It would be close to the time of Samantha’s luncheon speech. Way too close. But he had no choice.
Just to be sure, he checked the schedule for commercial flights. There was nothing that would get him there any faster.
Since he couldn’t leave D.C. until tomorrow, all he could do was gather up his things, head home to try to get some sleep, and then drive to the airport in the morning. But first, he had to talk to the Denver agents.
Brett called their bureau and got through to the man in charge of the Fed conference. The agent assured him that they were covering the Jackson Lake Lodge and other meeting sites. He had even assigned agents to monitor activities like fishing, raft trips, and golf. He also told Brett that several of his men were already in Teton Village and would take the tram up the mountain. They would search the restaurant where the luncheon speech would be as well as the surrounding area. They would also carefully investigate each tram car and ride back down on the last tram of the night with the restaurant workers. In the morning, only restaurant staff and other necessary personnel would be allowed to board the tram until the conference delegates arrived.
When the agent asked Brett why he thought it was necessary to fly to Jackson, Brett quickly explained that he had headed up the investigation so far and simply wanted to be on site. Not wanting to get into an argument, Brett left it at that, thanked the agent for his help, and hung up.
So, they would have to let restaurant workers up the mountain before Samantha and the others.
He thought back to the waiter in Naples and felt his pulse race.
He glanced at his watch again, packed up his computer, put his gun in his shoulder holster, turned out the lights, and headed for the door. When he passed Dom’s cubicle, he looked in and saw that some of the sample listening devices and bomb detectors were on his desk.
On a whim, he walked in and shoved the small, experimental
bomb pre-emptor in his pocket. He knew it was a prototype and nobody knew if it would actually work in the field. But it was small, so why not take it along? He also decided to borrow the other detector that was the size of a briefcase. Then he made another decision. He picked up Dom’s desk phone and called his home number.
“Turiano,” the voice said.
“Hey, Dom, it’s Brett. I’m still at the office, and I just talked to Trevor. I made my case again about flying out to Jackson, and he finally gave in.”
“You actually got Trevor to agree to something?” Dom asked in a somewhat incredulous voice.
“Yes. I’ve scheduled a ride out of Dulles. Leaves at 8:00 a.m. Any chance you could come with me?”
“Did Trevor okay that too?” Dom asked.
“Not exactly,” Brett said hesitantly.
“Well, there’s no time for requisitions and paperwork, but I’d really like to go with you on this one. Besides,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m sitting here trying to find a decent movie to watch and I’m deciding between Killer Tomatoes Eat France and Mega Shark versus Giant Octopus.”
Brett gave short laugh. “Okay, stash the remote, grab some shut-eye, and meet me at Landmark Aviation at Dulles a little before 8:00 a.m. As for Trevor, I promised I’d give him regular updates. I’m going to send him an email right now. I’ll tell him when I’m leaving and that I’ve analyzed the situation and would like you to be there with me for backup. If he checks his email and says no, I’ll call you ASAP. Otherwise, throw some gear together, and I’ll see you at our FBO. Oh, speaking of gear. I just appropriated a couple of your toys.”
“Which toys?”
“Some of the stuff on your desk. You never know what we might need once we get there,” Brett said.
“You’re really focused on this conference, aren’t you? Or is it Samantha Reid that you’re focused on?” Dom asked.
“All of the above.”
“What about the Denver bureau? Thought they were in charge out there.”
Trust But Verify Page 19