by Carla Cassidy, Evelyn Vaughn, Harper Allen, Ruth Wind, Cindy Dees
“I’ll do my best.”
“We have intelligence that shows a Q’rajn cell in the burbs of Chicago, and they’re utilizing a virus to encode their e-mails. We broke the code and my partner and I are pretty sure they’re targeting Chicago in some way.”
“Yeah, well—”
“Damn it!” Kim swore. “Not you, too.”
“Hold on. No need to get ugly, now. I just heard from your buddy at the CIA who said they caught your guys.”
Gritting her teeth, Kim said, “First thing you need to know is that Milosovich is so not my buddy. He’d love to see me fall face-first in a mud puddle. Second, they’re not my guys. They’re Milosovich’s guys, and he wants to think my guys were castrated by the fall.”
“And you don’t think they were.”
“No. Those guys were in Berzhaan and they’re undoubtedly all part of the same twisted terrorist sect, but my group is here, on American soil.”
“All right. What’s your intelligence say they’re going to do?”
“It’s not that clear. A bomb. Maybe the airport or an airplane.”
“We’ve been over the airport five thousand times.”
“I know. Believe me, I wouldn’t insist if I weren’t pretty sure.”
He sighed. “Valenti, my hands are tied, babe.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry. Old habit.” She could hear a tapping sound, fast and tinny. “Look, it sounds like Milosovich and you have some bad blood, all right, but he’s a good agent. And he’s got a lot of seniority.”
“And I don’t.”
“Exactly.”
“Okay. Look, what if it’s not the airport? What if it’s along the route to the airport, or somewhere one of the candidates is going to speak? Bridges, television stations—” She paused, trying to brainstorm. “Wherever. You know your city.”
He said, “Hmm.” And in spite of her concern and irritation, she felt it on the back of her neck. Velvety, rich. “A question—why target the candidates anyway?”
“Because they can? Because it causes trouble? Terrorists don’t need a clearly defined reason to do things—they just want to create fear and confusion.”
“I see your point.” Again that background noise of quick tapping.
Kim said, “What is that noise?”
“Sorry.” The sound ceased. “I have a bad habit of tapping a pen.”
“No big deal.”
“Look, Valenti, you’ve done me favors, and I’ll see what I can do, all right? But maybe you oughta look at the intelligence in another way, too. Maybe it’s not pointing where you think it is—and that would be tragic, too.”
“You’re right. I’ll go over it again. Let me know what you find out.”
“Will do.” He dropped his voice, and his next words were even richer, darker, like chocolate. Laced with espresso. “We still on for next week in your neighborhood?”
“I’ve gotta tell you, Lex, your voice didn’t hurt the cause any.”
“Yeah? You like it?”
Kim smiled. “Call me if you find anything, Luthor.”
“I’ll be talking to you.”
Scott, sitting at his desk, raised his head when she hung up. “You’ve got that gleam in your eye, Valenti.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, and stood up. “I’m going to take some personal time. I’ll be back later.”
Chapter 4
She drove home and without taking off her coat, she fired off an e-mail.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: need help
Give me everything you have on Chicago, the campaigns, anything the Chicago set might have done previously. Not making a lot of progress through usual channels. Advise.
Ariadne
Still wearing her coat, she went to the kitchen, opened a vacuum-packed envelope of tuna and ate it leaning on the counter. From the other room came a soft beep and she walked back.
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: re:
-Intelligence from CIA shows infiltration at Chicago UBC television station, CIA might have a man in there.
-Three moving vans were stolen last week in southern California. Home-move type, not professional.
-Quote keeps showing up in unrelated material: Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. Surah 4:34
-Reference to Cristopho in materials CIA intercepted. Columbus? Clue to city or holiday? Check. As always, act independently if necessary. Oracle will back you.
Delphi
Kim narrowed her eyes, punched in a thanks. A man at the Chicago UBC affiliate—at least it was a place to start. Her gut was screaming that Chicago was the place, the time not far distant. Not even as far away as Columbus Day, which was Monday, either. The flurry of e-mails was so intense, the deal had to be going down soon.
And if she couldn’t figure it out, somebody would die. Kim intended to do whatever was necessary to prevent that.
She picked up the phone, punched in some numbers. “Shepherd,” she said when Scott answered, “I’m going to Chicago. Let the boss know for me.”
“Whatcha got?”
“A hunch more than anything else. Not a lot more. Can you cover for me for a day or two?”
“I don’t like it when you do the maverick thing, Valenti. Too nerve-racking.”
“I know. But it’s the way I was trained.”
“This doesn’t have anything to do with an FBI agent named Tanner, does it?”
“No. Why?”
“He left a message.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Kim made a noise of annoyance. “Are you gonna tell me what it is?”
“‘Checked it all. Everything is A-okay. Don’t worry.’”
A ripple of something she didn’t stop to identify raced through her—a twitchy mix of longing and regret. He hadn’t taken her seriously, either, and it was far more disappointing coming from him. Her sharp response was a warning.
She’d do well to leave the man alone. Completely.
“Nope,” she said. “Tanner is as clueless as all the rest of them. You’re the only one who ever believes in me. This trip is to check out a gut-level idea.”
“Your mysterious source.” Scott tsked. It wasn’t the first time she’d received information through Oracle. She simply let him think whatever he thought about it. “All right, Valenti, I’ll cover for you, but you keep that pretty ass out of trouble, will ya?”
“I’ll do my best. If you need me, I’ll have my cell phone with me.”
“Stay in touch.”
When she hung up with him, she looked up the number of the Chicago UBC station and called to speak with the personnel manager, a man named John. She identified herself as a member of the NSA, and said she was tracking some information regarding a case—would she be able to check the files tonight? He agreed warmly, said he’d be in that evening to train a new cameraman, and she could stop in at her convenience.
She changed into jeans and warm boots, but left her hair in a knot at the base of her neck. Into a small duffel, she threw a change of clothes and her makeup bag. From a rack on the back of her closet door, she chose a small shoulder purse, and tucked in her wallet, cell phone, and at the last minute, her NSA security badge. Within an hour, she was at the airport.
The ticket had been purchased at the last minute, so Kim wasn’t surprised when she was pulled out of the security lines for additional screening—and not just the usual, extra hand-wanding, but a full, focused search of her belongings and the body search by an appropriate female guard. The girl was skinny as a praying mantis, her elbows like knots. Her blond hair was tightly pulled back from her extremely young—and serious—face.
Kim joked, “All clear? For once, I remembered to not wear an underwire bra.”
“Wait right here.” The girl picked up a phone, punched in a number.<
br />
Scowling Kim said, “What is—”
“Better if you just follow directions, ma’am.” She turned away and said something into the phone, looking at the NSA badge with Kim’s picture.
Kim felt passersby giving her the curious eye. Odd how it made her feel guilty.
“I’m afraid there’s an additional problem, ma’am,” the girl said. “You’ll have to follow me, please.”
“Sure, but—”
“High alert this week and you have a lot of red flags.”
“Last-minute ticket, I know. It’s just that I work for—”
The woman flashed Kim’s confiscated badge. “National Security Agency. I know.”
Kim scowled at the rudeness and rolled her eyes. She looked younger than she was, she knew that. No point in antagonizing the woman further—it would just lead to more delays. “Will this take long? I’m worried about missing my flight.”
“There’s another one at 3 p.m. if you miss this one,” the woman said without looking at Kim.
“Great.” It wasn’t. It would mean getting to Chicago after dark, maybe not to the television station until the evening news. With an effort, she breathed in. Out. No point in getting upset. It wouldn’t hurry anything.
At an office with a window overlooking the concourse, the woman stopped and shoved open the door. “Here we are. Have a seat, ma’am.”
A tall, bearded black man in a Transportation Security Administration uniform waved Kim into the chair. The woman escort handed over Kim’s bags and badge, then exited.
“I’m sorry about the delay,” the man said. “I need to verify your identity.”
“No big deal.”
As the man dialed the telephone, Kim fidgeted, irritably wiggling her foot until she realized it would make her appear to be nervous. Which she was, though not because she wanted to blow up the airport.
The airport. Why had the FBI in Chicago paid so much attention to the airport? Airports were so heavily guarded since 9/11 that there had to be an easier way for a terrorist to accomplish goals of instilling fear. Why bother? Narrowing her eyes in thought, Kim decided the FBI must have had some intelligence they weren’t sharing.
The man hung up the phone. “I’m afraid we have to hold you for twenty minutes, just until they can fax a photo to your boss.”
“I’ll miss my flight.”
“Sorry, ma’am. When it goes to orange, it gets a lot tighter around here.”
Tamping down her annoyance, Kim folded her hands around her knees. “I appreciate that, but I’m bewildered. Why the trouble today? I’ve flown a dozen times under similar circumstances recently.”
“I’m not at liberty to say.”
“If I get through the security clearance will you tell me?”
He nodded. “That’d be all right, I guess.”
The fax went through with a series of beeps and bleeps. Kim stared through the window over the concourse at the streams of humanity bustling through the hallways. She puzzled over the challenge of clearing millions and millions of passengers every day. Millions.
And it wasn’t as if criminals hadn’t proven they were willing to do anything to reach their objectives. Q’rajn wanted to punish the U.S. for its involvement in Berzhaan. Other rebels wanted other things, and anyone with an ax to grind, a pound or two of plastic explosives and a death wish could do it. For terrorists of the ilk they were all trying to fight, life was as thin and cheap as paper.
Watching the crowds, she tried to imagine she was the one trying to decide who was a terrorist and who was an ordinary citizen. A tall man in a business suit looked like a physician, hurrying toward an important surgery. The turban on his head marked him as a Sikh, something Kim knew from her studies at Athena Academy. Exotic, but likely not dangerous.
But how would the ill-educated girl who’d carted Kim up here know that?
Odd, but sitting in the plastic chair in the office of the head of security made Kim feel guilty.
“It’s a pretty rough job, the security of airports,” she offered.
The man, his hands steepled in front of his mouth, raised weary brows. “That’s understating the situation, I’d say.”
“It’s impossible, really, isn’t it?”
He shook his head. “Never give up.” The fax machine spit out a piece of paper and the man leaned forward to swipe it off the tray. “Looks like you’re good to go, Ms. Valenti. Sorry for the delay.”
Kim shrugged and took the things he held out to her. “So, I assume it was the late booking that caused so much trouble, but what else? I’ll try to avoid it next time.”
He scratched his nose. “Not sure you’ll be able to do anything about it. The girl—er—thought you looked Arabic.”
“Ah.” She met his eyes.
He held her gaze for a second, then lifted a phone. “I’ll call your gate to have them hold your flight.”
Kim hitched the bag over her shoulder. “Thanks.”
On the concourse, she headed for her gate, glancing up over her shoulder at the two-way window. Something niggled—there was something they weren’t telling her. What could it be? What information had gone out that she’d not yet seen?
As she walked, she took the cell out of her bag and punched in the numbers to Scott’s desk. The phone rang at the other end as she reached the deserted gate.
An impatient flight attendant stood irritably at the door to the flight. Kim handed the woman her boarding pass. “Sorry. Got stuck at security.”
“Not your fault.” The woman gave her back the small piece of pass. “Have a good flight.”
Scott’s voice mail picked up. “Shepherd,” Kim said, hurrying down the ramp, “run the files again and see if there are any references to women, then get back to me. I’m getting on the plane right now, so I have to turn off my phone, but leave a message.”
Chapter 5
By the time she dropped her bag on the bed in her Chicago hotel room, Kim was famished, grumpy and grimy. After a quick shower, she tucked her badge into her purse, bought a sandwich from the small deli in the hotel lobby and sat down to eat it with a cup of coffee by the windows.
She bit into the sandwich and took a single moment to appreciate it. A fantastic Reuben, layered with film-thin pieces of corned beef, fresh, crispy sauerkraut, melted Swiss cheese and just a smear of thousand island dressing. Some things in life were worth appreciating. A great sandwich after a long day was one of them. The coffee, she discovered, was excellent, too.
Right after Jason was killed, Kim had gone through a period of dullness, where the world had felt as if it were a long way away from her. None of it had sharp corners or bright colors or any real detail, as if she were viewing it all through watery glasses. Everything was muted, turned down—sounds, sights, tastes, feelings.
One night, she had a dream that her brother slapped her. “Wake up!” he cried in the dream. “It’s all right there, everything I can’t have!”
And she spent the next days in agony, finally beginning to feel by first acknowledging that her brother was never coming home. She owed it to him to be alert and aware of life—eating a sandwich, dancing, making love. Whatever.
As she ate, watching snow drift slowly, lightly from the dark sky, she turned her cell phone back on and checked for messages. There were two.
One was from Lex Tanner: “Valenti, I got this number from your partner.” Kim bent her head, hiding a smile over the pleasure of hearing his voice again. That honeyed, rich drawl! “Sorry about earlier. Don’t hold it against me, huh?”
She moved to the next message, which was from Scott. “Hey, I got the information you wanted. There’s only one reference to women, a quote from the Koran,” he said. “‘Good women are obedient. They guard their unseen parts because Allah has guarded them. Surah 4:34.’”
Kim frowned. The same quote Delphi had sent her. Women, unseen parts… She narrowed her eyes, waiting for something to click. How would they use women? Considering the general attitude o
f Q’rajn, a conservative Muslim group, Kim didn’t see them using women as warriors.
Still, it was another piece of the puzzle. Too bad she didn’t know where it fit.
She finished her sandwich and tossed the cup and napkin into a trash bin, then headed out. She had other hunches to check out tonight. Maybe something at the television station would help the quotation make sense.
It was a cold, blustery evening. An icy wind blew off the lake, carrying a threat of snow. Kim huddled into her coat and wished for a warmer hat.
Winter. Ugh. With a swift sense of longing, she remembered the Arizona desert, clear and bright through the winter. It could be quite cold at times, but the air was never heavy, and what snow fell would be gone the minute the sun came out.
Not like winter in the East and Midwest, where the wind was bitter and the snow could lie on the ground for months, gaining layer after layer after layer of grime and disgustingness. She should have brought a warmer coat.
Tucking her chin closer, she hailed a cab to take her to the UBC station. The cabbie, a large-eyed man with an Iranian accent, said, “Terrible night out, isn’t it?”
Kim shivered. “I hate this weather.”
“Do you mind if I listen to the news on the radio?” he asked, his dark hand on the radio dials.
“Not at all.” She leaned back and let the headlines wash over her. As they crossed a bridge over the river, she admired the shimmer of light on the water, the tall buildings stretching up toward heavy clouds.
“Several protestors refused to disperse and were arrested this afternoon in front of President Whitlow’s campaign headquarters,” said a sober male voice. “Approximately one hundred activists gathered to voice disapproval of rumored U.S. involvement in Berzhaan politics.”
Kim rubbed a spot between her eyes. Would the terrorists target a demonstration? It was certainly a place to kill and wound a lot of people. Would there be others this week? She made a mental note to check which special interest groups were most vocal in the Windy City, and see if they’d been granted permission to demonstrate.