The FBI agent climbed into the front passenger seat and once Ladder was settled in the back, she instructed her driver. “Let’s go.” She made a phone call. “Winter? We have Ladder. Someone should check his pickup—yes, it’s on the second floor—and make sure there are no trackers on it. You can handle that? We’re heading to the Midway apartment. Your escort vehicle is right behind us. He’s OK. He’s tired and worried, I suspect. Let your people know we’re coming in. Less than five minutes. Indeed.” She disconnected and turned to Ladder.
“People are cooperating to make sure you’re okay. We called Harkness, told him you’d be with us for a few days.”
“He wasn’t annoyed?”
The FBI agent laughed at Ladder’s concern. “He’s a professional. He said he’d be in contact to make sure you’re safe and not suffering after effects from the assault last night.”
Ladder settled back in the seat, too worried to really understand what was happening. He only wanted to visit Anna and the children to warn them, and he now had the police, the FBI, and someone called Winter on his case. They’d probably involved that general—what was his name? Oh yes, Schmidt. He wished he could go back to sleep.
###
“Ladder, you must have breakfast,” instructed Alex. Gabrielle stood beside her, equally adamant. He suspected the noise coming from what he thought was the kitchen indicated Anna had not accepted his refusal, either. He gave in.
“I didn’t have much to eat last night, I’ll admit. I don’t want to be—”
Someone cuffed the side of his head; it was a soft blow. He turned to see who it was.
Anna said, “You’re not a nuisance. There’s a healthy meal for you on the table. When it’s family, we eat breakfast in the kitchen. Come on.”
Ladder followed Anna and Alex and Gabrielle followed him. Niland was already seated at the table.
Gabrielle said, “You’re not eating another breakfast, surely?”
“I thought I’d keep Ladder company.”
Anna tugged out a chair and indicated Ladder should sit. “Eat. We all want to hear what happened, so you’ll need lots of energy.”
Ladder concluded his story as he ate the last portion of scrambled eggs. “So, I thought I should come and let you know.”
Alex and Gabrielle were wide-eyed, and Niland looked shocked. Anna said, “You beat the hell out of some stranger who pulled a gun on you?”
“Well, he put it away, first.”
“Why did you think we were at risk?”
“It was the way he asked about you—he wanted to know where you went. He didn’t have positive vibes. Also he had a foreign accent. No, I don’t mean I hit him because he was foreign. He grabbed me after he put his gun away and I reacted to his attack. He used some words—I think they were Arabic. I—I wondered if there might be a link between him and those two—dead—people. The ones the police think were Russian.”
The two girls were about to ask more questions when Anna intervened. “No, that’s enough. Schmidt will be here later and he’ll ask all the questions in the world. I think Ladder should have a rest.” She turned to Ladder. “We have a bed you can use. No PJs, though. Curl up, have a rest. I’ll keep these would-be inquisitors away from you. Niland, take Ladder to the spare room, show him how the shower works. Children—let Ladder have a rest.”
###
Anna’s prediction proved to be correct. The first words from Schmidt, when he entered the apartment, were, “Where’s Ladder?”
“We fed him and he went to bed to catch up on his sleep,” Anna explained.
“Can you wake him?”
Alex said, “Yes, but he’ll need to shower and change before you question him. He’ll want to be awake and alert.”
Schmidt looked at the girl. He wasn’t accustomed to being ambushed by a twelve-year old. He said, “Can someone wake him, please?”
Alex said, “Niland, will you do that? Ladder has a backpack, so I assume he has a change of clothes. We’ll wait in the—what—study?”
Anna agreed and led the way to the room she and Mark used as their office. It was larger than some apartments, and one wall was floor to ceiling windows, providing a view of Boston’s skyline that Schmidt always enjoyed. His friend and business partner, Julian Kelly, had an identical apartment on the floor above, and Schmidt was seriously inclined to purchase an apartment in the same building.
“Can we talk about Mark?” Anna asked as she sat down in one of the comfortable chairs.
“Of course, my dear,” Schmidt replied. He pulled Anna out of her chair and enveloped her in a bear hug. “I apologize. It was remiss of me not to update you first. We don’t have new information on Mark, I’m sorry to say. Maeve briefed me this morning, while I was in transit. Brian Winter is still trying to track the aircraft that might have taken Mark.” He sat Anna back down in the large chair. “There’s been a lot happening. There was an attempt to abduct Linda Schöner this morning; she was rescued by a snatch team from the 145th. We’ll hand her abductors over to the FBI once we finish questioning them.” There was an element of savagery in his voice.
“She’s all right? Did they harm her?” Anna asked.
“The snatch team got to her fast enough to prevent anything happening.” He did not mention that he thought the team’s response had been far too slow, that Linda had been at risk for too long. Unfortunately, she refused to travel in a military SUV. “Her escort will be closer and quicker in future.”
“Was this related to Mark, do you think?”
Schmidt, for a moment, wondered how to answer. He decided truth was the only valid approach and said, “Possibly. Linda has been applying extreme pressure to people who might be involved.”
Further discussion was halted when Schmidt’s cell phone rang. “It’s Maeve,” he said, checking the caller ID. “Let me speak to her.”
“Yes, Maeve?” Schmidt listened. “What?” he shouted in shock.
“Can you get a copy to me? On Linda’s cloud? I’ll use one of the computers here—yes, Anna’s. Good. Yes, once we see it.”
He disconnected and said to Anna. “Someone has posted a video of Mark on YouTube. Maeve asked them to take it down. She’s sending a link to our research cloud, where she stored a copy of the file.” As Anna was about to hurry to her computer, Schmidt added. “Maeve said he’s alive and the video is not nice. You should let me watch it first.”
“No,” said Anna, firmly. ‘We want to see what they’ve done to Mark.” A chorus joined in as Niland and Gabrielle agreed with her.
Schmidt shrugged. “Let me log into the cloud and I’ll download it.” He hid his concern that the contents of the video might be more than Anna and the children could cope with. He wondered about his own reactions, too.
Chapter 28
Zarina pressed the switch of the door monitor video display. Two men and a woman stood at the front gate. She recognized the two men; they had called on her earlier in the week and after presenting their Homeland Security Investigations credentials, had questioned her for what seemed like hours. She had not seen the woman before. She considered, for a brief moment, ignoring her callers. She even thought about leaving by the back door and switched on the monitor to check if the rear of the house was clear. She was not surprised to see a man, a stranger but presumably from Homeland Security, waiting at the gate at the end of the garden. She sent a message to O’Hare and hid the phone in a small recess behind books in the study’s large bookcase. It would not be good for her if these agents examined calls and message details on that phone. She picked up a second cell phone from the desk and slipped it into the hip pocket of her jeans.
She pressed the audio button on the security system. “Yes? Can I help you?”
“Mrs. Glenbrook. I’m Agent Roberts, Homeland Security. We met earlier this week. Could you open the gate, please?”
“One moment.” Zarina pressed the release button for the front gate and took her time to meet with her unwanted visitors. Someone knocked on the door whil
e she was still stepping down the stairs. He sounded impatient, she thought. She edged open the door without removing the security chain and spoke through the three-inch gap.
She said, “What do you want?” She pronounced each w as a v, adding color to her speech. She’d heard that Americans underestimated their opponents if they didn’t speak English correctly. As a result, the agents outside heard her say. “Vot do you vant?”
“We have reason to believe your application for permanent residence contains false information. You are to accompany us to our New York office to help us resolve our questions.” The agent held out a folded document, pushing it into the gap between the door and the door jamb. “I’m serving this notice on you. Please unchain and open the door.”
Zarina allowed the document to drop to the floor. She said, “Why are you attacking me like this?”
“As I said, we have reason to believe your application contains false or misleading details. We will question you at our New York office. If you don’t open this door, we will force it open.”
“You—you can’t do that?”
“I have served the necessary document—you now belong to us until we’re satisfied.” Roberts signaled to someone standing behind him. “You can break down the door—”
“No. No, I’ll open it.” Zarina closed the door over, half inclined to slam it shut and run. She realized an escape attempt would not aid her cause and instead slipped the security chain from its slot and opened the door wide.
“I’m not inviting you inside,” she said. “I want to call an attorney before this goes any further.”
Agent Roberts retrieved the summons and handed it to Zarina; this time she reluctantly took it. One of the other agents used his cell phone to photograph the action, which showed her accepting the document. She crumpled the paper and dropped it on the floor. It was a futile gesture, she knew.
Zarina retrieved her cell phone and searched through her contacts. She stopped at a name and before she actioned the call, said, “This is my attorney. I’m calling him now.”
“It’s not normal to allow this until we have you in our office. However, I daresay it won’t do harm,” Roberts said.
The agents, three men and a woman—the third man had joined the group at her front door—listened to the phone conversation. She thought they probably were recording it.
“David Attwell, please,” she said when the call was answered.
“Please tell him Zarina Glenbrook called. I’m being detained by an HSI team led by Agent Roberts from the New York office.”
She reached down and straightened out the document she had earlier crumpled. “Their case reference is AAR3061. I’d like Attwell to arrange for my release as quickly as possible. Tell him it’s extremely urgent. There’s no fee limit.” Her English was impeccable; she’d forgotten her intention to appear uneducated. She concluded the call when her instructions were confirmed.
As she returned the phone to her hip pocket, Roberts held out his hand and said, “I’ll take that. You’ll get a receipt when we check you in. This is Agent Thornton.” He indicated the woman standing next to him. “She will search you. You are not allowed to have a weapon or anything that could be used as a weapon; the penalty is high for any breach. Tell me now, if you are carrying?” She shook her head and Roberts continued. “You can bring a change of clothes, some minor items. Agent Thornton will supervise and check the things you’ve packed. If you promise to behave, we won’t handcuff you. Understand?”
“Yes. Please wait here. Agent Thornton, come with me.” She stared at the three men in the entranceway. “I do not give permission to anyone else to enter my house, understood?”
She did not speak as she headed up the stairs to her bedroom. Agent Thornton followed, also silent.
“What can I take?” Zarina asked when they reached her bedroom.
“Personal documents—passport, driver’s license. A change of clothes. Toothbrush, toothpaste. Minimal makeup, comb and brush. Of course, we’ll hold them for you. If you want to change, I’ll wait.”
Zarina did not reply. She was trying to restrain her anger, anger at herself, anger at O’Hare; he was her late father’s US contact. This was never supposed to happen. O’Hare was supposed to ensure she was safe and comfortably established. She suspected he had done something, made a mistake, perhaps, which had drawn attention to her, and she could see no way out of her predicament. She had compounded her difficulties, she realized, with her responses earlier in the week. The agents’ visit had caught her unawares and she had panicked.
She finished changing into more formal clothes and turned to Agent Thornton. “I need to get some toiletries from my bathroom. Also a change of clothes, my wallet, my passport. Okay?”
“Sure. If you don’t mind, I’ll check before you pack them into your case.”
Ten minutes later they rejoined the waiting agents at the front door. Agent Roberts led the way to the waiting SUVs and opened the rear door of the lead vehicle. “Mrs. Glenbrook, if you give me an undertaking to behave, I will not restrain you. Okay?”
“Yes. I won’t do anything to escape or cause you trouble. Thank you.”
###
The HSI interrogation room was dismal. A bare table, situated in the center of the room, appeared to be bolted to the floor. Four steel chairs, paint chipped, were distributed around the table. There was a large mirror along one wall; Zarina thought it was for observation purposes and wondered who was watching from the other side.
“Please sit here,” directed Agent Roberts.
When they arrived, people had taken her photograph and fingerprints, and Agent Thornton searched her again. It was a thorough and undignified process. Roberts led her to this room, on the way offering her a paper cup of water, which she had accepted. She had dropped the empty cup, crumpled, into a waste bin before entering the room.
“We’re recording this meeting,” Roberts said, “It’s both video and sound. Anything you say will be available to us for future reference, and we may use the recording in any action we decide to take against you, understand?”
Zarina sat on the cold, hard chair. “Yes.” She shivered, whether from cold or fear she was uncertain. She tried to tell herself this was not the KGB.
Roberts stated the time and date, and the names of the people in the room—himself, Zarina and two other agents. He asked his first question.
“Mrs Glenbrook, you arrived in the United States using a permanent visa, a green card, which you applied for at our embassy in Moscow, correct?”
“Yes.”
“You produced various supporting documents, including a marriage certificate, claiming you were married to an American citizen, Thomas Jefferson Glenbrook, and that your marriage had taken place a year before making your application?”
“Yes.”
“Where is Mr. Glenbrook today?”
“He travels a lot for his clients. I don’t know his precise whereabouts.”
“You have his phone number?”
“It’s in my cell phone. I can call him.”
“Later. Tell me what your husband does for a living.”
“He works with various clients, advising them on utilization of social networks in support of their business activities.”
“Describe your husband for me.”
This, thought Zarina, was where she was on thin ice. She knew a call to the number in her cell phone would go to voice mail; however, she couldn’t recall the precise details of Glenbrook’s appearance. She’d only met the man once, and that was two years ago. She decided she could only do her best.
“He’s six feet tall. Weighs about 200 pounds. Blue eyes. Brown hair, slightly receding.”
“That’s so general it could apply to probably twenty percent of males in America. What are his distinguishing features—scars, for example?”
“I don’t think he has any. Oh, wait. He has a scar on his left hand. It’s across the back of his hand. He said it was from a knife fight.”
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“Did your husband serve in any branch of the US Military?”
A knock on the door interrupted her reply. An agent opened the door, entered and handed Roberts a folder. The agent checked the contents and nodded his head. The agent left the room, closing the door softly.
“Please answer,” prompted Roberts.
“I—I don’t recall him mentioning any military service.”
“You don’t know your husband all that well, do you?”
“Why, what do you mean?”
“Your husband, Thomas Jefferson Glenbrook, served two tours in Iraq. He was shot in the leg. That, I believe, would leave a scar. Oh, he was balding and what hair remained was blond. His eyes are green.”
Roberts opened the folder he’d been given, extracted a photograph, and slid it across the table. “Is this your husband?”
The image prompted her memory and matched what she remembered of the man she’d married in Moscow. She flicked the photograph back across the table and it spun to finish its journey in front of Roberts.
Zarina said, “Yes. It looks like him.”
“That’s unfortunate. I would, in other circumstances, offer my sympathies. We’ve traced Thomas Jefferson Glenbrook, the man whom you claim you married and who we’ve identified from the details in your visa application. Sadly, he died six months ago as the result of an auto accident. He was in France at the time. Near Paris. With his wife.”
Her heart sank. She had no idea what to say or what her options were. She wondered when her attorney would take action.
Agent Roberts continued. “You should expect to be with us for a few days while we explore your situation. At least, your visa will be rescinded; your application was clearly false, which gives us grounds to hold you for further questioning.”
Chapter 29
Ken O’Hare straightened the collar of his short-sleeved shirt. He was slightly nervous. There was an exceptionally large sum of money at stake. He checked his reflection in a window and quickly hurried on when he realized he had chosen a Victoria Secrets store window. He admonished himself. This was not the time for inefficient thinking. He checked his watch. He was early. Perhaps if he had a coffee and sat for a while, he could bring his nerves under control.
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