by Keith Yocum
“Thought we agreed you’d work on the two projects simultaneously.”
“I guess I dropped the ball on the Arnold project. I’m sorry. I think I’m close to getting a resolution on the other project. I’m a little crazy right now because of it.”
“The IG has been asking about the Arnold project, and I’ve been lying about our progress. There’s been no progress because you haven’t done anything. I’ve been emailing you, and I finally realized you weren’t even checking.”
Dennis quickly scanned a host of emails from Louise.
“So the London Station came through with the radiation report on the Ukrainian home,” Dennis said. “It was polonium. Well, that’s about as close to a straight line from Pavlychko to Freddie as we could hope for.”
“I gather you’re looking at the emails now,” she said. “Let me save you the time. Your contact at MI5 was correct: Arnold was gay. It appears that it was well known and public at the London Station. The official reason it was not included in his file, even anecdotally, was that the information was irrelevant.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Of course it is. But why don’t you read the last email I sent you yesterday. Just scroll to the bottom of the list.”
Dennis scanned the email and said nothing. He reread the email.
“Hello?” Louise said.
“I’m here.”
“So?”
“So what?”
“Stop it, Dennis. I thought we had a new understanding of how we were going to work together. No more bullshit or cuteness. Just answer the goddamn question.”
“I have to think about it,” he said.
“What’s there to think about? Either you met privately with Barkley, or you didn’t.”
“Where did you get this information?” he asked.
“It doesn’t matter where the information came from. Did you meet with him?”
“Your email says that the IG wanted clarification, so I’m to gather that someone squealed to him.”
“So it’s true.”
“Yes.”
“And you decided not to tell me.”
“Barkley told me to keep it quiet. What was I supposed to do?”
“You meet privately with the chairman of the House Intelligence Committee, you’re a lowly investigator with OIG, and you don’t disclose it?”
“Yes. And what’s this ‘lowly investigator’ stuff?”
“Christ, Dennis, you think anything stays secret here in D.C.? Someone tipped the IG that you met with Barkley. He came to me, and I said it wasn’t true, or you would have told me. Now I find out it is true and you most decidedly withheld that information.”
Dennis tugged at his scraggly beard with the fingers of his right hand as he pressed the phone to his ear with his left hand. He said nothing; Louise said nothing.
“I’m sorry,” Dennis said. “Barkley asked me to treat it confidentially, and I did.”
“I’ll be there tomorrow around 10:00 a.m. Let’s chat in person.”
“You’re coming to London?”
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“Is it necessary?”
“Yes. I have your hotel info. Meet me for lunch in the restaurant there at eleven thirty.”
“Okay.”
✦
This time Dennis did not bother going to Evensong; he went across the street to the hotel bar and found his contact already sitting there.
He took a stool next to him and ordered a beer. Dennis had brought with him a folded edition of The Guardian and placed it between them.
“No electronics?” the man asked, staring ahead.
“Yup.”
“This is getting tiresome,” the man said. “I don’t think you’re chasing Fred’s killer. You’re bullshitting me.”
“Not so,” Dennis said, taking a long sip of his beer. “Inside the newspaper is an envelope. Inside the envelope are three pictures of a man whose identity I need to verify. I have written down his name on the front of the envelope; or at least who I think he is. Last name is Voorster. He’s altered his hair color, but I just can’t be sure. I need someone like you to run these pictures through face-recognition software to verify his identity.”
The man frowned and shook his head slightly. “Give me a break. You could easily run that through Langley.”
“No I can’t. I’m being blocked back there. They want me to drop it.”
“Bullshit.”
“Why the hell am I sitting here with you in this fucking London pub? I don’t even know who you are, and getting hold of you is so dated it feels like The Spy Who Came In From The Cold. If you don’t want to help find Freddie’s killer, fine.”
Dennis had lost his cool, but he did not care. He stood up and asked for the check.
“Jesus. Take it easy,” the man said. “Sit down.”
Dennis settled back onto the stool.
“Is this guy’s identity important to finding Fred’s killer?”
“Yes. I already told you that.”
“Then I’ll run the pictures.”
“Thanks,” Dennis said. “I’m sorry for being a pain. I’ve got to move fast on this thing. Speaking of that, isn’t there a quicker way to contact you than sending a friggin’ postcard?”
For the first time the man chuckled.
“Next time use a pay phone and call this number. Let it go to voicemail. When it does, hit the number three on the phone and hang up. I’ll meet you here that evening. If I don’t show up, try it again. If I don’t show up a second time, you’ll never see me again.”
Dennis took the business card the man had slid across the bar. It stated simply: Frederick Singletary, Solicitor, with a London phone number.
“Fine. Help me on this and we’ll get Freddie’s killer.”
“Why are you getting blocked at Langley?”
“I don’t know, but I’m guessing Freddie’s death is inconveniencing someone.”
“Fuckers.”
“Yup.”
✦
He opened the hotel room door, bent down, picked up his USA Today and opened it to page three. The sticky note read: It’s him.
Dennis got dressed, brushed his teeth and was about to head out to get his rental car when he stopped.
What the hell am I doing? he thought. What would I do if I got my hands on Voorster? I don’t give a shit about him, I want Judy! Am I going to threaten him? Shoot him? I don’t even have a weapon.
Dennis sat down at the desk, leaned back in the chair and placed both hands on top of his head.
Shit! Louise is going to be here in a couple of hours. I can’t ditch her, she’ll have me hunted down and arrested.
After several minutes of tugging at his beard, he called the valet for his car to be brought up, grabbed his backpack and left. If nothing else, he would keep an eye on Voorster’s house. There was nothing to lose. Besides, he was sort of coming around to the idea of torturing the man.
✦
Judy was so depressed, ashamed and despondent that she had stopped eating. Agata had berated her, warning that she was going to lose favor with her boss, and that would lead to a very unhappy ending.
Judy daydreamed about Dennis; she choreographed elaborate fantasies of him coming to save her and the two of them hunting down Voorster and the small man and killing them in various grisly ways.
Her favorite fantasy was to use an ice pick on Voorster; her only confusion during these fantasies was which man to kill first, the small man or Voorster. Mostly, she picked the small man to go first.
The passage of time had been so disrupted that Judy had no idea how long she had been kept in the room. There were no windows, and the only regular activity was Agata’s visits, the injections, and the “training” that she was undergoing.
The small man had taken to coaching Judy on pretending to enjoy the sex so that her customers would be more enthused and satisfied. He slapped her once when she yawned during one session, but Judy only glowered back at him.
“Why do you fight this thing?” Agata once asked. “Do you want to die? I tell you many times already that they are getting angry at you for not eating and not liking your training.”
“Aren’t you ashamed of what you’re doing?” Judy asked.
“No, I am not ashamed. I have no choice.”
“You always have a choice, Agata. Always.”
“You are wrong. None of us have a choice. I am just trying to survive. But you are not. You act like you want to die. And you will soon. My boss can see the hatred. He has told the other man — the one who brought you to us — that you are no good.”
Judy stared for a long moment at Agata.
“I think you’re right,” she said slowly. “Perhaps I want to die. But not before I kill someone.”
Agata got up off the bed, grabbed the food tray and started to leave. “You are crazy now,” she said.
“Stop,” Judy said. “Leave the food. I will eat it all. I’ll get strong again. I don’t want to die. Yet.”
CHAPTER 21
Dennis had just turned off the ignition when Voorster came out of the building, walked down a flight of steps to the street and got into a cab that was waiting out front.
He started the car and pulled out. The drive was harrowing for Dennis, navigating small streets, driving on the left and trying to keep up with a cabbie that flew through London like an Exocet missile. Twice Dennis ran through red lights, and he prayed that he was not going to be chased down by police.
Just when he was getting used to the chase, the cab stopped in front of an elaborate building with a curved blue awning covering the three short steps up to the landing area. Voorster got out, gave a quick glance around and then bounded up the stairs. A well-dressed doorman let him in.
Dennis drove past the building and pulled over. He adjusted the rear-view mirror so that he could look at the building. He could not tell whether it was a hotel, because there was no sign on the front. But there was certainly a doorman, and the awning was very formal and new. He looked at his Google Maps app and figured out the address.
He had been parked no more than five minutes when a late-model Bentley pulled up to the building, and the driver hopped out and opened the door. A well dressed, portly gentleman, perhaps in his late seventies, got out. The driver helped the man up the steps while the doorman held the door open for him.
After another ten minutes, Dennis did a U-turn and drove back past the building to make sure he had the correct street number and pulled over again farther down the street.
He dialed a number on his phone and got a voicemail. Dennis left a hurried message, looked at his watch and realized he needed to get back to the hotel to meet with Louise. He started out following the audible driving directions from Google Maps when his phone rang.
“What’s up, old chap?” Ian said. “You just called.”
“Have a big favor. Should be easy for a guy like you. I’m trying to figure out what type of place this building is. I know it sounds funny, but I’m going to give you an address and perhaps you could tell me whether it’s a private club or something. There’s no sign out front and yet there’s a doorman.”
“Well, just go up to the bloody doorman and ask!”
“Can’t do that. Can you at least tell me what the building is? You have contacts.”
“Well, I’m not Google!”
“Just text me or call me on that new mobile phone number I gave you. It’s important. Please hurry!”
“My word, Dennis. I have a job, remember?”
“Please!”
“Fine. Goodbye.”
✦
“Jesus, you look like a caveman,” Louise said as Dennis sat down in the restaurant.
“Ah, yes, well, I’m going through a stage.”
“And what kind of stage would that be? Early Cro-Magnon?”
“Ha, more like late sixties,” Dennis said, holding up a weak peace sign.
Although he had grown to like Louise, he was still shocked about how schoolgirlish she appeared. Her straight, almost white-blond Nordic hair, deep, glacial-blue eyes and wrinkle-free face combined to suggest a senior in high school. Maybe a sophomore in college. But her fierceness always dissolved those impressions once she started talking.
“No, I’m not kidding, Dennis. You don’t look so well. Do you still eat, shower, stuff like that?”
“Do I look that bad?”
“Yes, actually.”
“I’ve been a little out of it lately. Things are kind of coming to a head on this other thing.”
“Can we park that ‘other thing’ for a minute and talk about the Arnold case?”
“Of course. By the way, why did you have to fly to London to talk about this?”
“Where’s your phone?” she said.
“In my pocket.”
“Hand it over.”
He sighed, pulled it out and gave it to her. She opened her purse, pulled out a metallic mesh bag and put his phone in next to hers.
“Good. You realize every electronic communication we have is being monitored?”
“Yes.”
“I want to be clear that we cannot discuss anything sensitive about the Arnold case unless we do it in person or using burners. Got that?”
“Yes,” Dennis said, wincing. Burners were cheap, prepaid cell phones that could be purchased almost anywhere for cash and thrown away for new ones. They were a pain to use because the phone numbers were always changing.
“If we’re talking on the phone and I repeat the name ‘Arnold’ twice in succession, that’s the flag that we need to go to a new burner. Buy a couple today and give me the number of the one you’re using; I’ll do the same. That clear?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Don’t be a wise ass, Dennis.”
“Sorry, was just trying to lighten things up.”
“And why are you fidgeting so much? My God, your eyes are darting like minnows, and I can feel your foot tapping the base of the table. Are you all right?”
“I’m, I’m … just trying to find Judy. Think I’m close.”
“Do you think this side project is almost done? I mean, I can imagine this is pretty damn personal and important for you, but you promised you’d help me finish the Arnold case. I’m not trying to make light of this poor woman’s disappearance, but we have jobs to do. And the London Police are supposed to be very good so we need to let them do their work.”
“Yes, yes, I’m on it. So let’s get going. What do you want to talk about?”
“Barkley.”
“Fine, ask away.”
Dennis rushed through his interactions with the congressman, holding nothing back.
“And the last time you saw him, he agreed to lean on them to get you back to London?”
“Yes, but as I said, he seemed to think I wasn’t getting the inside story. He sounded disappointed. Or pissed off. Or both.”
Dennis noticed Louise did her tilting head thing where she moved her head one way then the opposite way, as if it was an old-fashioned weighing scale.
“Doesn’t make sense,” she said. “You’re not telling me something.”
“No. That’s it, Louise. Scout’s honor.”
“You’re bullshitting me.”
“Listen, I’m just as confused as you are. He originally forced the IG to put me on this case, remember? And when
things went south, he listened to me and agreed to send me back. Obviously, he didn’t know why I wanted to go back to London. But the strange thing is that he seemed kind of disgusted that I didn’t know what was really going on here.”
Louise took a sip of coffee and stared at the tabletop, fussing with her spoon.
“So what do you think?” he said.
“I think he’s right.”
“And what does that mean?”
“I think you don’t know what’s going on with the Arnold case any more than I do. My guess is he thought you’d figure it out. Since you were this hot-shit investigator, he thought he could point you in the right direction, and you’d stumble onto something. But what’s got me intrigued is that he seems to know what he wants you to find, but he can’t publicly do anything to point it out. He needs to keep his hands clean. But I’m gathering you’re not following through with his plan; you haven’t found a damn thing.”
“All I’ve done is get Freddie killed.”
“Stop that, Dennis. Not your fault.”
“Easy for you to say, Louise.”
“Grow up a tiny bit, would you? This is how this stuff goes down in No Man’s Land.”
“Louise, do I need to remind you that I’m a friggin’ OIG investigator, not a field agent? This is your world. Freddie and I don’t run around with burner phones or get poisoned.”
“Well, for a guy who says he’s not a field agent, you appear to act like one.”
“Osmosis. You slum around with enough of them, you pick it up.”
“Someone has to do it, Dennis. There’s nothing wrong with field work. Call it a necessary evil, but it needs to be done.”
Dennis saw her raise her chin slightly in defiance and instantly thought of her missing foot.
“Sorry, Louise. I know that. I’m just cranky today.”
“Just today?”
He laughed the first time that morning.
“Listen, I know you’re shattered by the disappearance of Judy, but I need you to pay attention to the Arnold problem. Can you do that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Have you seen this video that you insisted on reviewing? The one from Menwith Hill?”