by Matthew Dunn
Faye left her handbag on a kitchen bench and ran to the twins’ room.
Out of sight of everyone, Gage withdrew Glass’s cell phone, used it to call Gage’s number, then deleted the call from the history log.
Now she had Glass’s phone number. And now she hopefully had unsettled Cochrane by moving the twins and their aunt.
Gage and her team protected the perimeter as the detectives ushered the twins and their aunt into two vehicles and vanished. She addressed her team while still in the house. “Cochrane may be watching us now. Maybe not. But either way, pretty soon he’s going to know the twins have been moved. When he realizes that, I’m betting he’ll call Faye Glass.” She held up her phone. “And I have her number. I’m going to trace all calls to the number. Meanwhile, we go back to our house and wait. When Cochrane surfaces, we move on him with speed. Got it?”
Duggan, Painter, and Kopański nodded.
It was close to midnight when the two detectives, Faye Glass, and the twin boys arrived at a new house 216 miles away from the previous safe house. This one was comparable in size with the previous one: four bedrooms, detached, and in the countryside. But it had advantages. The yard was larger. There were spotlights on the grounds and on exterior walls that were triggered by movement. A secure panic room was on the upper floor. Fire extinguishers were in every room. And there were two gun cabinets, locked by electronic code keypads, one on the first floor, the other on the second floor. Both contained semiautomatic rifles and shotguns. Only the detectives had the codes.
The twins were exhausted and confused.
“What about school?” asked Tom as Faye sent them to bed.
Faye responded, “This is only temporary. Think of it as a mini holiday. I’m betting after a few days we’ll be going to my house. No more detectives. And you’ll be back at school in no time.” She faked a smile. “What an adventure we’ve had. It will be great to see your school pals again.”
The detectives were in the yard, checking its perimeter.
It gave Faye a window of opportunity.
She called Will. “We’ve been moved.” She gave him the address and started getting teary. “I can’t believe I’m speaking to you. I . . . we all thought you were dead.”
Will wondered whether to speak. He made a decision. “Focus on the twins. I can’t help right now. But you’ll see me soon.” He hung up and stared at his phone.
Gage and her team were in the rear of their black SUV. Gage punched the air in jubilation as she removed her headphones, having listened to the call on Faye Glass’s phone. “We’ve got Cochrane’s cell phone number! Now we’ve got our lead!”
Chapter 21
Will removed his cell phone battery and drove through the night halfway across Virginia. Rain was pelting the car, visibility atrocious, and the glare from the occasional oncoming car was near blinding. For the most part, he was in the countryside, woods and open fields the prevailing landscape. So much around him felt familiar from his childhood, growing up in the state. A lifetime later, everything was different. His deployment in wars, assassinations, espionage, and, more recently, being framed for murder made him feel a million miles away from the child who used to giggle when his sister pushed him on a rope swing over their home’s adjacent river. He could barely recall his American father, who’d been taken from him when Will was five. But the handful of memories he did have of his dad included seeing him laugh as Will was hurtling over the river, grabbing him when he returned, and giving him a hug. In a suit, his father tried to replicate Will’s endeavor, getting on the swing and launching himself across the river. The rope unraveled from the tree it was fixed to, and he crashed into the water, tears of laughter on his face. Will and his sister were giggling so hard they thought their stomachs would burst. When their father strode out of the river, he ruffled Will’s head and told him what an idiot dad he had.
Except he wasn’t an idiot. Will’s father was an expert CIA officer who saved two men in Iran who years later became Will’s mentors in Western intelligence. It came at the cost of James Cochrane’s life.
What would James think of his son now? It was a thought that Will had carried for his entire adult life. In many ways, they were so alike—compassionate, intelligent, dutiful, with a hunger for the mischievous. But James Cochrane, as heroic as he was, had not been thrown into the cauldron of a life like Will’s. No doubt, he’d be looking down from heaven with sadness. His son had been pushed into impossible situations. Will hoped his father didn’t think less of him for it.
After two more hours of driving, Will stopped his car and examined Elizabeth Haden’s home through binoculars. Rain was abating as the sun rose. But the temperature was still cold enough to freeze a lesser man. Will had to see if she was awake. He scanned the windows from seven until nine a.m. That’s when he saw glimpses of her moving within her house. He pulled out a cell phone—not the one whose number he’d given to Faye Glass, but a pay-as-you-go phone. He called Haden’s home number.
“Elizabeth, this is Edward Pope.”
Elizabeth Haden answered, “How did you know my number?”
From his position overlooking the property within a cluster of trees, Will replied, “It wasn’t difficult. I’ll explain everything soon. Meanwhile we need to meet. Can I come to your house tomorrow? It’s urgent. I have something to tell you about your husband.”
“Can’t you just tell me on the phone?”
“No. It has to be face-to-face. Your house, preferably. Or another location of your choosing.” Will could see her standing stock-still in her living room, her landline against her ear, his binoculars focused on her from three hundred yards away.
She was silent for a moment. “Where are you?”
“New York City. But I can get to you by midday tomorrow if that works for you?”
“Alone?”
“Alone.”
“Okay. Midday tomorrow it is. My house. This had better be worth my time.”
“It is.” Will hung up.
Kane’s phone in his Pentagon office rang.
It was Flail calling. “Mrs. Haden’s just received a call from a guy requesting to meet her at her home noon tomorrow. I’m certain it was Cochrane—same voice we confronted at Fox’s house and outside Haden’s house.”
Kane thumped a fist against the table. “Damn him!” He composed himself. “Colonel Haden can’t be spooked. We have to get him out into the open so we can arrest him. As for Cochrane, do whatever it takes. But no one, repeat no one, on your team lays one finger on Elizabeth Haden. Got that?”
“Understood.”
“Not even in cross fire. If she even gets a scratch it’ll go bad for you.”
Flail said, “Me and my colleagues will pose as DEA agents. We’ve got ID to back that up. But, sir, is Cochrane worth the risk? Surely there must be another way to get to the colonel. Cops? Feds?”
Kane was exasperated. “Colonel Haden is a classified asset who’s gone rogue. The president has instructed me to deal with this in-house. When we get Haden in our sights, we capture him. Only then do we hand him over to the Feds. But even then, we’ll need an army of security-cleared prosecutors to keep the trial under wraps. Cochrane is disposable. Haden, on the other hand, must be brought to trial. Do I need to fill in the blanks for you, or can I rely on you to make the right judgment call tomorrow?”
“I hear you. We’ve got this covered.”
“Tell Elizabeth Haden to take a vacation until this is over.” Kane hung up. He knew who was behind all this. Colonel Haden had to be buried once and for all for what had happened in Berlin.
Senator Charlie Sapper and Unwin Fox had been murdered because of what they knew.
That left only Kane, Cochrane, and Haden.
Kane had to kill Cochrane. It was a nasty task, and Kane took no pleasure in his instructions to Flail. But Kane had to look at the bigger picture. Something was going on. The jigsaw pieces hadn’t been fully assembled.
And Kane knew the conspirac
y went right up to the White House.
Chapter 22
The White House official code-named Deep Throat received a call.
“Is this line being recorded?” his caller asked.
Deep Throat responded, “Of course.”
The person at the end of the line was silent for five seconds before saying, “Mr. C is causing problems.”
Deep Throat nodded. “We can’t let him get to the truth about Mr. H.”
“I know.”
Deep Throat slammed down the phone and was deep in thought. If only Cochrane were dead.
A TV channel in the D.C. diner was baying for political blood. Much of the discourse between the reporter and a Capitol Hill adviser had to do with illegal immigration from Mexico, corrupt politicians, and the U.S. Constitution. Some people were watching the channel; many were just tucking into their burgers and fries.
Will walked into the diner. Nearby were a motel and a highway. In his jacket he had his sidearm and spare magazines. He sat opposite Kay Ash.
“Tomorrow we’re going to have a problem.”
“We?” Ash picked up a pickle and popped it in her mouth. “I don’t recall there was a we in this.” The deep-cover CIA officer eyed Will. “What are you playing at?”
Will didn’t directly answer the question. “Have you spoken to Hessian Bell?”
“Yes.”
“His response?”
“Leave you alone. Let things play out.”
Will replied, “For the sake of anyone watching us, we’re a normal couple having a bite to eat. So don’t take this the wrong way.” He picked up a napkin and dabbed the side of her mouth.
Ash didn’t recoil. She was a consummate pro and knew exactly why Will had performed the action. Instead, she smiled and placed her hand on Will’s hand. Quietly she asked, “You think we’re being watched?”
“Not yet. But we have to be careful.”
A waitress came over and asked if he’d like to order. Will replied, “I’ll have the same as my girlfriend ordered. No mayo, though. I can’t stand the stuff.”
When the waitress was gone, Will withdrew his hand and placed his napkin on his lap. “How old are you?”
Ash laughed. “Straight in with that question?”
“Why not?”
Ash looked around. “I don’t think anyone’s watching us right now. But that means shit if a surveillance team’s following you. And if that’s the case, you’ve damn well brought them to my doorstep!”
“No one’s following me. Within the last twenty-four hours, I’ve had two cell phones. One of them is now at the bottom of a lake. The other has its battery removed so it can’t be tracked. That’s a temporary measure, I hope.”
“Temporary?”
Will didn’t elaborate. “I wouldn’t bring danger to you.”
Fully aware that she was now portraying herself as a hissy girlfriend to any diners watching them, she said in a whisper, “Don’t patronize me! The biggest threat in this place is you. And yet here I am, sitting and talking to you!”
Will clutched her hands, as if he were a boyfriend trying to make peace. “Danger to you would mean danger to everyone here. I took precautions.”
Antisurveillance.
“To get here.” He leaned back. “For now, I’m off the radar. Tomorrow I need to be on the radar.”
“You could get yourself killed.”
“I suspect I will be killed.”
The waitress delivered his burger and fries.
Will started eating. “So this could be my last supper.”
Kay watched him devour his meal. He looked like he was famished, barely taking notice of the taste of his food. She wondered how he survived the isolation. In her job as a deep-cover officer, loneliness was the biggest killer. But she always had the release valve of returning to headquarters at the end of an assignment. Cochrane had no release valves available to him. She wasn’t aware of the lovebirds Ebb and Flo, whom Cochrane had nurtured. Nor was she aware of the twin boys Billy and Tom, whom Will had desperately wanted to adopt. If she had been, she’d have realized he was like everyone else. He wanted a different path, one with engagement with others. He was not by nature a marauding loner. Life had just made it that way. In his heart, he was a man like his father—someone who wanted to fall into the river from a swing to make his kids laugh, who then returned to the house to get out of his wet clothes and prepared for work while his wife initially chastised him before telling him what a great husband and father he was.
Kay didn’t have those facts, but she was extremely astute. She could see in Cochrane’s eyes what he yearned for. She said, “I’m thirty-seven.”
Will wiped his hands on the same napkin he’d dabbed against Kay’s mouth. “And you’re . . .”
“Don’t analyze me! Hessian Bell accurately ripped me apart within five minutes of my first meeting with him. I know you’re able to do the same. It doesn’t do anything for me.”
“Fair point.” Will withdrew cash to pay for their meal. He looked away, seemed lost for a moment, then engaged eye contact with Kay. Quietly and with an earnest tone, he said, “They trained me too well. The problem with that is they left me with no soul.”
Kay hadn’t expected him to say that. She touched his hand. “No, they haven’t. You’re not just some pro killer with the brain of a small planet.”
Will asked, “Are you single?”
“Jesus H. Christ! Why not ask me what my bra size is?!”
Will looked away, an intangible expression on his face. Quietly, he said, “I just need to know your circumstances. Whether you have loved ones.” He stared at her. “I need your help but can’t put you at risk if it will put others at risk.”
“But you don’t mind putting me at risk!”
“I do. You have a choice.”
Kay was quiet for a moment. “I’m single. No kids. My parents are dead. Brother too. So if I go down, the best I can hope for is a few folks from the Agency turning up to my funeral.”
Will was motionless. “I’d like to move in with you.”
“What?!”
“Not your apartment. Somewhere different.”
“Are you crazy?”
Will sighed. “Oh, who knows? But I need somewhere to prepare for what’s about to happen. I need new clothes, more ammunition for my sidearm, and above all else I’m getting sick of sleeping in my car. I need a bath. That’s all I need from you. Nothing else.”
“A bath?” Kay laughed as she drummed her fingers on the table between them. “There is a place we can go to. But why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything?”
Dusk around Elizabeth Haden’s house brought with it a stillness and the sounds of birds chirping. The air was cool and dry, and frost covered the meadow surrounding her substantial property. She walked into the yard, a flashlight in her hand, to speak to her gardener. He was collecting logs for the house’s fireplace—his last chore before clocking off.
“How are the bees?”
Jedd Bartlett looked up, a cluster of sticks in his arms. “They’re all good, ma’am. Quiet, as you would expect.”
“The queen?”
“She’s in the hive. Hibernating or whatever it is they do this time of year. Her workers too. I checked them this morning. No signs they won’t make it through the winter. But we’ll see.”
Bartlett was a forty-seven-year-old veteran from the First Gulf War, having seen active duty as a corporal with the 101st Airborne Division. Fifteen years ago, Elizabeth Haden had found him on a street in Detroit, homeless and strung out on crack cocaine. She’d employed him ever since, his home being a wooden shack at the base of her meadow. Thanks to her, Bartlett had gotten his life on track after the horrors he’d been engaged with in war and after destitution thanks to a government that didn’t give a shit about veterans returning from conflict. He owed her his life. With a scant military pension, PTSD that was now just under control, and five days a week of fresh air filling his lungs, he wa
s content to serve out his time here. Haden had told him that she would always employ him and give him shelter, even if she had to bring in a younger man to lighten the burden as he got older.
“Bring the logs in and make a fire. I’ll get your wages.” Haden returned to the house, Bartlett following her.
Five minutes later, the fire in the living room was under way.
Haden asked, “Do you have time for a coffee before you go?”
It was an unusual request. Bartlett replied, “Yes, ma’am.”
“What are you cooking tonight?”
“Beans. Toast.”
Haden prepared coffee in the kitchen. She checked her fridge. Inside were two steaks. She brought the coffee back into the living room. “You’d be doing me a favor if you cooked yourself this steak tonight. I’ve got a spare that I’m cooking for myself this evening. Packaging says they expire tomorrow, so let’s make the most of them tonight.”
Bartlett gratefully accepted the food. Inside his shack was excellent heating, a single bedroom, a living room with a chair and TV, and a kitchenette where tonight he’d take great joy in frying the steak. The habitat was all he needed. It was a damn sight better than the places he’d slept after being discharged from the army.
Haden handed him an envelope containing his weekly wage. “I have a different job for you tomorrow.”
Bartlett laughed but was deferential in demeanor. “Please tell me not the yew trees near my house. Pruning them will have to wait until spring.”
Haden sipped her coffee. “Not the yew trees. I have a visitor tomorrow. I’m worried about him.”
“Worried for him or about him?”
“About him. He was the man you saw here the other day.”
“The big guy. Yeah, there was something about him that was unusual.”
Haden said, “He told me he’d be here at midday. I want protection.”
Bartlett frowned. “Ma’am, you know I don’t deal with that anymore.”
“I know. But these are exceptional circumstances. We must protect our estate, yes?”