Laynie Portland, Spy Resurrected

by Vikki Kestell

  The second officer, not as religious as his partner, stared at the wine and remarked, “Would that a bottle or two of His Holiness’s wine were to go missing! With so many crates, I wonder if the absence would be noted.”

  It was not a subtle hint.

  Yaver smiled and waggled his brows. “Maybe a bottle does go missing, eh?” He casually scanned to the left and right. “Would you be interested in finding it?”

  “I would indeed.”

  At the officer’s signal, Yaver pulled down the cargo door and locked it. Then he gestured to the officer to follow him back to the cab. Yaver climbed into his seat and shut the door. His hand closed around the bottle near his side and pulled it across his lap, keeping it below the window but in full sight of the man.

  The officer glanced away, reached his hand through the window, and brought it out. He tucked the bottle into his coat and nodded to the driver.

  “Another perfect inspection, Yaver. Have a good evening, and we will see you on your next run.”

  Chapter 13

  JAZ BURROWED INTO THE cell tower’s data. She waited and watched for Sherman’s phone to ping off the tower. A copy of text messages between him and his handler wouldn’t be available instantly, but her job at the moment was to let Wolfe know when the exchanges between Sherman and the mole began and when they ended.

  The wait wasn’t long. Not more than ten minutes after the meeting dismissed, his phone pinged on the cell tower.

  Sherman has updated his handler—Wolfe’s mole, the traitor responsible for Bella’s abduction.

  She waited fifteen minutes longer. When no other activity occurred, she sent her own message, a single word to Wolfe’s mobile phone: Done.

  WOLFE, SERAPHIM, RICHARD, Bo, and Harris were waiting in the conference room for Jaz’s signal. All of them knew their roles in the takedown. When Wolfe received Jaz’s message, he texted Tobin, who was keeping an eye on Sherman.

  Tobin’s quick reply provided Wolfe with Sherman’s location. Wolfe then passed that information to Richard. He, Bo, and Harris left the conference room to act out their predetermined parts. Bo and Harris were armed and prepped to take Sherman into custody, but the plan called for isolating Sherman and taking him by surprise—no one wanted any unnecessary violence.

  To that end, Richard went in search of Sherman. He spotted him, as Tobin’s message had said, walking the Broadsword perimeter with a regular guard and his dog. Richard waited until Sherman and the guard were opposite the back door leading outside from the kitchen.

  Sherman and the guard both halted when Richard, the usual apron tied over his crisp shirt and tie, waved to them from the kitchen doorway.

  “Sherman? Could you spare a moment? I require a pair of strong arms.”

  “Be right there.”

  Richard closed the door and withdrew to the dining room. Bo and Harris had already arranged themselves in the living room, out of sight.

  Sherman left the guard and headed toward the kitchen door. As he opened it, Tobin left his observation point and quick-stepped to close the distance between himself and the back door.

  Sherman shut the kitchen door behind him, and Richard waved him into the dining room. The large table, usually expanded by four leaves, was pulled apart.

  “Over here. The table slides are stuck. I need another body on one end to help me push them together.”

  “Sure thing, Richard.”

  Sherman moved into the dining room. Bo and Harris, guns out, stepped into view. At the same time, Tobin came through the back door.

  Stunned, Sherman looked from one face to another. Even Richard had his sidearm drawn. Before Sherman could react further, Wolfe appeared. His expression was pained, but obdurate.

  “We know you’re the mole within the task force, Sherman. No, don’t make a move—that will not save your wife and son.”

  Tobin holstered his weapon. He reached around Sherman and removed the man’s sidearm before it could tempt him further. Bo, without moving the muzzle of his gun off of Sherman, took the gun from Tobin’s hand.

  Sherman’s face twisted in agony. “You don’t understand! I didn’t want to—I would never willingly betray my duty! But I had no choice—he . . . he said he would kill my family.”

  “We know, Sherman. That’s why we’re going to offer you an opportunity to save them.” Wolfe ordered Tobin, “Cuff him and take him to the conference room.”

  WHILE BO AND HARRIS stood post outside the conference room and Tobin and Jaz looked on impassively, Wolfe and Seraphim took first crack at breaking the mole’s hold on Sherman. It was obvious that the man was demoralized. Wolfe intended to give him hope—in exchange for his cooperation and everything he knew.

  “We have read the texts between you and your handler, Sherman,” Wolfe said gently. “We know this person has your family and has threatened to kill them. We even know he had one of your wife’s fingers cut off to prove to you that he means business. And we know that whenever you balk at doing what he demands, he threatens to cut off another of her fingers.”

  “Sh-she plays piano. Now she’ll never play again. And my son! The things he said he would do to my boy—” Sherman hung his head and wept.

  Wolfe placed a hand on Sherman’s shoulder and squeezed. “I am so very sorry.”

  Sherman tried to master his emotions. “Sir, you need to understand that, in spite of his threats against my family, I did not give him what he wants most.”

  Wolfe’s lips compressed into a tight line. “What do you mean by ‘what he wants most?’ What is it he wants?”

  “H-he desperately wants to know where we are, sir. But when you pulled us from Griffin Industries? I told him we’d been brought to our new location in windowless trucks, that none of us knew where we ended up—only that we were somewhere in the mountains, surrounded by armed guards.”

  “And he believed you?”

  Sherman’s tone was plaintive. “Yes, sir. He still regularly demands that I determine our location—he threatened to kill my son if I didn’t find out! But I held on, kept playing dumb. I knew if I gave in that he’d call in another attack, like the one on Jaz, Bella, and Marshal Tobin’s apartments. I-I did what I could, sir, to protect the task force. Please believe me!”

  Tobin interrupted, his fury barely in check. “You gave him Bella!”

  “I-I did. I’m sorry. I had to give him something—he was running out of patience! But Bella is so smart and savvy that I hoped . . . I hoped she would outwit them.”

  “That’s supposed to excuse what you did?”

  “No. I know it doesn’t. But please believe me—I didn’t want Bella to be hurt. I didn’t want any of this to happen.”

  A long moment passed before Wolfe said, “I believe you, Sherman. I appreciate that you did what you could for us . . . under difficult circumstances.”

  “Thank you, sir. So, what about . . . what about my family?”

  Wolfe exhaled before speaking again. “Listen carefully, Sherman. We have a plan. A plan to trick your handler into giving up your wife and son’s location. Once we have their location, we’ll send in the FBI’s Hostage Rescue Team to free them. But we need your help.”

  “How can you expect me to take such a risk?” Sherman whimpered. “He said they would kill Carole and Teddy should anyone attempt to storm their location.”

  Wolfe looked at Seraphim. They hadn’t foreseen Sherman’s fear as an obstacle. Seraphim shook her head once. Wolfe knew what it meant. He’d drilled it into his people over and over.

  The mission always took precedence—meaning the safety of the many outweighed the safety of the few.

  Wolfe backed off and went at Sherman from another direction. “Do you know who your handler is, Sherman? Have you seen him? Do you recognize him?”

  “No. I don’t know who he is. I’ve never seen him, either. We’ve never spoken directly. Only through texts and photos . . . and the package. The package arrived first—a few days before we moved the task force to Broadswo
rd.”

  “A package with your wife’s finger inside?”

  “Yes, and the burner phone. They came with a picture of Carole and Teddy . . . and instructions.”

  “We’re going to get Carole and Teddy home safely,” Wolfe assured him. “Here’s our plan. We’re going to prep you to tell your handler that you have some urgent information. You’ll text that you have the info, then you’re going to immediately use your phone to call your handler.”

  “He won’t take a call. I-I tried once. I was told not to again.”

  “Right. Okay. In that case, we’ll have you text him with part of the urgent info—minus a critical piece. The info will shake him up. He’ll text you back, asking for the missing piece, but you won’t reply. The urgency of the info will make your handler anxious. When you don’t respond, he’ll grow more concerned. After we’ve let him stew long enough, you’ll text only the words, ‘We need to talk.’”

  “What info?”

  “You know we’re dealing with terrorists, cold-blooded murderers, don’t you, Sherman?”

  He hung his head again. “Yeah. I know.”

  “The events of 9/11 showed our enemies that it was possible to throw the US into chaos. All Glorious for Allah first tried to assassinate Petroff. Now we know that they are planning at least two more attacks. They intend to kill thousands of American citizens, hoping the FAA will halt air travel, banks and the stock market will tumble, and industry will grind to a standstill. More than that, the terrorists will attempt to frame Russia for the attacks. Why? Because they want to pit the two superpowers against each other. Is that what you want?”

  “Of course not!”

  “And do you really think these mass murderers will honor their ‘promise’ to spare your wife and son?”

  Sherman couldn’t answer. His shoulders heaved in despair.

  “Listen to me, Sherman. You need to face the facts and take hold of our offer. It’s the best and only shot you have at saving your family. But if you turn us down? You’ll not only be partially responsible for the murder of thousands of Americans, you will lose your family in the bargain.”

  Sherman wept and moaned—and Wolfe let him. He knew the man and his character. He was confident that Sherman’s sense of right, duty, and simple logic would prevail. Wolfe’s offer was the only means of saving Sherman’s family.

  After grieving another five minutes, Sherman quieted.

  “This is your last opportunity, Sherman,” Wolfe whispered. “Will you help us?”

  The man shook himself. Wiped his face on his sleeves.

  “Yeah, I will.”

  WOLFE ORDERED BO AND Harris to take Sherman into the library and keep him secured and isolated. When they closed the door behind themselves, he expected to immediately set to work on their next moves, but Jaz held up her hand.

  “This isn’t grade school, Miss Jessup.”

  “I wasn’t asking permission to speak, sir. I was calling a halt.”

  “And why is that?”

  “You told us you’d come clean to the task force as soon as we had Sherman, sir. You should tell them now, before we move forward another inch.”

  “I agree,” Tobin added.

  “This isn’t a democracy—”

  “I also agree,” Seraphim interrupted.

  Wolfe harrumphed. “Now is not the time. It’s more important that we identify the traitor and—”

  “It is exactly the time,” Jaz cut back in. “We kept the team in the dark for one reason—to convince Sherman and his handler that you, Tobin, and I had attended Bella’s memorial service, that we hadn’t figured out AGFA had faked Bella’s death. Okay, we did that, and the team will see your reasoning. Then we needed to take Sherman down without him warning his handler. We did that, too, and the team may be able to swallow your logic.

  “However, we’re past those reasons. If you tell the task force the truth about Bella now, your credibility with them might be strained, but it won’t be ruined. If you choose not to tell them now, then I will. And sir? In my humble opinion, if you don’t do it yourself at this first reasonable opportunity, I sincerely doubt you’ll be able to show your face to them again.”

  “Agreed,” Seraphim added.

  Tobin nodded firmly.

  “I see.”

  Wolfe was a pragmatist. His people watched him calculate the time it would take to inform the task force. Weigh it against Seraphim, Tobin, and Jaz’s objections and the resistance he would face if he refused their “request.”

  “All right. Let’s go.”

  Five minutes later, Wolfe, with Seraphim nearby, again presented himself before the task force. Less than two hours had elapsed since he dismissed them from Bella’s impromptu memorial.

  “I have some announcements—all good news. However, I must warn you, the good news came at the cost of misleading this team, of taking advantage of your trust.”

  Jaz smirked behind her hands. Wolfe, the consummate spy-turned-bureaucrat, was spinning his bombshell revelations just right.

  “I hope, when you’ve heard what I have to say in its totality, that you will forgive my lack of candor this morning.”

  Yup. Setting expectations. Softening them up. Jaz treated herself to a fresh stick of gum.

  Brian, eyes narrowed, said, “You’ll understand if we reserve our forgiveness until you explain?”

  “Of course. I’ll also add that both of my announcements, while having a significant upside, have a downside as well. Shall I begin?”

  As the task force members nodded for Wolfe to continue, Jaz laughed up her sleeve.

  Oh, Director Wolfe, you are truly priceless.

  “My first announcement is that we’ve identified the mole here at Broadsword and have taken him into custody.”

  No one in the bullpen moved. Then they began to scan the gym, checking to see who was missing.

  “Who? Who is it?” Brian demanded.

  “The mole is Agent Sherman,” Wolfe said softly.

  The team was stunned. Rusty was the first to ask, “Sherman? Sherman gave away Tobin, Jaz, and Bella’s apartment location? To the Ukrainians?”

  “It’s more likely that he gave that information to his handler, and his handler fed it to the Ukrainian mob.”

  “But . . .” Gwyneth spoke next. “You are saying Sherman passed the details of Bella’s mission to Tbilisi to his handler? That it was Sherman who got Bella killed?”

  Wolfe spoke slowly and distinctly. “Did Sherman get Bella killed? For two reasons, my answer is no.”

  Jaz sat back, further amazed at how Wolfe was able to craft the perfect response on the fly. She cut her eyes toward Tobin. He was slowly shaking his head, as astounded as she was.

  Wolfe continued. “I’m certain you feel a great deal of animosity toward Sherman, and I share your rancor. However, you should know that Sherman’s handler, the other mole, has Sherman’s wife and young son.”

  He let that fact land and settle where it collided head-on with the team’s outrage. The shock of Sherman’s situation blunted the edge of their anger immediately.

  Before the task force’s anger could recover, Wolfe added, “The other mole—the real traitor—threatened to kill Sherman’s family if he did not cooperate. He also promised to make them suffer. As proof of the seriousness of his threats, he cut off one of his wife’s fingers and mailed it to Sherman—can you imagine the horror?”

  Brian cussed aloud, careless of who heard him, but he wasn’t the only one swearing a blue streak.

  In the lull after Wolfe’s announcements, Vincent said, “You said you had two reasons Sherman didn’t get Bella killed. What’s the other?”

  Wolfe waited until he had everyone’s attention. “Yes, while it’s true Marshal Tobin, Miss Jessup, and I went to NOLA to meet with Bella’s family, what isn’t true is that we went to attend Bella’s burial. You see, we brought in a pathologist to examine the remains shipped back from the Republic of Georgia.”

  He paused. “As it
turned out, they weren’t Bella’s.”

  FORTY MINUTES LATER, Wolfe, Tobin, and Jaz were still answering questions and apologizing to the team for the morning’s emotional ups and downs.

  “You’re saying you think Bella was abducted, but you aren’t sure, is that it?” Rusty demanded for the third time. “You know the body in the car wasn’t hers—but that doesn’t prove she isn’t dead?”

  “That’s it,” Wolfe said. “Like I said earlier, there’s a downside to the news.”

  “You’re saying not knowing if Bella is alive or dead is a downside? That’s putting it mildly,” Brian grumbled. “What I want to know is what are we doing about it?”

  Others were angry that they’d been duped into displaying their grief during a mock memorial.

  “You tricked us into pouring out our hearts so you could trap Sherman. I get that. But you didn’t have to play along, Jaz,” Rusty half-shouted. “You stood there and made us all . . . you know—”

  “Made you what? Say it—I made you cry? Well, you guys made me cry first. And when I didn’t stand up and join in memorializing Bella, the bunch of you stared at me like I didn’t care about her. What was I supposed to do? Sherman was right there, watching and listening. I had to play along. We had to make sure that what he reported to his handler wouldn’t rouse the traitor’s suspicions.”

  Grudging mumbles circled the bullpen.

  “Besides,” Jaz replied with a shrug, “nothing I said was untrue.”

  “Well, what’s next?” Jubaila asked. “Now that you have Sherman?”

  “Now,” Wolfe said, “we use Sherman to reel in the traitor.”

  WOLFE, SERAPHIM, TOBIN, and Jaz returned to the conference room to brainstorm their strategy, beginning with the text message Sherman would send his handler. The message was to be intentionally vague, worrisome and subject to the mole’s interpretation at the same time.

  The wording of the text and any follow-on replies would be critical. Once they began, every move on their part came with risk—risk that the traitor would see through their ploy. If that happened, the task force would lose its only viable lead. The other risk, of course, was to Sherman’s wife and child.