“Yes, sir,” Montero replied.
“Mr. Nash, you volunteered to accompany Special Agent Montero out for a drink to thank her for saving your life?” Burgess asked. “Can I count on that?”
“Sure,” Donovan replied.
“Why is Washington involved all the sudden?” Montero asked. “What’s changed?”
“Earlier this evening a man detonated a bomb in the Fairfax County Hospital where Mr. Ross was taken.”
It took a moment for the words to register through Donovan’s fatigue. “What did you just say?”
“Slow down, Mr. Nash,” Burgess said. “I’ve been trying to reach you, but your cell phone is turned off. The attempt to kill Mr. Ross was unsuccessful. The information I have is that the bomber was intercepted and taken out. Your wife was also involved in the attempt, but I understand she’s fine.”
“Someone give me a phone.” Donovan demanded.
“You can call her in a minute. There are some other details you’ll want to know before you call,” Burgess said. “According to a Navy SEAL, the last words the assassin said before he detonated the bomb were, ‘God is great,’ which immediately earmarks him as a possible terrorist. The FBI and a multiagency joint task force are preparing recommendations for the president. The question is how best to respond to a missing Gulfstream we now believe is in the hands of terrorists. The NSB is now the lead office in the investigation. We’ve been ordered to cooperate but to stand down into a support role, so—”
“Stop it!” Donovan cut Burgess off midsentence. “You two can stand here and discuss all the interagency bullshit you want. But right now, someone better give me a goddamn phone!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Lauren was drained. For the last hour she’d sat with two FBI agents and gone over and over what had happened. She’d described the bomber’s appearance, his actions, what he’d said, and the slight accent when he spoke. Despite her nearly photographic detail of the events, she knew it amounted to very little useful information, and the FBI had finally excused themselves.
“We’re free to go,” Calvin stuck his head into the room. “I have your things, and there’s a vehicle standing by to escort you home.”
Lauren dug her cell phone out of her purse and was relieved that she hadn’t missed any calls. Earlier, she’d phoned the babysitter and found out that, yes, the cops were there, and, no, Aimee wasn’t going to leave until Lauren came home. Lauren was touched by the girl’s dedication.
As she stood, she groaned from battered muscles that had gone stiff sitting in the chair. “How small is this escort? I’d rather not arrive home by motorcade.”
“They’re being cautious,” Calvin said. “I, for one, am happy with the security arrangements. The FBI demanded that they take over Michael’s security as well as Susan’s and the boys’. I approved Buck and his men to go with you, with twenty-four-seven backup from the DIA. Buck is fully vested in this mission. I’m confident you’ll be safe. Now, is there anything else I can do for you?”
Lauren didn’t have a way to explain that there was another threat looming on the horizon, one she couldn’t talk about. Being guarded around the clock would make it next to impossible for her and Abigail to leave for Europe at a moment’s notice. Even if she did go, what was waiting there, another bomb, a bullet? Every time she analyzed her situation, examined each set of facts, she kept coming up with one result. She was trapped.
“Are you okay?” Calvin asked.
“I’m fine.” Lauren shook her head as if to collect her thoughts. “I want to see Michael again, and then we’ll go.”
“This way.” Calvin held the door open for her.
“Do we know anything more than we did an hour ago?” Lauren asked.
“No, but this thing has everyone’s full attention. Until these people are found and the stolen Gulfstream recovered, everyone in Washington is going to be a little edgy.”
“What does Langley think?” Lauren said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she tested Calvin for any information he might have from the CIA.
“They’re alarmed. But since the Gulfstream was immediately flown out of the country, they think the principal threat is outside our borders. In their opinion, the Gulfstream will be used in some kind of attack against our assets in Central or South America. The security at our foreign bases and embassies is at the highest level, as well as the airspace surrounding Guantanamo Bay and the Panama Canal. I tend to agree with them. The best and the brightest are focused on this problem. In the meantime, why don’t you go home and get some sleep. You’ve had an extremely difficult twenty-four hours.”
“I will, right after I look in on Michael,” Lauren said, as the cell phone in her purse began to ring. The number came up as unknown.
“Dr. Lauren McKenna.”
“It’s me,” Donovan said. “I just heard what happened. Are you all right? Where’s Abigail?”
Lauren could tell from her husband’s tone, along with the rush of words, he was concerned and frightened. She stopped walking and leaned against the wall. “I’m fine. Abigail is at home sleeping—she’s surrounded by a houseful of police. I’m still at the hospital with Calvin.”
“Calvin’s there? How’s Michael? Where’s Buck?”
“Slow down.” Lauren was surprised at how wound up he sounded. She immediately wondered what was happening in Florida. “I just finished talking to the FBI and I’m on my way to Michael’s room. Buck is probably there with Susan. He saved my life tonight.”
“I heard. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you. I’m sorry I’m not with you now.”
“I’m fine. Abigail is fine. So, you think you’ll be home in a few days then?” Lauren said, needing Donovan to understand that she wasn’t free to talk.
“Calvin’s standing right there, isn’t he?”
“Yes, I understand,” Lauren continued her charade, hating every second of her deception. “Call me later if you can. I should be home in an hour or so.”
“Gotcha,” Donovan said. “Love you.”
“Talk to you soon.” Lauren said, hanging up and shoving the phone back into her purse before turning to Calvin.
“Is he coming back?” Calvin asked.
“He wasn’t exactly sure.” Lauren couldn’t miss the questioning look on Calvin’s face. He seemed to have more questions, but thought better of asking. Thankfully, they walked in silence to Michael’s room. As they rounded the corner, they found Buck positioned outside. She noticed his legs were bandaged.
“Michael’s still awake,” Buck said. “I think he’s waiting for you.”
“I can’t thank you enough for everything you’re doing.”
“I let you fall in harm’s way, and I’m sincerely sorry for that.”
“Nonsense, you saved me.” Lauren patted Buck affectionately on the arm. “Calvin said something about you coming with me when I leave.”
“Yes,” Buck replied. “The FBI has the hospital wrapped up tight, as well as the Ross residence, which frees Andy and me to accompany you back to your house.”
“I hope you’ll be able to get some rest.”
“Not likely, but thank you for the thought.”
Lauren quietly let herself into Michael’s room and gently closed the door, leaving both Buck and Calvin behind. The only light on in the room was a small reading lamp. Susan was curled up in her chair, fast asleep, but still holding Michael’s hand. Michael smiled as Lauren came into the room.
“Hey there,” Michael whispered. “They just gave me a pill to make me sleep, so if I drift off, that’s why.”
“How are you feeling?”
“They’ve got me on so many painkillers, it’s hard to know exactly how I feel.”
“I just talked to Donovan,” Lauren sat down on the edge of the bed next to Michael. “He wishes he were here.”
“Exactly where is he?”
“He’s in Florida helping the FBI with the investigation.”
“I know I’m still
pretty out of it, but I’m not buying that. He’s up to something else, isn’t he?”
“Like what?” Lauren tried to keep her face emotionless. Despite the drugs, Michael was smart and intuitive.
“You tell me,” Michael said. “The Donovan I know would be here with you if he could. In fact, he’d be the first one to tell the Feds to shove it, and he’d move heaven and earth to get to you and Abigail.”
“It’s complicated.” Lauren was touched at Michael’s assessment of Donovan. “He’s angry.”
“I’m sure he is. I’m angry too,” Michael said. “But if someone tried to hurt my family, I’d be standing over them twenty-four-seven. So would he. I just don’t get it.”
Lauren knew Michael was dead-on with his assessment of Donovan. If Montero hadn’t intervened, Donovan would be standing in this very room. “I think he took this harder than anyone would have guessed. He wants the people who did this to pay dearly.”
“Oh, believe me, I know how he gets. He wants to kick ass and take names. But if I’m not there to back him up, he gets into trouble. Tell him to be careful.”
“He’ll be fine.” Lauren said the words, but they felt hollow. She was relieved that this conversation was nearly finished. Michael was about to succumb to the drugs.
“Tell him—I’m worried—come home.” Michael’s eyelids closed and he was asleep.
“I’m worried too.” Lauren whispered to herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
They weren’t hiding from anyone anymore so the moment Donovan walked into Montero’s guest room he turned on his phone. Burgess had ordered her to go home and stay. When he came out of the bedroom, Montero was in the kitchen. Her wig was gone and she was barefoot, dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt. She was about to pour herself a drink when she froze and cocked her head, listening. Moments later Donovan heard a noise that sounded as if someone was walking on the front sidewalk and then there was nothing but silence.
Montero killed the kitchen light and whispered to Donovan. “Someone’s out there. Whatever you do, don’t open the door until you hear my voice.” She didn’t wait for an answer. Glock in hand, she hurried to the sliding glass door and quietly slipped out into the darkness.
Donovan could feel his heart pound in his chest as he crept in the darkness to the front door and listened. It suddenly seemed foolish to have made the assumption that these people were only trying to eliminate Michael.
“FBI! Don’t move! Keep your hands where I can see them!” Donovan could hear her clearly through the front door.
“Open the door!”
Donovan twisted the deadbolt and pulled the door open. Standing on the step was a man dressed in a suit. His hands were locked behind his head and Montero prodded him forward into the living room and ordered him to kneel. She kicked the door closed behind her, and keeping the gun trained on the intruder, turned on a lamp. Then she told Donovan to frisk him.
“You must be Mr. Nash?” the stranger said. “I’ll warn you that I am armed. A holster under my left arm. Inside my right-hand jacket pocket, you’ll find my identification.”
Donovan said nothing as he slid the stranger’s pistol from its holster. He found the wallet and patted the man down further but found nothing else beyond his cell phone.
“Who is he?” Montero asked.
“His name is Aaron Keller. He’s with the Israeli Consulate.” Donovan showed the ID to Montero, who snatched it from his hand.
“Special Agent Montero, may I put my hands down now? It’s important that we talk.”
“Why are you lurking outside my house at midnight?”
“I was about to knock on the door when you came up behind me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by your aggressiveness.”
Donovan studied the man closer. Medium height, dark hair cut short, he looked to be in his mid-forties. The man was in shape, he was wearing a suit and tie, yet there was no evidence of perspiration despite the South Florida heat and humidity.
“I’m not here on official business,” Keller said. “I’d just like to talk to you both.”
Montero handed him his credentials and phone.
“Stand up,” Montero said. “You can have your weapon when you leave.”
Keller turned to face Montero. “Thank you. I see someone was about to pour drinks. Please, don’t let me interrupt, and might I join you?”
“Israeli Consulate, huh?” Montero eyed him with caution. “How does a Mossad agent know us both by name?”
It made sense, Donovan thought to himself. An Israeli diplomat that carried a pistol may very well be Mossad, which was Israel’s equivalent to the CIA.
“Please, can we sit? This meeting is off the record—it never happened. Can we all agree on that?”
Both Donovan and Montero nodded their consent.
“I have a great deal of respect for you, Special Agent Montero. It’s my job to be familiar with law enforcement entities that may be working cases that overlap our own interests. You’re a talented investigator, which is the reason I’m here.”
“How do you know him?” Montero gestured toward Donovan.
“I’ve been brought up to date on events at a certain gentleman’s club this evening. After which I made it a point to learn about your new partner. Mr. Nash is, of course, not law enforcement—but a man with a vendetta. I can appreciate that.”
Montero gestured for Keller to have a seat. She went into the kitchen and poured three glasses of whiskey, neat. Donovan took one and she handed the other to Keller. Montero kept her gun close and set her glass down untouched.
“Why do you care what happened tonight?” Donovan asked.
“The same reason you do. Sasha.”
“Why?” Montero said without hesitation.
“It’s late,” Keller said, taking a sip of his Scotch. “Let’s not play these games. We’d be naive to ignore the problem we all face. After events tonight in Fairfax, Virginia, as well as here in Florida, all the evidence points toward an Islamic fundamentalist group with a stolen Gulfstream jet. It’s very simple. I need to know who has it and what they have planned.”
“Every federal agency in the country is tasked with that mission,” Montero said. “I’ll warn you, I’m not real comfortable talking to member of a foreign intelligence service about an ongoing investigation.”
“You’re not officially involved in this or any investigation. We’re just having a friendly drink. After everything that went down tonight, it’s no big secret you’ve been working this case on your own, and at this point I’m not sure what you do or don’t know, but I believe you’re correct in linking the events of the last twenty-four hours to what happened to you and Alec in the Florida Keys.”
“What do you know about Alec?” Montero jerked as if Keller had struck a raw nerve.
“I know you were set up.”
“It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out.”
“I believe the deception goes far deeper than anyone realized. The men Alec had under surveillance may not have been Venezuelan,” Keller said. “That was what your informant wanted you to believe.”
“What do you know about my informant?”
“Same as you.” Keller shrugged. “Absolutely nothing.”
“So who do you think they were?”
“We both know they were well funded, had impeccable documents, and their trail vanished completely. It’s my guess they were professionals of unknown origin, perhaps even mercenaries. In fact, until tonight I was fully convinced that you were on the right trail with this being drug-related activity. But after the bomber in Fairfax, I’m not certain of anything. We uncovered some new information about Diego and Ramone. They aren’t from Venezuela. They’re from Trinidad, a small island nation off the coast of South America with a significant Muslim population. Diego, Ramone, and Sasha were the last direct links to the people who stole this jet, and now they’re all dead. What did Sasha tell you before she was killed? Ms. Montero, I’d like to know everything
you’ve learned since the Gulfstream was stolen last night.”
“Sasha spooked and ran. We didn’t learn a thing.”
“That’s unfortunate. Did either one of you catch even a glimpse of the man driving the Lexus?”
Both Donovan and Montero shook their heads.
“I understand.” Keller calmly pulled out his phone, pressed several buttons, and then handed it to Montero. “Have you seen this man?”
Montero ran her hands back through her hair, pulling it behind her ears, looked, and shook her head. “I don’t recognize him.” She passed the phone to Donovan.
There was a color image of a man; the angle was down and to the side, revealing no remarkable features except that the man’s hair and beard were almost pure white.
Donovan was careful not to betray his recognition. The photo was the guy he’d seen earlier tonight at the club, the one sitting at the upstairs bar. Donovan shook his head.
“Are you positive?” Keller sat up straight, his fatigue seemed to multiply. He set down his drink and rose to his feet. “I thank you both for your time.”
“Since we’re working together, you won’t mind sharing this picture.” Montero slid Keller’s phone from Donovan’s hand, pushed several buttons, and forwarded the image to her own phone. When she finished, she handed it back to Keller, who looked less than amused.
Keller tossed a simple white business card on the table. “My being here tonight is off the record, so I trust you’ll not share this visit with anyone else. It was intended as nothing more than a professional warning for both of you to be very careful. You can reach me at that number if you remember anything else. May I please have my gun?”
Donovan handed over the man’s pistol. “I have one more question. Why would Mossad be so concerned about a stolen Gulfstream? We’re a long way from Israel.”
“It’s a small world and it’s not always the direct threat that concerns us as much as the far-reaching implications. Good night, Agent Montero, Mr. Nash, and good hunting.”
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