Enigma

by Dee Davis

  For Payton it was tantamount to a speech. And telling to boot. She’d been right. He was a hell of a lot more than he appeared to be, and despite her protestations to the contrary, Sam found the idea quite fascinating.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  J.T. HUNCHED DOWN in the rented car, watching as Walter Atherton alternately pushed and then dragged an overstuffed trash bin to the side of the curb. It was a big can, the kind with two wheels, and the process of getting it into place at the curb was turning into a laborious project.

  If the circumstances had been different, he’d probably have offered to help. But of course that was out of the question completely. Especially since the man having all the trouble was Atherton. The truth was J.T. had no problem watching the man have a heart attack over his garbage. In a perverse way it would serve the bastard right.

  But it wouldn’t serve J.T.’ s purpose at all. So he hunched lower, and hoped to hell that the man got the damn thing under control before anything dire happened. It would be ironic as hell if he had to use his cell phone to call an ambulance and then turn around and turn the man’s house into a deathtrap.

  In actual fact, J.T. was surprised to find the G-man there at all. He should have been at work an hour ago. But of course someone with Atherton’s credentials probably came and went pretty much as he pleased.

  Bastard.

  Atherton had never even noticed J.T. He’d been too damn busy fawning over Samantha Waters. Dreaming of bedding her, no doubt. Some men did all their thinking below the belt. Fortunately, J.T. wasn’t that kind of man.

  And even more importantly, Samantha wasn’t that kind of woman.

  Atherton might have had his share of wet dreams, but that was as far as it went. Samantha would never have allowed anything more. J.T. had watched her carefully over the years, and there’d been casual flirtations with men, even a few dates now and then. But nothing more.

  Samantha had more important things on her mind.

  Unlike Atherton.

  J.T. gripped the steering wheel, wishing suddenly that he’d brought a gun. It would have been really great to crack the window and take a clean shot.

  Right to the head and Atherton was out of there.

  He mimed the motion, Nolan Ryan shaking his bobble head in disgust. J.T. sighed. Nothing would be accomplished by deviating from the plan. Balance was everything after all, and in order to correct his earlier mistake, he needed to make a different kind of statement.

  He thought about Sam—about the jack-in-the-box—and wondered if she realized what it was. Probably not yet.

  But she would.

  And if she didn’t. Well, then he’d have to draw her a picture.

  With Walter Atherton’s blood.

  The idea sent a shiver of delight running through him, and he smiled as the FBI director finally situated the garbage can, and headed back to the garage and his car. It took another five minutes before he pulled out of the drive and headed off down the street.

  J.T. blew out a breath and leaned back against the car seat. Amanda Atherton had already left, beating her husband out the door by more than an hour. But that didn’t mean there wasn’t a maid or something. People like the Athertons always had hired help.

  So far no one had arrived, and it was getting close to ten.

  Still, better to be sure.

  Everything had to be aligned just right. Positive and negative blending together to form a perfect whole. Patience was the key. Nothing was ever accomplished in haste.

  And so he settled down to wait.

  PAYTON SIGHED and put down the twisted piece of metal he’d been staring at for the past half hour. Despite his years in the field, he’d never really acquired more than an instinctive working knowledge of ordnance.

  What he did know was limited to combat and espionage situations, and while there was some crossover, there wasn’t enough to give him an edge in examining fragments from the San Antonio site. Especially after the fact.

  Basically he preferred action to reaction, and while he had more patience than most, crime scene investigation wasn’t a strong point. Still, Sam had said she needed another pair of eyes, and his were the most qualified.

  They’d been hard at work all morning in the makeshift lab Cullen had set up for them. The bulk of the bomb residue from San Antonio was being cataloged and analyzed by the ATF in conjunction with local authorities, but Sam had arranged for key pieces to be sent directly to her.

  In addition, she was also working with the recovered fragments from the jack-in-the-box bomb. At first the Austin police department had tried to pull rank, but a few well-chosen words from Cullen had done the trick, and Last Chance was now officially in charge of both investigations.

  Rubbing his neck, Payton sat back in his chair, shooting a look at Sam working across the room. For the past hour or so, she’d been staring into a microscope, muttering to herself, and from time to time recording things in a little notebook.

  Despite the fact that they’d had almost no sleep, she was alert and fully intent on her job. This was her element, and here, with no other people to deal with, she seemed more at ease than he’d seen her since they’d arrived in Austin.

  Unless he counted last night. And he wasn’t going to do that. In fact he was trying hard not to think about it at all, but close quarters here weren’t helping anything. In all the years he’d been hiding from his past, he’d never opened up about any of it to anyone.

  And he’d certainly never discussed the nightmares.

  Not that he’d really said anything of significance. For the most part, he’d managed to deflect her questions. But he’d told her about Kevin. Or at least acknowledged her guess. And that wasn’t like him.

  He didn’t like the fact that he’d allowed even a hint of intimacy between them. What had happened in Iraq was his burden to carry. Kevin and Mariam his own personal crosses to bear. Cullen Pulaski’s ambition may have set in motion the events that led to their deaths, but it had been Payton’s job to protect them.

  And he’d failed.

  He glanced over at Sam again, her silvery curls dancing around her face as she focused the microscope. It had unnerved him to find her standing over him as he’d awakened. He’d been insane to suggest that she share an adjoining suite. But hindsight wasn’t worth a damn, and now he had to accept the fact that she’d broken through his defenses in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

  The key now was to move past it and concentrate on business. With another sigh, he picked up the fragment, turning it toward the light, carefully making a note of its weight and composition.

  “Okay, I think maybe I’ve got something on our senators.” Madison walked into the lab with a look of triumph.

  Sam looked up from her microscope to see Madison’s excitement reflected in her face. Payton couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that kind of enthusiasm. “What’d you find?”

  “Looks like our boys were up to their necks in closed-door dealings. But details will have to wait until we’re in the briefing room. Gabe wants you there in five.” With a mischievous smile she spun around and waltzed back out the door.

  “Well, that was enlightening,” Sam grumbled, her enthusiasm tempered with frustration.

  “He said five minutes, not six hours. Surely you can manage to hang on that long.” He’d meant it as a joke, but based on the look she shot him, it obviously hadn’t come across that way.

  Whatever camaraderie they’d had last night had obviously evaporated with the sun. Truth was, she really hadn’t said much of anything to him this morning, as if she, too, had regrets about the night before. Surprisingly, he felt disappointed by the thought. A sure sign he was losing his mind.

  “You coming?” She closed her notebook with a snap and started for the door, oblivious, thank God, to the turn of his thoughts. Payton nodded in reply, laid the fragment carefully back in its container, and followed her.

  The briefing room was nothing more than a converted conference room, complet
e with table, chairs and a whiteboard. It sat between the lab and what was serving as an operations room and computer headquarters. Considering the rapidity with which it had all been assembled, Cullen and Harrison had done a damn good job.

  Located in the basement of the building, it was practically intrusion proof, and, with state-of-the-art equipment, better than any facility the government could have provided. There was something to be said for unlimited funding, despite the negative side effects that were part of the package.

  Payton sat down next to Harrison, across from Madison who was still smiling. She wore her pregnancy well, the “glow” of motherhood suiting her fragility, lending an essence of something almost ethereal. Of course, looks were deceiving—Madison was one of the toughest women he’d ever worked with. But she kept her femininity intact all the same.

  Gabe was a lucky man.

  Harrison sat across from Sam at the other end of the table, engrossed as usual in his laptop. Payton wondered if the guy ever went anywhere without it, then immediately regretted the thought. Harrison was more than just a computer whiz, he was a hell of a team member, pulling answers out of nowhere on more than one occasion.

  As if aware of Payton’s thoughts, Harrison looked up with a grin. “Sorry, can’t seem to help myself.” With a laugh, he closed the laptop, and solemnly gave Gabe his full attention, prompting laughter from both Sam and Madison.

  Payton found he liked the sound of Sam’s laughter, which wasn’t something he wanted to dwell on, so instead he focused on Gabe, whose face, despite his wife’s amusement, was deadly serious.

  “So, darling, why don’t you tell us what you found.” Despite the endearment, there was a note of censure in his voice. Gabe had always been a no-nonsense kind of guy, but Iraq had intensified the effect. Even Madison hadn’t been able to soothe all of his demons. Which was something Payton understood only too well.

  Madison sobered instantly at the sound of her husband’s voice, although the twinkle in her eye remained. “It took some digging, but thanks to my sources I’ve now got confirmation that our senators were up to their necks in pork. Apparently they’ve been working together behind closed doors to finagle an amendment to the budget bill that would send billions their way in the form of agricultural subsidies targeted for Texas, California and Iowa respectively.”

  “And that’s enough to make someone want to take them out?” Sam sounded skeptical.

  “Hell, Ruckland and Keith working together on anything ought to put targets on their backs,” Harrison said.

  “From their own parties,” Payton added, thinking again how much he hated politicians. “But I agree with Sam, it seems a bit extreme.”

  “Well there are foreign concerns involved as well. If money goes to subsidize our farmers, then prices for consumers go down, and ultimately other markets are cut out of the picture.” Madison opened a file and thumbed through the pages. “The multiplying effect could be quite devastating to underdeveloped countries relying on U.S. trade to support their economies.”

  “And there’s only so much money in the pot,” Harrison said. “So if a large portion of the funds are diverted to Texas, California and Iowa, then other agricultural states stand to lose.”

  “But overall isn’t it a good thing to support our farmers?” Sam asked. “Save the family farm?”

  “It sounds good, I’ll admit.” Madison shrugged. “But unfortunately the bulk of the money goes to big corporations with diverse investments.”

  “And let me guess,” Payton said. “Ruckland, Keith and Dawson have financial interest in one or more of these diverse companies.”

  “Exactly.” Madison nodded.

  “So much for altruistic congressmen,” Sam laughed. “But it still doesn’t seem like this is the work of some pissed-off farmer. Or even an international conglomerate worried about selling this year’s wheat crop. I mean these are high-profile American citizens we’re talking about. Powerful ones. And whoever bombed the Prager would have to know that there’d be no holds barred trying to find the culprit.”

  “Even if they believe the payoff was worth the risk, I don’t think there’s any way to have planned it.” Harrison had opened his laptop again.

  “I take it you’re giving us more than just speculation here?” Gabe asked.

  “Absolutely. I’ve talked to all three of the senators’ offices, as well as their spouses and top aides. Nobody knew they were meeting. According to his staff, Dawson was in New England at a fund-raiser. But according to the people in New England, he only popped in for an hour or so, and then rushed out claiming something more pressing had come up.” Harrison tapped out something on the computer. “Apparently coming to Texas.”

  “So he makes a sudden trip south without telling anyone?”

  “Looks that way. I’ve got confirmation that he took a private jet into Stinson Municipal Airport in San Antonio.” He spun the laptop around. “Turns out the plane belongs to Keith.”

  The screen displayed the copy of a flight plan filed in Manchester, New Hampshire. Two passengers listed. Robert Keith and Farley Dawson.

  “So what we’ve got is a low-ranking democratic senator backing out of his party obligations to fly south with the republican’s lead senator,” Madison restated, frowning. “I’d say that goes a long way to physically substantiating my findings.”

  “Yes, and due to the rushed nature of Dawson’s departure, I’d say the meeting couldn’t have been planned far enough in advance to allow someone to plan for the kind of bomb detonated in the Prager.” Harrison turned toward Sam for confirmation.

  “It was a fairly sophisticated device. And from what I’ve been able to put together so far, I’d say our man takes great pride in his work. And while it’s certainly possible that he might have had something ready-made, so to speak, given the instability of the components he’s using, I’d say it’s fairly unlikely.” She shrugged, and held up her hands. “I wish I could tell you definitively, but there’s honestly no way to tell for certain.”

  “But you’d say that the odds are against this guy just throwing something together.”

  “Yeah.” She nodded, chewing on the side of her lip. “I’d say he had to have time.”

  “But all we know for certain is that Dawson made the trip on the spur of the moment. What about Keith and Ruckland?”

  “Beyond their families and spouses denying any knowledge of the meeting, I’ve got Outlook calendars for all three, and none of them mention anything that even cryptically could be considered a memo about a meeting.” Harrison pulled out a file and opened it. “And the jet took off from Southern California just about five hours before it touched down in New Hampshire.”

  “How about phone records?”

  “This is the best part,” Harrison said, producing a stack of papers from the file. “I’ve got LUDs on all three men and there is a call from Ruckland to Keith about an hour before the plane left California. Nothing to Dawson from either of the other two, but we know that he boarded the plane with Keith. So I’d say we have our connection.” He tossed the phone records on the table with a smile.

  “It’s solid evidence, I’ll grant you that,” Gabe said. “But not enough to make a definite conclusion. We simply can’t ignore the fact that the three of them were up to their asses in alligators. The very fact that they were panicked into meeting is pretty strong motivation that something had gone wrong.”

  “Which could mean that someone was threatening them.” Sam was toying with the edge of a file folder, her brows drawn together in thought.

  “Or luring them to an early grave,” Madison added.

  “Maybe,” Payton said, leaning back in his chair. “But it doesn’t track. The odds of someone discovering the fact that the three of them were involved in something shady is entirely possible. But then to have managed to lure them to Texas on the spur of the moment to a closed hotel at the exact time that the bomb he planted went off seems a bit more far-fetched.”

  “But
the alternative is that someone set the bomb for an entirely different reason, and accidentally took out the senators. That seems far-fetched to me,” Gabe said.

  “Maybe,” Sam said, looking up from peurusing the phone records. “But quite honestly, taking three high-profile men out in a bomb blast is not standard profile for the types of men we’re talking about here.” Her gaze met Madison’s and the other woman nodded.

  “She’s right. A terrorist might use a bomb, but he wouldn’t go through the efforts to lure them to a deserted hotel. He’d want more bang for his buck, if you’ll excuse the pun. He’d be much more likely to pick a public place or maybe a senate committee meeting or party of some kind.”

  “Maybe someone was hoping to cover up the crime? Incinerate the bodies and confuse the facts.”

  “That would hold if he’d used the kind of bomb that did that kind of damage. But he didn’t.” Sam shrugged. “The blast was meant to destroy the building certainly, but nothing more than that. If he’d wanted to guarantee the place would be set on fire he’d have used an entirely different device.”

  “Besides, if the goal was to mislead authorities, there are a lot of better ways to accomplish that than with a bomb, no matter what kind.” Payton turned to look at Sam, but she was back to reading the telephone file.

  “Madison, you agree with this?” Gabriel asked.

  “Despite the apparent improbability of this kind of coincidence, I’d have to say the idea has merit. While bombers do target individuals, there’s usually a broader agenda than just killing someone. Sometimes they do try and cover up another crime. Like maybe if the senators were already dead. But we know from forensics that all three died in the blast.”

  “But you can’t say with certainty that it was just a fluke that the senators were there.”