“Why would they keep me for the entire damn day and then drop that bomb at the end?”
Brent shrugged, so many thoughts bombarding his head.
The strength and concern in Tony’s voice morphed into his familiar dominating tone. “I don’t want you to tell Courtney about what you learned today.”
Brent considered his words. Was this the time to tell Tony he’d known for years? He straightened his neck and stood taller than he had in his friend’s presence in many years. “I told you, I helped you because of Claire. She’s alive and safe. That’s what matters.”
“Apparently she is, and apparently we aren’t privy to know anything more.”
“No, we aren’t, but at least we know she isn’t in prison on trumped-up charges.”
Tony spun and met Brent’s gaze. “What did you just say?”
“I said, we don’t know where she is.” Brent continued his stare. “We know where she isn’t.”
“I’m going to assume that offer to fire you is still on the table.”
Scanning the mini bar, Brent chose a bottle of whiskey, unscrewed the small lid and drank from the spout. Shaking his head, he laughed. “Sure, why not? I’m considering an early retirement anyway.”
Even with his back toward Tony, Brent could sense the darkening of Tony’s eyes and imagine his expression as Tony repeated, “Don’t say anything to Courtney.”
Brent turned back around. He was done being bullied. “Tony, I’m not promising that. I don’t keep secrets from my wife.”
“This isn’t debatable.” Tony grabbed a similar bottle from the bar. As he unscrewed the lid, Brent saw his shoulders slump. His tone was no longer full of domination; Brent heard something new as Tony said, “I care what Courtney thinks…” He kept his gaze away, as if looking out the large window and the lights of Boston. “..and you.”
Brent reeled. All the accusations and declarations he’d practiced in his head were suddenly gone. Brotherly love wasn’t a comfortable gesture between the two of them. Clearing his throat, Brent managed, “You and Claire made it through this. Do you swear you never treated her like her testimony states since her release from prison?”
Tony nodded. “I swear.”
“Courtney is pretty perceptive; I don’t think she’d be too surprised.” When Tony didn’t answer, Brent continued, “Do you want to call for a jet to come and get us in the morning, or should I?”
“I already have. It’ll be waiting by 10:00 AM.” Throwing back the rest of the small bottle, Tony said, “She can be as perceptive as she wants. I don’t want you confirming anything. Confidentiality! Hell, I pay you enough to at least expect that.”
Brent’s shoulders fell. So much for brotherly love. “Yeah, Tony, you pay me. Without a doubt, within the last twelve hours—hell, twenty years—I’ve fuck’n earned it!”
Tony threw the empty bottle on the bar. “I’m going to try to get some sleep.”
“Wait!” Brent faced his best friend’s dark eyes it was now or never. “That early retirement… firing… whatever you want to call it… it’s still on the table, and you should know, I’m seriously considering it. I know too much shit to keep saving your ass.”
“You know too much shit to ever consider walking away. It’s not an option.” Tony turned toward one of the bedrooms. Before he shut the door, he added, “I’m not accepting your offer. Good night.”
It was after midnight when the knock came to the door. It took multiple raps before anyone from within the suite budged. Brent was the first to make it to the door. He’d spent most of the day with federal officers. It didn’t take a genius to figure that the two men in dark suits were among those ranks.
“We’re looking for Anthony Rawlings.”
Before Brent could answer, Tony came up behind him. “I’m Anthony Rawlings. What the hell do you want at this time of night?”
The two officers displayed their badges and credentials. “Mr. Rawlings, may we enter?”
The last thing Tony wanted was a discussion with the FBI held in the hotel’s hallway. He and Brent took a step back allowing the agents to enter the suite.
Tony’s anger temporarily faded into concern. “Is this regarding Claire? Do you have new information?”
“There’s more information.” The men in dark suits went on to explain the threats upon Tony’s life have been verified and confirmed. The information Ms. Nichols disclosed was only the beginning. The bureau believes it’s in everyone’s best interest to get Tony home, safe and sound, where his security team can keep him from harm.
They also explained that Tony’s activity could be currently monitored by the perpetrator and insisted Brent remain in Boston. They emphasized that in the morning Brent needed to go to the FBI office and complete legal documents regarding this transfer. Of course, then Brent and Tony would be able to meet up in Iowa tomorrow after Brent finished all the legalities.
Tony considered their concerns. Looking toward Brent, he shrugged. Honestly, he wanted to be home. It made more sense than sleeping in a hotel room. “Give me a minute to gather my things.”
As he left with the agents, Tony told Brent, “I’ll talk with you more when you get back to Iowa. Come straight to the house once you land.”
Brent agreed and watched as Tony left with the two plain-clothed agents. The feeling of foreboding lingered in Brent’s mind. He considered calling Courtney, but it was nearly 2:00 AM. She didn’t need to lose sleep just because his mind was racing. Finally, Brent fell into a restless sleep.
A mere four hours later, Brent rolled toward the vibrating phone echoing on the hard surface of the night stand. Before he could answer the call, his attention went to the loud pounding on the suite door.
Pulling on his slacks, he read the unknown number, rejected the call, and pushed the phone into his pocket. In a still sleep-deprived haze, Brent made his way toward the loud banging. This time, when he opened the door, Brent recognized at least one of the agents. “Agent Jackson, couldn’t you wait until I came to the office this morning?”
“So Mr. Simmons, you were planning on coming to the FBI office today?”
“Yes, that’s what I was told.”
“And what about Mr. Rawlings? Was he planning on coming too?”
Brent stepped back and allowed the two men entry. “He would, but now—”
“Now…” Agent Jackson completed Brent’s sentence. “…now your client is gone, disappearing in the middle of the night?”
“No.” Brent shut the door. “Well, yes—because he left with your agents.” When the FBI remained silent and exchanged quizzical looks, Brent added, “The men from your office who came here last night. He left with them.”
“I assure you, we didn’t send agents here last night.”
“What?” Brent ran his hands through his bed-messed hair, struggling with the new information. Could Claire’s threat have been real? Did someone take Tony?
“Mr. Simmons,” Brent focused as he attempted to subdue his impending fear. “A plane left Boston airspace, a private plane, contracted by one Anthony Rawlings. That same plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains approximately an hour ago. No survivors were found.”
Brent collapsed onto the sofa. “As in dead?” The words hurt exiting his lips. Yes, there were times he hated Tony for what he’d done or said. That didn’t change the fact the controlling asshole was his best friend.
“No, sir, as in missing. The plane was empty. A FBI forensics’ team is investigating. So far, no signs of struggle or injury have been found and…” Agent Jackson emphasized, “…no signs of anyone.”
“But… the FBI took him. I saw their credentials and badges.”
“Do you remember the names of these agents?”
Brent shook his head. “No, it was late. Jesus… I didn’t really look. I assumed it was legitimate. I don’t remember.”
“Mr. Simmons, the FBI didn’t come here last night.”
“What does this mean?”
/>
“For right now, it means you’re coming back with us to the bureau. We’re going to review hotel footage and discuss your late night visitors.”
Sitting in the familiar office of SAC of the San Francisco FBI, Agent Baldwin listened attentively to his supervisor. “Anthony Rawlings was in FBI custody. Now he isn’t.”
“I’m sorry. What do you mean he isn’t?”
“Due to persuasion from unnamed political sources, Agent Easton, SAC in Boston, was unable to keep him detained.”
Harry’s blood boiled. “So, sir…” Although, well ingrained, the title left a bad taste on his tongue. “You’re saying—he did it again? Anthony Rawlings played his political cards, flashed a little money, and got himself out of FBI custody?”
“Agent, despite the deputy director’s request, you clearly aren’t interested in pursuing your career in the service of—”
“I apologize. Sir, please go on. Claire Nichols. Where is she?”
“The last direct communication was from Geneva, Switzerland. That was over a week ago. We have local field agents who’ve confirmed her departure from Switzerland.”
“She left? Where did she go?”
“This is a briefing, son. I inform. You listen. Agent Baldwin, you seem to have forgotten the protocol. If you choose to honor the deputy director’s request and assist in this ongoing investigation. Your duty is to say, Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If that duty is too difficult for you to fulfill, I’ll gladly inform our director, and your duties can be reassigned.”
Harry bit his tongue. Working undercover had a way of removing the bureau formalities from an agent’s vocabulary. Harry had enough problems with his future in the service of the FBI; he didn’t need to add insubordination to the list. Sitting taller, Harry said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever the bureau wants me to do.”
“The bureau wants you to travel to Italy. We have two possible sightings of Ms. Nichols: one in Venice, the other in Rome. We have pictures of the woman suspected of being Ms. Nichols. You’ll see she’s always in disguise.” SAC Williams pointed toward a large screen on the wall of his office. Still pictures projected. Some were grainy, as if taken from a distance and enlarged. Others were much more clear and detailed. Harry studied the woman in each photograph. The last time he’d seen Claire in person was in June. That was four months ago. The woman in question could be pregnant, or just heavy. Her hair color and length varied from photo to photo, yet there was something about her in a few of the photos when she smiled. Harry’s chest tightened.
“Sir, I believe that is Ms. Nichols.”
“This man has been seen with her on numerous occasions. Can you identify him?”
Repeated pictures projected, again with varied quality. “Most of these pictures don’t show his face. It’s like he knows to keep it away from cameras.” The man’s hair color varied, and he often wore a hat. “I’m sure it isn’t Anthony Rawlings, sir.” Harry studied the pictures closer. “He’s familiar. Are they believed to be together?” The way he emphasized the last word made his meaning clear.
SAC Williams’ eyes narrowed. “It appears so. Ms. Nichols told the Iowa City prosecutor that she left the home of Mr. Rawlings of her own free will, and that she feared for the safety of her and her unborn child. She emphasized that the threat wasn’t from Mr. Rawlings. Although you are aware, their relationship has had its perilous moments.”
“Yes, sir. Ms. Nichols told me about that herself.”
“She also informed Evergreen that she believed Mr. Rawlings is still in danger.”
Harry shifted his footing ever so slightly.
“I’ll ask this one more time, can you re-enter this case with a sense of impartiality? Our assignment is multifaceted. Agent Nichols was one of us. Though not publicly disclosed, his death is still an open case. The ME found traces of a rare toxin in his blood, actaea pachypoda, more commonly referred to as doll’s eyes. This plant toxin has a sedative effect on the cardiac muscle tissue and can cause cardiac arrest. That same toxin has been identified in very few other deaths. A recurring denominator seems to be Mr. Rawlings or should I say Rawls. After years of nothing, it was Ms. Nichols’s research and persistence that pulled these cases together. Upon further investigation, actaea pachypoda was also found in Mr. Rawlings’ blood when he was poisoned in 2012. Interestingly, it was the first time it has been identified in a nonlethal dose.”
Harry wanted to say, “That’s too bad,” however, he wisely chose to remain silent.
SAC Williams continued, “Honestly, it doesn’t come up in a normal toxicology screen and could easily be missed. Not all cases lead to Mr. Rawlings directly. Since other drugs indicating poisoning were found in Mr. Rawlings’ 2012 toxicology report, this toxin wasn’t initially discovered. Thankfully, in criminal cases such as Mr. Rawlings’ attempted murder, trace evidence is retained. When his blood was retested, the toxin was discovered. If it were left up to those idiots in Iowa, it would’ve never been found. We have no way of knowing how many other cases have been missed.”
“May I see the other names and case files which have been identified?”
“Yes, Agent. You’ll be leaving today for Venice. A debriefing file will accompany you on that trip. Familiarize yourself with it.”
“If I locate Ms. Nichols, am I to maintain the ex-boyfriend from SiJo persona?”
“For the time being, yes. She trusted you. That’s your role again, to regain her trust. As I said, this case is multifaceted. Ms. Nichols believes a significant threat exists, a threat which was severe enough to cause her to leave the country. Although she remains unaware, Ms. Nichols is our informant. We need her safe. Mr. Rawlings is an influential man with many connections. For the time being, it’s in the best interest of many people for him to remain hidden and safe. With the political and financial climate as it is, the collapse of Rawlings Industries could have global financial repercussions. That’s not something the prominent U.S. government officials want to see at this time. After his location is confirmed, it’s been determined to allow him to stay hidden. Actually, that was the bureau’s plan. I can’t say I agree with the Boston office’s tactics. I think they should’ve been straight with him all along, but it wasn’t my call. Now, we have to clean up their mess.”
“What if the evidence points back to Mr. Rawlings?”
“If it does, we bring him in.”
Externally, Harry maintained his neutral expression; internally, he smiled from ear to ear. Bring him in—yes, Harry liked the way that sounded. He wanted to be the person placing Rawlings’ wrists in cuffs, and he didn’t mean the thousand-dollar, diamond-studded kind. Harry’s need for retaliation wasn’t solely based on what he did to Claire, although admittedly it was a predominating factor. No, Harry’s incentive stemmed from the implication of so many other criminal activities. Rawlings hadn’t only taken Claire’s life, but he’d also, potentially, theoretically, hurt countless others, taking and destroying lives at will. Yes, Harry wanted to see Anthony Rawlings behind bars more than he wanted anything else. Maybe, just maybe, when Rawlings’ crimes were brought to light, Claire would see the truth. Oh, there was no doubt that when Claire learned that Harry’s presence in Palo Alto was not coincidental, that he also lied to her, she’d be upset, but lying for good was much better than killing, beating, raping… it twisted Harry’s stomach to think how long the list of Rawlings’ sins could possibly be.
Snapping back to reality, the photo of the man on the wall screen registered, and Harry said, “Phillip Roach.”
“Excuse me?” SAC Williams asked.
“The man in those photos with Claire Nichols? His name is Phillip Roach. He’s a private investigator. I ran preliminary background checks on him. He has a military background and on multiple occasions he’s fallen off the grid. He did work for Rawlings. I don’t know why he’d be with Ms. Nichols now.”
“Well then, that’s on your list of things to learn.”
“Sir, why am I suddenly in Europ
e?”
SAC Williams smiled. “Welcome back, Agent.”
Chapter Five
Doubt separates people. It is a poison that disintegrates friendships and breaks up pleasant relations. It is a thorn that irritates and hurts; it is a sword that kills.
—Buddha
Brent tipped the Styrofoam cup upward, attempting to garnish the last drops of caffeine, praying for a jumpstart to his exhausted body and mind. He’d been sitting and watching the feed from the hotel’s surveillance cameras for hours. Agent Jackson remained with him, but the second agent occasionally changed. The one who accompanied Jackson to the hotel was back; however, he’d left for a while and been replaced with another man, wearing the same customary black suit.
Regardless of who was within their room, they sat and watched the same loop over and over. It consisted of a hallway view of Tony and the two agents leaving the suite, the three men alone in the elevator, their walk through the lobby, and all of them entering a waiting black SUV. Brent wondered if Agent Jackson expected something to change, some new information. He wasn’t seeing it; at this point, he was pretty sure he’d see the same video in his dreams—if he ever had a full night’s sleep.
Without a doubt, Tony walked away willingly. There seemed to be little communication occurring between Tony and the agents; however, without audio, that couldn’t be confirmed. Watching his friend disappear from the camera’s view, Brent wondered, was Tony being taken by the person Claire feared? The FBI insinuated otherwise. Without coming out and saying it, Brent sensed that they thought Tony’s departure, like Claire’s, was of his own free will. Regardless of the reason, Brent saw no advantage to watching the same footage a thousand times. Shouldn’t they be tracking down the SUV or something? Suddenly, Agent Jackson’s voice refocused Brent’s thoughts. “There it is! That’s what I’ve been trying to see. I knew something seemed odd.” The other agent hit pause and backed up the video; soon they were all watching the footage again.
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