“I don’t hear anyone saying you did.”
“Stokes. Listen to me. Assassination is not part of our mission statement.”
Stokes leaned forward, his expression flat. “My charter is to do what I deem necessary to protect the security and safety of the largest and most important defense contractor in the world. Parks was a ticking time bomb. You can’t trust the Chinese. They’re polite to your face, but behind your back, they’re just waiting to screw you. They’re worse than the Russians.”
Christ. They weren’t even speaking the same language. Phillips massaged his temples.
“Look,” Stokes added. “I know this is not your area. That’s why Riordan hired me.” He looked Phillips in the eye. “Parks was a problem. And now we have a bigger one.”
The faint stench of cigar smoke wafted over Phillips. Stokes had probably lit one up before coming in because he knew Phillips hated them.
“What’s that?”
“Hollander.”
Phillips bent his head. “Charlotte? What’s going on?”
“She’s gone. Disappeared. Not here.”
“What are you telling me?” Phillips straightened his spine. “You didn’t—”
Stokes cut him off. “Relax, pal. All I did was stake out her house over the weekend. Her mailbox was overflowing. No lights on. And her car hadn’t been used in days. She’s outta here.”
“Maybe she went on vacation. You talk with her people?”
“Didn’t have to.” He folded his arms. “I checked her computer.”
The security measures put in place by CEO Riordan were excessive. Especially when someone like Stokes was implementing them. If Riordan knew Stokes had killed Parks, he’d explode. Stokes was acting like a third-rate hit man. Even if he had worked at the Agency. What did they call them—cleaners? Phillips decided to talk to Riordan. This had to stop. “Is there anyone here you’re not bugging?”
Stokes pretended to smile. Phillips guessed the man didn’t like him very much either. “My team accessed Hollander’s computer and phone. There were four calls to a number that turned out to be Parks’ cell.”
“From Hollander?” Phillips asked. “Are you sure?”
Stokes nodded. “She was desperate to reach him. Even left him a voice message. When my guys checked out her hard drive, we think we know why.”
Phillips gazed at him.
“All her correspondence was encrypted.”
“So is mine. Everyone’s is. You were the one who made us do it.”
“In her case, she’s using a program we didn’t approve.”
Phillips thought for a minute. “That might have been a wise decision on her part. She deals with extremely sensitive information.”
Stokes crossed his arms.
“Did you decrypt the files?”
“A buddy of mine is working on it. But we got lucky with the logs, and we’ve been able to extract a few headers. You know, the ‘from’s’ and ‘to’s.’ Other metadata as well, which—”
Phillips cut him off. He’d been through a full day of training on computer security at the CEO’s order. “And?”
“There were half a dozen or more emails sent to someone named Gao Zhi Peng. Want to take a guess what nationality he is?”
Phillips, knowing he was being patronized, let out an irritated breath. “So he’s Chinese.”
“A general in the Chinese army. There are also three-way emails between Parks, Hollander, and Gao.”
“Your conclusion?”
“We’re still investigating, sir.” Stokes emphasized the last word. “Anything I say would be purely hypothetical.”
Phillips felt his patience slip away. “What do you think is going on? Hypothetically?”
Stokes unfolded his arms. “Well, your director of engineering might be selling DADES to the Chinese, using Parks as a middleman.”
“That’s a goddamn huge assumption.”
Stokes inclined his head. “Why not cash in her chips? Get ready for retirement?”
“Charlotte? No way. Her father was in the military. A four-star general. She enlisted when she was eighteen. The army paid for her engineering degree.”
“Look, Phillips. I’ve seen this more times than you know. Someone isn’t getting their due, their credit, their promotion. So they sell out. Bottom line, it’s all about the money. I’ll wager the Chinese are paying her a shitload more than Delcroft.”
Phillips plucked one of the cuffs of his shirt.
Stokes smiled again. “Look at it this way. Now you have a reason to get rid of her. She’s your only real competition for the top spot.”
“This is not how I wanted to run the company.”
“You’re not,” Stokes said. “Running the company. Yet.”
Chapter Thirty-eight
Monday
The two men exchanged cold glances.
“Over the weekend I went into her computer again. She’s wiped the entire drive. Everything’s gone. On both her office computer and her Mac at home.”
“Her Mac? At home? You broke into her house?” When Stokes didn’t reply, Phillips’ gut twisted. Great. Now he could add breaking and entering to Stokes’ felonies. He gazed out the window. What wouldn’t he give to be in the air? Hell, he’d even take his old Cessna, which he’d traded up for a private jet. Reluctantly, he refocused on Stokes.
“I can’t believe it. Everything was going her way. DADES, the success and accolades that come with it. She’s not a traitor.”
Stokes paused for a long moment. Then: “I have two words for you. Aldrich Ames. He’s serving a life sentence with no parole. Snowden will too…if they ever get him back.”
It was Phillips’ turn to cross his arms. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”
“Because I interviewed her. Before Parks was—had his accident. She tried to convince me she knew Parks was a spy and she was trying to expose him.” He shifted. “But she claimed Parks was extorting her, threatening to blow her sky-high if she didn’t come through with more about DADES.” Stokes paused. “Then she told me something else.”
“What?”
Stokes licked his lips. “She said there was a flash drive involved. That Parks told her he had proof she was selling the system to the Chinese. She figures he must have copied all the emails between them and the general—”
“Gao?”
Stokes nodded.
“Christ. This just gets better and better. What was Parks doing for us anyway?”
“He was a ‘consultant’ to Hollander.”
Phillips tapped his fingers on his desk. He didn’t like where the conversation was headed.
“Actually there is one piece of good news. Hollander called me the day after we talked. Before she split. She had drinks with the woman who produced the video.”
“Why the hell did she do that?”
“Because on the day he died, Parks was on his way to meet the woman. Hollander says he gave the drive to her.”
“Foreman, right?” When Stokes nodded, Phillips asked, “Why her?”
“We’re still trying to figure that out. But Hollander asked if there was any way I could get it. She said it would exonerate her.”
“And you thought the best way to get it was to kill Parks?”
“That’s not the reason he was eliminated. I told you; I was protecting the company. Hollander, too, for that matter. At least at that point.”
“And now you want to kill Foreman? No way. This has gone far enough.”
“All we want is the drive.”
“Sure you do.” Phillips shook his head. “What a cluster fuck.” He was quiet for a moment. “What about Hollander’s son? Where is he?”
“He’s with his father. In Ohio.”
“Do they know where she is?”
“From what I can tell, no. At least that’s what the son’s been texting his friends.”
Was there anyone Stokes wasn’t hacking? Phillips let out a sigh. “You don’t think she—”
“Killed herself? Not a chance.”
“How can you be sure? Maybe she knew you were on to her and felt the walls closing in—”
Stokes cut him off. “No.”
“And you know this because…”
“There’s too much money involved. The woman got the hell out of Dodge. Probably stashed millions in the Caymans. She’s on some tropical island now with no extradition, laughing it up.” Stokes paused. “But there’s only one way to know for sure.”
“And that is?”
“The flash drive should have a record of all their emails.”
“I still don’t understand why you couldn’t get what you needed from Hollander’s computer.”
“Like I said, it was a system we’ve never seen before. In fact, we called in our brothers to help. It’s probably Chinese. Or Russian. The Russkies are still the best hackers in the world.”
But Phillips wasn’t interested in the Russians’ hacking proficiency. “Brothers? You mean the NSA?” When Stokes didn’t answer, he said, “Christ. Who else knows about this shit storm?”
“Well,” Stokes said, “NSA has been ‘keeping tabs’ on Delcroft for years. They’ve got eyes on all your phones and computers. Doesn’t matter whether it’s Turbine, Gumfish, or Foggy Bottom; they get whatever they want whenever they want. They know what Hollander’s been up to. And they share that intel with whoever they want: DOD, NSC, the White House.”
“Delcroft has leverage at DOD. I think it’s time for me to go to the CEO.”
“Let me get the drive before you do.”
Phillips was uneasy at the thought of any kind of alliance with Stokes, no matter how unlikely. “You realize this conversation makes me an accessory to about six felonies.”
Stokes smiled. “Yeah, but if we can nail Hollander and Gao before too much intel changes hands, Delcroft comes up smelling like a rose.”
“This is crazy, Stokes. You’re tampering with the reputation—hell, the future of the company.”
“With all due respect, sir, you didn’t hire me. Your boss did. But hey, you don’t want me to do this? I’ll back off. Of course, I’ll have to write a report detailing everything, including your objections, to the CEO and board of directors.”
Phillips straightened up and gazed at Stokes. “I don’t like threats, Stokes. You might want to reconsider. How are you going to explain to Riordan that you murdered one of our consultants?”
Stokes almost smiled. “Good point.” He stood, pushed his chair back to its original position, and strode to the door. “Checkmate.” He opened the door and pushed through. “I’ll keep you posted.”
Phillips had no illusions Stokes would follow through—the man was a loose cannon. No wonder the Agency had let him go. He looked out the window again, but this time the view was lost on him. It was time for Phillips to protect himself. Find a good criminal lawyer before the shit hit the fan.
Chapter Thirty-nine
Tuesday
I called Hollander again on my cell the next morning. This time I heard a couple of clicks, which indicated the call was being automatically transferred. A woman’s voice picked up. “Human Resources.”
I straightened up. “Uh, I was trying to reach Charlotte Hollander.”
There was a long pause. “Who is this?”
So far I hadn’t left my name when I called. But this was a direct question, hard to avoid. And I didn’t want to hang up until I got some answers. I sucked in a breath. “This is Ellie Foreman.”
“Well, Ms. Foreman, Ms. Hollander has been transferred.”
“Really? She never said anything to me.”
“May I ask what your business was with her?”
I faltered for an instant, then decided I could tell the truth. Or part of it. “I’m a video producer, and we scheduled a meeting to discuss an upcoming project. Can you tell me how to get in touch with her?”
“I’m afraid that information is classified.”
Classified? Neat trick. “But she specifically requested me to call her this week.”
“I’m sorry. I will note that you called.”
Now there would be a record of my call. “Thanks.” This time I did hang up before I could get in more trouble.
I pulled out my vacuum cleaner, cleanser, and a sponge. I stacked all the dirty plates and utensils in the dishwasher, wiped the counters. I changed the sheets on the bed, then went to work on the bathrooms. I’ve always believed that the physical activity of cleaning, organizing, and putting things into their proper place has a similar effect on my thinking. I didn’t much care whether it was real or a placebo. I needed clarity.
I doubted Hollander had been “transferred.” That happened to mid-level managers, not senior corporate executives. They were the ones who ordered transfers for others. In this instance “transfer” was corporate-speak for the fact that she was gone. But why? And why now?
I came up with two scenarios. The first was that Hollander was doing exactly what she said. Gregory Parks had somehow stolen her DADES system and was selling it to the Chinese. She discovered it, and in her effort to expose him, some greater threat came down. It could have been the Chinese. They weren’t known to honor the milk of human kindness. They could have tried to harm her. Or her son. That reminded me. I should try to find him. Maybe he’d know where his mother had gone.
The second scenario was more troubling. She could be in league with Parks. She could be selling to the Chinese, specifically General Gao, and using Parks as a middleman. Delcroft—or some other entity—found out about it, and she had to flee to escape a life sentence for treason.
Either way, that would explain why people were casing her house over the weekend. Who happened to be the same people staking out my house earlier. The question was, what I was going to do about it.
Chapter Forty
Tuesday
Rachel had the afternoon off and came to the house to do her laundry. It just happened to be the day our neighborhood diner serves vegetable soup. This is no ordinary vegetable soup; people from all over the North Shore flock to the place to fill up. We’d been going since Barry and I bought the house more than twenty years earlier. I’m still not sure why it’s so good, but I’ve narrowed it down to the broth. I’ve tried to duplicate it at home more than once, but I’ve never been able to match it, and the owners, a brother and sister from Greece, won’t say a word. They know a good thing when they have it.
Chicago was on the cusp of spring. Early March is a month of hope even though the weather is still lousy. The gradual return of longer daylight hours tends to dull the sharp edge of the Hawk’s claws. Rachel stayed home, but I was under strict orders to bring back a quart of soup for her to take downtown.
I picked up Dad and we drove to the diner. Once we were inside and seated, he rubbed his palms back and forth against each other. “Hubba, hubba,” he said. Whenever he does that, I know he’s in a good mood. “Do you realize this spring is gonna be the ninety-fourth one I’ve seen?”
“I do. Should we plan something special for your birthday?” His birthday was in October, but when you’re ninety-four, who cares when you celebrate?
“Lemme see. I can’t play golf anymore, the arthritis has crippled my hands, and I can’t sit on an airplane for more than an hour. What does that leave?”
“You still have every brain cell you were born with. And you play a mean game of poker.” I thought about it. “Think you could make it to Vegas? It’s only a two-hour flight.”
He shook his head. “No Vegas. But one of those casino boats—now, that’s a different kettle of fish.”
“Consider it done.” I picked up the large laminated menu, which was a useless exercise, since I always order the same thing.
“What’s going on with you? You find out who bombed your friend’s office? Everything okay at home? I’ve been worried.”
“We’re working on it. It seems as if—”
I stopped when the waitress approached with her pad. T
his was the same waitress who used to bring over a high chair for Rachel when she was a baby. Clearly, the Greek owners treated their staff well.
“Hi, Jen.”
“Hiya, Ellie. Lemme guess. Two vegetable soups, a Greek salad chopped, and a western omelet for the gentleman.”
“Pretty good. Plus a quart of soup to take home.”
“For your daughter.”
I spread my hands. “You’ve got our number.”
“You’re predictable.”
“That bad? Next time I’ll order something shocking.”
She eyed me over her pad. “It’ll take more than a chicken salad sandwich to shock me.”
I sat back. “How did you know that’s what I was thinking?”
She tapped her forehead and headed into the kitchen.
I snuck a look out the window. “I should start seeing Fouad soon.” Fouad was the man who helped me take care of my garden and my spirit. “I’m sure I saw shoots of daffodils in the front.”
My father nodded.
“You and he never really bonded until he rescued me up in Lake Forest.” Fouad had shot a man seconds before the man killed me.
“There’s a reason for that.”
“Dad, he saved my life.”
“I know. And I will be forever in his debt. Even though he’s Muslim.”
I tilted my head. “Seriously? Aren’t you too old for intolerance?”
“It’s not Fouad. He’s a decent man. A good man. Like I said, I will always be grateful to him.”
“You realize, of course, that’s what they say, or used to say, about Jews? You know, the ‘one of my closest friends is Jewish’ cliché? When you talk about Fouad that way, you’re no better than they are.”
He spread his hands. “If I was fifty years younger, sweetheart, I’d argue with you. But now, as I approach my ninety-fifth year, I’ll just say you can’t teach an old Jew new tricks. Our people have been at odds with Muslims for centuries. And these days their voices are louder. And more dangerous. You can’t deny it. Hell, you were in the middle of it yourself.”
He was right. I thought back to the time I met LeJeune. It had developed into a situation that involved radical Islam. “You can’t hold that against Fouad.”
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