Once She Knew

by Sheila Connolly

  Claire wasn’t sure if she should say anything, or leave the questioning to the FBI, but she really wanted to satisfy her own curiosity, and she didn’t have much time. “Susie, I’m betting Annabeth had set it up so you could at least shake the First Lady’s hand, right?” Susie nodded. “When did Philippe give you the lingerie?”

  “Tonight. Why?”

  “Did he tell you to wear it tomorrow?”

  “Yes. So what? He said he wanted everything about the day to be special. You really think that’s a bomb?”

  “Do you want to find out the hard way? Listen, Susie: I never gave much thought to how he would get anything harmful past security, but if my guess is right, this has got to be an ingenious solution. You’d been cleared, and you had access. Even if all the security guards are women, they probably aren’t about to pat down your bra. And I’d bet that Philippe made sure this would pass through any ordinary security screening—and that he’s figured out how to include a remote trigger. Once you’re there, all he has to do is push a button.”

  Susie stared at Claire, and then her eyes filled with tears. “But that would kill me,” she whispered. “He wouldn’t do that . . .”

  Naïve child, Claire thought. “We’ll let the FBI figure that out. Right now we’ve got to go find Jonathan.” She watched as Susie pulled some clothes on, transforming herself from young siren to student. Then Claire opened the door wide, stepping back for Susie to pass. She held out Susie’s bra toward Agent Maguire. “Here.”

  The agent took his time in accepting it. He looked at it, then at her. “You really believe what you said?”

  Claire shrugged. “Does it matter? It’s pretty clear that Philippe was planning something, and I don’t have any better ideas about what he planned to use. You can prove it or disprove it. Can we go now?”

  “Hang on.” Maguire turned to one of the other men in the room and said, “Take this back to the office—carefully—and have it checked out. Take the girl with you.” The other man fished a plastic bag out of his pocket and gingerly slid the bra into it. Then Maguire turned back to Claire. “Let’s go.”

  Once in Agent Maguire’s car, Claire, Leah and Annabeth were silent until he had pulled away from the curb and fallen into line with two other cars. Then Claire asked, “Why are you bringing us along?”

  Maguire kept his eyes on the street, although there was no traffic to speak of. “You said you and Ms. Parker saw the two men. You can identify them, and the car. Besides, I don’t want to let you out of my sight. You might get kidnapped again.”

  Was he being funny? Claire wasn’t so sure she could make an identification. Things had happened quickly, without warning. But she was damn well going to try. She hoped Leah had been paying attention—she was better with faces anyway. She was more of a people person. That’s why she arranged parties for thousands, while Claire slaved away in isolation in a freezing cabin in the woods. The perfect paradigm for their personalities—and the reason why they were such good friends: they were polar opposites. God, she was tired. Her mind kept drifting sideways.

  The cars glided to an unhurried stop. The younger agent emerged from the first car and came round to Maguire’s window, which Maguire rolled down. “It’s right around the corner. There are two men sitting in it. The engine’s running.”

  “All right. I’ll take the lead here, but you make sure the street’s blocked off so they can’t make a run for it. When I tell you, bring this crew along, to make the ID.” He nodded back at the women. “And maybe we should be prepared to drive Mr. Cachette by them, nice and slowly, so they can get a good look at him. Might rattle them.”

  He rolled up his window without hurry. Claire stared at him. “You believe us.”

  He looked at her briefly as he buttoned up his coat. “Let’s say I’m playing the odds here. If you’re making this up—something you seem to be good at—then the worst that has happened is that we’ve ruffled a few Egyptian feathers. If it’s true . . .” He let the thought dangle, and got out of the car. “Stay here until I ask for you,” he threw back at Claire as he closed the door.

  30

  Claire watched as Agent Maguire turned the corner and approached the waiting car, which sat like a great shiny beetle, reflections from the streetlamps glinting off its polished finish. Claire could make out the vague forms of two dark heads in the front seat: as she watched, they leaned together, then parted again. Maguire reached the driver’s side and rapped on the window. It descended smoothly, and Maguire bent down to speak to the driver. Out of the corner of her eye she could see one—no, two agents approaching cautiously from the opposite direction, hanging back to see how Maguire fared. Maguire looked back at Claire and made one abrupt gesture, and another agent materialized beside Claire, opening the door for her.

  Stepping from the insulated quiet of the car into the chill night air, Claire shivered. She heard Leah and Annabeth behind her open their respective doors, and their agent escort waited until they had huddled together before herding them forward. They approached the black car cautiously until Claire stood next to Agent Maguire, the other two women close behind.

  Agent Maguire looked down at her, his expression carefully neutral. “These gentlemen are reluctant to leave the comfort of their car. Would you mind taking a look at them and telling me if you recognize them?”

  Claire bent and peered into the dark interior of the car. The two men sat motionless, staring straight ahead, volunteering nothing. She straightened and turned back to Maguire. “I think these are the men I saw. But I only saw them from across a room, and they were standing. Perhaps if I could see them outside of the car?” Was that the answer he wanted? She cast a worried glance at Leah, who gave her a barely perceptible nod. Claire felt a small sense of reassurance: Leah recognized them.

  Maguire bent down once again. “Gentleman, I’ll have to ask you to get out of the car. This lady would like a better view of you.”

  The driver spoke, in a surly, slightly accented voice. “We are members of the Egyptian delegation, and you have no authority to question us. This vehicle is the property of the Egyptian government, and is protected under the same immunity.”

  Maguire did not appear to be disturbed. “I’m sorry that you feel that way. At the moment, all we want is a conversation with you. We are not arresting you. We merely want information. Surely you can cooperate with a reasonable request?”

  Claire admired his calm, even while she wanted to kick him hard and tell him to get on with it.

  Maguire’s demand was met with stony silence. He tried another tack. “Gentlemen, a man has disappeared, and we are anxious to find him. This lady believes he was last seen in your company. We would appreciate your assistance in clearing this up.” Still no answer.

  Maguire gave a small sigh, then reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He pushed a button and spoke. “Bring the other car around, and pull up next to this one.” He lapsed back into silence, seemingly detached. A few moments later, a car pulled around the corner, and slowly approached them, stopping when it was parallel to them. The rear window rolled down, and Claire could see the profile of Philippe Cachette. The driver turned on the overhead light in the car. Philippe did not deign to look in their direction. Claire turned quickly back toward the two men in the car, in time to catch the fleeting look of panic that crossed both their faces. The window on the other car rolled up again, and the car pulled forward to the curb, where the two men could not avoid seeing it. Maguire let what they had seen sink in before he addressed them again, and now his voice had a sharper edge to it.

  “I presume you recognize Philippe Cachette, one of your colleagues from the embassy? We know what you were planning, and I think I can safely say that it is not going to happen. Now, since nothing is going to happen, and we don’t have a lot of hard evidence of your activities, you could probably expect to be shipped home, nothing worse. However, based on the testimony of these ladies, we do have evidence that you were involved in a dif
ferent crime, the kidnapping of Jonathan Daulton, and for the moment we have excellent reason to assume that he has been murdered, in which case we would be compelled to bring you in for questioning. Or worse. I’m sure you would like to avoid that.” Maguire’s level voice was greeted by more silence. Claire had to bite her lip to keep from protesting: this might be an effective interrogation technique, but the waiting was driving her crazy. Finally the two men in the car exchanged glances again, and the driver said, “What do you want to know?”

  “Very simple. Where is Jonathan Daulton? I think we might want to start with examining the trunk of your car . . . if that’s all right with you?”

  Stone-faced, the driver said, “This car and its contents are under the protection of the Egyptian government, and any evidence found would not be admissible in your courts.”

  “Ah, a legal scholar. Duly noted. Are you going to open the trunk for us?”

  After a long pause, the driver reached down. All the agents Claire could see reached in unison for their guns, but then she heard the thunk of the trunk latch release, and the man in the car straightened up again. Another agent came up behind the car and opened the trunk lid fully, shining his flashlight into it, then called out sharply, “Maguire, you’d better see this.” Maguire moved quickly.

  Claire stood frozen for a long moment, afraid to follow him. If, if . . . With a jerk she forced herself to turn and follow Maguire to the back of the car. Summoning her courage, she looked inside. In the light of multiple FBI flashlights, she saw a body, curled in a fetal position, tied with incongruously cheerful yellow rope. Dark hair. Blood, some dark, more a shocking splash of color in the wavering light of the flashlights. It was Jonathan.

  “Is he . . . ?” Claire couldn’t force out the rest of the words, and she wasn’t even sure anyone had heard her. It didn’t matter. Maguire reached into the trunk, then straightened abruptly. “He’s alive. Call for an ambulance.” Another of the agents already had his cell phone out and was speaking into it.

  At first Claire couldn’t breathe, and then she started gulping air as if she couldn’t get enough. Leah swam into her vision. “Girl, you’re hyperventilating.” She grabbed Claire’s arms and pushed her backward until they reached the curb, then shoved her down. “Sit. Put your head between your knees and breathe slowly. It’ll pass.” She kept a hand on Claire’s shoulder, and to Claire it felt like a lifeline, the only real and solid thing in a world that seemed to be flying to pieces around her. She concentrated on breathing: in, out, in, out. Gradually it became easier, and then she heard the sound of a siren approaching. She raised her head and looked at Leah, still hunkered down next to her, her face twisted in concern.

  “Thank you,” Claire said. “I’m okay now. I just wasn’t sure . . . you know.”

  “Yeah, right, I know.” Leah stood up and held out her hand, and when Claire took it, she hauled Claire to her feet. “Well, we found him, and he’s not dead, and God only knows what they’re going to do with Philippe and that stupid child, but otherwise it’s all over except the paperwork. Damn, we’re good.”

  To her own surprise, Claire laughed. “You’re right, we are. We just squashed a plot to kill the First Lady, nabbed the bad guys, and saved the FBI from screwing up royally. I think we deserve medals.”

  The ambulance pulled up and disgorged a couple of med-techs with a gurney, who went about their business with brusque gentleness, disentangling Jonathan’s limp body from ropes and blankets, checking vital signs, transferring him to the gurney. Claire slipped past Leah to stand next to Agent Maguire. He looked down at her with what might have been a smile. “What, you’re still here? You just passed up a great opportunity to make a break for it.”

  “Not a chance—I want to bask in my moment of glory. We were right, you know.”

  Maguire nodded. “Maybe. You’ve still got a lot of explaining to do.”

  Claire sobered. “I know. But I want to go to whatever hospital they’re taking Jonathan. You can talk to me there all you like.”

  “Agreed. Since technically he’s still a suspect in your kidnapping, I have to keep an eye on him, and I might as well kill two birds with one stone.”

  “Thank you. What about Leah and Annabeth?”

  Maguire reflected, his eyes still on the techs maneuvering Jonathan into the ambulance. “They’ll be at the conference today, right? I suppose I can trust them to behave themselves.” He waved Leah over.

  Leah looked ready to chew nails. “Are you keeping us or what? Because I’m supposed to be setting up a breakfast for five hundred people in about an hour, and I’d like to change clothes first.”

  “Ms. Parker, you and Ms. Rankin are free to go, but I’ll need to talk to you sometime in the next few days. I assume you will make yourselves available?”

  “Yeah, sure, whatever. But not before Sunday afternoon—that’s when the conference is over.”

  “That will be fine.”

  “Thanks.” Leah grinned at Maguire, then walked back to Annabeth and conferred with her. Annabeth looked utterly drained, but Claire had a feeling that she was tougher than she looked. After all, she had taken the news that her lover was a terrorist in stride and come out fighting. Leah came back. “You gonna spring for a cab, or can one of these guys get us back to where we belong?”

  Maguire almost-smiled again. “I’ll have one of the men take you wherever you need to go.”

  Leah turned to Claire. “What about you?”

  “I’m going to go along to the hospital, and I’ll give Agent Maguire here my end of the story.”

  “Don’t let him bully you, okay? And call me if you need a lawyer. Look, I’m gonna be kind of busy for the next couple of days, but you’ve still got my keys, right? You can go back and hang out at my place, and maybe when the dust settles we can celebrate. Sound like a plan?”

  “Deal. Leah, I don’t know what I would have done without you.”

  “Messed up, like always. That’s why you need me. So, you go follow your man, and I’ll see you when I see you.” Leah gave her a quick hug, grinned again at Agent Maguire, and rejoined Annabeth. Maguire made a wordless gesture to one of the junior agents lurking on the fringes of the scene, which somehow translated into “take these ladies home,” and he escorted Leah and Annabeth back around the corner.

  The ambulance pulled away. Maguire looked at Claire. “Let’s go.” She followed him docilely, and by the time she sat in the passenger seat of his car, she felt as though she was drowning in cement. With an effort she asked, “What about Philippe?”

  Maguire started the car. “We’ll take him in for questioning, but in fact we may not be able to touch him. We’ll be lucky to get him out of the country and make sure he doesn’t come back.”

  “Huh. And Susie?”

  “She’s young and most likely she’ll claim that Cachette led her on. She doesn’t seem to know what she got herself into. She’ll probably get off with a slap on the wrist and probation.”

  “Figures.” Claire sank back in her seat and closed her eyes, perilously close to falling asleep—until she recalled Leah’s last comment. Your man? What was that supposed to mean?

  31

  Claire had never before experienced the on-again, off-again kind of consciousness that marked the next few hours. Rationally she recognized that she was exhausted: the lack of sleep combined with the stress of the last few days, culminating in Jonathan’s last-minute rescue, had left her dazed. She floated in and out of focus, although she knew vaguely that she was still awake, still moving from place to place, still making some sort of marginally coherent responses to the questions tossed at her. Agent Maguire escorted her into the hospital emergency room and handled most of the queries. She didn’t have any information to offer the hospital staff anyway: she had no idea what Jonathan’s permanent address was, or what kind of medical insurance he might have; she was clueless about any medical conditions he might suffer from. If he had a wallet with all that useful detail in it, she had no idea
where it was—probably at Annabeth’s house in Maine. Or in the hands of the FBI. She sat in the uncomfortable molded plastic chair in the waiting area, where Maguire had parked her, and concentrated on staying upright and conscious, with middling success.

  A paper cup filled with murky coffee materialized in front of her face, and she followed the hand holding it up the arm to the face: Agent Maguire.

  “Here. I can’t vouch for the quality, but at least there’s caffeine in it.”

  Claire took it gratefully. It was bitter and strong, but it was hot, and somebody had added sugar. She could feel her synapses responding sluggishly. “What’s the word?”

  Maguire sat in the chair next to hers, watching the medical staff bustle around. “He’s still unconscious. Nasty bump on the head, probably a concussion, and he needs a few stitches for the scalp wound. A few other bumps and bruises, but nothing major. They’re going to take him upstairs for a CAT scan, to make sure there’s no cranial bleeding or anything else they missed. Apart from that, he’ll wake up when he wakes up.”

  “Huh.” Claire chewed on that information. She was long past feeling anything as simple as relief. “What about the bra?”

  Maguire looked grim. “Unfortunately, you were right. It could have done a lot of damage, at least up close. How’d you figure it out?”

  “I couldn’t see any other way he could have gotten a weapon into the conference, and he probably figured no one would look too hard at Susie. You all didn’t.”

  “My apologies. You ready to talk to me?”

  Distantly Claire felt an alarm go off in her head. “Officially or unofficially? Because right now I’m not sure I’m making any sense, and I don’t want you to use it against me. Do I need a lawyer?”

  “Ms. Hastings . . . I have some discretion regarding any charges to be filed against you. I have no doubt that you have, uh, at least bent the law, but one could make the argument that the outcome justified your actions. There were obviously mitigating factors, and it all worked out in the end.”