by L. T. Ryan
She reached out and grabbed his arm. “I don’t either.”
“You were going to make a call?”
She looked down at the cell phone, then pointed at the anti-theft device. “That thing still active?”
He nodded.
She dialed Sinclair’s private number. Only members of his team had access to it. It was the number Randy would use to report back to him. Sinclair answered midway through the second ring.
“Is it done?”
“Tell me why,” Clarissa said.
There was a pause that lasted a few seconds, although to Clarissa, it felt like minutes.
“Where’s Randy?”
“He can’t come to the phone right now.”
“Are you okay, Clarissa?”
She didn’t respond.
“Did they extract you?”
“I extracted myself.”
“Please tell me they got Beck. Clarissa, if he’s still around, you need to get away from him.”
She glanced at Beck, then turned away. “What are you talking about?”
“He’s gone rogue. He is the one behind the shooting. I was trying to kill him at your apartment because we had intel that said he was going to do you.”
“Yet here I am, still alive.”
“Because he knew he had to change tactics after I missed.”
“You didn’t miss. You killed Amy.”
“An unfortunate mistake, and for that, I apologize.”
“What about her son?”
“What son?”
She paused, waiting to see if he would offer any more information. “Who else is involved in this?”
“So far all I know is Beck and Jordan.”
“Have you gone to Banner or Polanski?”
Sinclair forced a laugh. It sounded like a dying man’s gasp for air. “They’re trying to pin this on you.”
“So you think they’re involved?”
“No. I just don’t think they are willing to accept that their people had something to do with this.”
The idea had some merit, though Clarissa wasn’t sure she considered it plausible.
“Get to D.C.,” Sinclair said.
“Can I even get around? Aren’t I a suspect in this thing?”
He took a sharp breath, then said, “You’re in the clear as far as the shooting goes, but there are some who will be on the lookout for you.”
Beck had told her the opposite only hours before. At this point she was only slightly more inclined to believe Beck. She would have to exercise extra caution inside the city limits. Every cop in the city would be on the lookout for her. The fear that Beck was leading her to a cell passed through her.
“Okay,” she said.
“Meet me tomorrow morning at the cafe at the corner of 14th and Clifton.”
“Why there?”
“Did you have someplace else in mind?”
She said nothing.
Sinclair said, “I want to discuss this, then get you into hiding. So figure out a way to dump Beck and get there.”
“Why don’t I bring him?”
“Don’t play games with me. We found you once. We can do it again.” He ended the call.
She lowered the phone, an older flip model, and broke it in half. Then she removed the battery and SIM card. The crackling of the fire outside was the only sound. She turned around and saw Beck opening the door to the Land Rover.
“We should get going,” he said.
“If they found the house, don’t you think they know about the Land Rover?”
“We know they are aware of the Jeep. I think our best chance is this.”
As he turned his back to her, she wrapped her right hand around the MP7’s grip. She had no reason to believe Sinclair. But his words permeated her thoughts.
When Beck turned around, his gaze instantly became fixed on the weapon aimed in his direction.
“You’re not involved in this, are you?”
He held his hands six inches from his side, palms facing down. “We went over this already, didn’t we?”
“Answer the question.”
“What’s gotten into you?”
She squeezed the trigger and fired three rounds into the rear wall. “Dammit, Beck, answer the question.”
He slammed the door shut and hurried toward her. She didn’t give any ground. He stopped a foot away.
“The only thing I’m guilty of is helping you. And by doing so, I’m in this as deep as you are. If they decide that you’re guilty, I’m going down with you. Got it?”
She studied his wavering eyes, looking for any sign of him being less than truthful.
“Don’t you think if I had something to do with this I’d have already killed you, or at the very least, turned you in? Give me one reason why I would have brought you out here if not to help you?”
She lowered her weapon and let it go after the strap had taken over supporting its weight.
“I can’t,” she said. “I’m sorry, Beck. I had to ask. Sinclair said something, and I…”
He looked her over, then said, “Yeah, well, we all make mistakes.” He turned away and hopped up into the driver’s seat. “Get in if you want a ride back to D.C.”
She joined him inside the Land Rover and settled in for the four-hour trip, hoping that he’d get over her accusations along the way. Beck was the only ally she had. Without him, she’d be dead or imprisoned by now. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t appreciate what he’d done for her. At the same time, he had to go through his own process of accepting what had happened so far. Eventually, she figured, he’d reach a point where he understood her reasoning behind questioning him.
A few hours into the ride, after she slipped into sleep, he tapped her arm. She opened her eyes. Evenly spaced reflectors placed on the road flew past, dimming to nothing as the vehicle drove past them. She pried her cheek and forehead off the cool window and looked over.
“I wanted you to know I’ve still got your back on this. We’re going to get this figured out.”
Her confidence in his words waned, but she smiled anyway. Up to this point he hadn’t done anything to harm her. Either he was telling the truth now, or he planned to lead her into the wolf’s den and abandon her.
Chapter 34
They arrived in D.C. minutes before rush hour kicked off. It wasn’t even eight o’clock in the morning, yet the air felt thick and humid. The sun stared down at them as Beck headed east on N Street. The plan called for Beck to drop off Clarissa so that he could follow up on leads without putting her at risk of capture. People were after her, not him. At least, not that they knew of. Clarissa had the street smarts to stay out of trouble. She also had her own network she could reach out to for assistance.
Beck turned into the dark opening of a parking garage. After stopping to collect the time ticket, he drove until they reached the third level and parked in between two large SUVs. A knee-high jersey wall separated them from the outside. The view stretched down a side street, but Clarissa wasn’t sure which. She hadn’t been paying attention when he pulled into the structure.
She reached for her door handle. Beck told her to wait. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cell phone.
“That’s a clean phone,” he said, handing it to her. “I’m the only one with the number. When I call you, I’ll hang up after two rings, then call back exactly thirty seconds later. If you get in a bind, there’s an easy way to turn on the GPS.” He paused to show her. “With that, I can track you.”
“Can I call out on it?”
Beck shook his head. “Get a disposable for that. I guarantee you that everyone you know is being monitored. You make a call, they’ll have your location and someone to it in a matter of minutes. Got any cash?”
“It was with my clothes in the cabin.”
He pulled out his wallet and handed her a wad of bills. “That should be enough to get you through the day. Remember, one call per phone. If you need to make another, get another disposab
le.” He then handed her his pistol in exchange for the MP7. It was easier for her to conceal than the submachine gun. “Be extra careful out there. Every cop has the Service’s picture of you.”
She nodded and reached for the door.
“Clarissa?”
She looked back over her shoulder. “Yeah?”
“If you don’t hear from me by sunset, assume the worst and disappear.”
She hesitated, then smiled. “It’s the longest day of the year. Sure you want me to wait till the sun goes down?”
Beck smiled. “Make it a judgment call.”
She exited the vehicle without another word between them. The stale, warm air enveloped her. Walking away, she considered exercising her judgment call right then. Why not trash the phone and go? Beck could take care of himself, and so could she. He’d be better off without her around. He only had to account for his location the night before. She had no doubt that the man could come up with something on the spot. Presumably, he had a story ready to go.
Footsteps echoed off the concrete surrounding her. It seemed as though they came from the stairwell. Behind her, she heard a car approach and then turn down an aisle. Beck, she figured, leaving the garage. Though they’d be within a one- or two-mile radius of each other throughout the day, seated in the car was the closest they would be until the ordeal was over.
She stopped outside the stairwell and waited until the man in the grey suit passed. He paid little attention to her as he descended. A sheen of sweat coated his forehead. She wondered how he’d manage to make it back up later that afternoon, when the temperature and humidity were both north of ninety.
After several seconds she made her way down to the ground level. Foot-traffic along the sidewalk was moderate. Enough for her to blend in, but not so much she couldn’t wind her way through if she had to take off running. The mix of people in the crowd was enough that her outfit of jeans, a t-shirt and a Nationals hat didn’t cause her to stand out. She found two women dressed similarly and fell into line behind them.
Clarissa kept her head on a swivel for the next five minutes. The doubt she had in Beck lingered, and she wondered if the phone he’d given her had been a setup. Beck’s pistol pressing against the small of her back provided some comfort. Upon inspection, the weapon was loaded. Why would he hand it over if he meant to stab her in the back?
Two blocks away from 14th street, she faced the decision she had to make. Meet with Sinclair now, or deal with him later. At least the meeting would be in a public place. She presumed so, not knowing for sure what was at that location. Either way, they’d be inside a cafe, or out on the street. There was only so much he could do. Even threats of violence would have little impact. He’d have to get close enough to sedate her.
She knew all too well that he was capable of doing so. Staying out of reach had to be her top priority. That could prove tricky in a restaurant. Of course, she could conceal the pistol under the table, reducing the chance that he would try something.
Was meeting him the right decision? What would she gain from it, assuming she made it out of there alone and alive?
Turning onto 14th street, she glanced to her left. She barely recognized the reflection of the woman wearing a ball cap staring back at her. The short, darkened hair that poked out from under the hat and the effect it had on her face was enough to throw her off. Could it buy her time with Sinclair and his men?
Instead of meeting with Sinclair, perhaps she could tail him for a while to see where he headed next.
She trudged on toward Clifton Street, resolving to make a decision before she reached her destination.
Chapter 35
The darkened windows of Federico’s gave Clarissa little clue as to what was going on inside. The sign on the door said closed, but something told her that would not stop Sinclair from entering. The man had friends on both sides of the law, as well as those who hovered somewhere in the middle. Chances were that whoever owned the little Italian restaurant also delved into shadier businesses.
She remained across the street. There was nothing to obstruct her view other than the occasional passerby, which meant Sinclair, if he was inside the restaurant, had the same view of her. She could only hope that her short hair and the baseball cap were enough of a disguise.
The lights flickered on inside Federico’s. She managed to catch a glimpse of the first row of tables inside the restaurant, but nothing beyond that. Knowing how Sinclair and other agents thought, he’d be in one of the rear corners, close to the kitchen door. That allowed him to see the entire floor and have a quick escape route available.
Clarissa placed her right hand behind her back, wrapping her hand around the pistol’s grip. She steeled herself to cross the street and enter the building where Sinclair waited. She planned to take command of the situation and get the answers she needed to clear her name. However the dominos fell after that did not matter.
But she couldn’t push herself forward.
What are you doing?
Sinclair wouldn’t be alone. The men on his team all had several years more experience than her, and there would be at least three of them. The moment she stepped foot inside, they’d have control over her. She would not leave the building unless they allowed her to.
She willed the phone in her pocket to ring. It didn’t. Looking to her left, she spotted a group of businesspeople walking toward her. She wouldn’t fit in, but that didn’t matter. Anyone watching her would be less likely to approach while she was surrounded by others. It didn’t mean they wouldn’t, or that they would stop tailing her. But it’d buy her time, and that was what she needed.
With the group a half-block away, the glare from a door opening across the street caught her eye. She diverted her gaze to Federico’s and saw a dark-haired man she recognized staring back at her. He lifted his right arm and gestured her forward. She looked back at the group, now a hundred feet away. When she looked back at the man, he shook his head, patted his waistband, then pointed up. She didn’t have to follow his gesture to understand that Sinclair had placed at least one man on a rooftop.
Clarissa stepped in front of the oncoming herd of Brooks Brothers-clad men. The sounds of their footsteps bounced off the building behind her. If they had only been thirty seconds ahead of schedule, she could have slipped into their group and disappeared.
That wasn’t to be, though.
A car passed perilously close to the curb. She had to step back in order to avoid colliding with the side mirror. There was enough of a break in the traffic after that for her to cross the street at a decent pace.
The man waiting in the open doorway nodded, then jutted his chin toward the inside of the restaurant. She had to turn sideways to pass him. He brought his hand down and brushed it against her ass. Clarissa spun, ready to strike. The guy leaned back, laughing.
“How you doing, Hon?”
Turning away, she said nothing. Her gaze traveled from one corner of the restaurant to the other. The first rear-corner table was positioned next to the hallway that led to the restrooms. Sinclair was not there. She found him sitting on the opposite side, leaning against the wall in a corner booth next to the kitchen entrance.
“Did you check her?” Sinclair said, watching Clarissa approach.
“Oh yeah,” the guy at the door said. “She’s clean. Firm, too.”
Clarissa ignored the man’s comments, happy that he hadn’t noticed the pistol at the small of her back. She couldn’t believe that Sinclair would allow such a mistake to go unnoticed, so her plan was to position herself in front of the door to the kitchen, keeping her back away from the men. If any of them approached, she’d draw her weapon.
It was then that she realized aside from the man at the door, she hadn’t noticed any others. The guy had pointed up, so she assumed that there was one on the roof, perhaps two. Why would Sinclair not have a team inside the restaurant? It made no sense.
Unless he truly meant to help her.
In which case, Beck had b
een the one lying.
Clarissa stopped in front of the table. A color-changing LED bulb that had been fixed inside a used wine bottle hung in front of her at eye level. The light changed Sinclair’s hair color for blue to red to green and yellow.
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the empty booth across from him.
She hesitated. Taking a seat would place her back to the entrance. She’d have no idea what was going on outside. It would also make her vulnerable to the man behind her. He could come up and force himself into the booth next to her, wedging her against the wall. There’d be no way out.
“Sit,” he said again with decidedly more force to his tone.
She turned and backed up, placing herself against the back of a booth on the other side of the entrance to the kitchen.
“How’d you know I was out there?” she asked.
Glancing at her wrist, Sinclair straightened and shifted in his seat. He gestured toward the empty seat once again.
Clarissa looked to her right. The other man had stopped halfway between the booth and the entrance. He had one hand wrapped around the opposite wrist. His other hand was empty. Sinclair hadn’t produced a weapon either. She resisted the urge to check under each table in the establishment.
She said, “If you don’t mind, I’ll stand.”
Sinclair drew in a deep breath, paused, exhaled. He nodded and said, “Suit yourself, Clarissa. But you should know I’m here to help you. I can only imagine how you’ve been poisoned against me.”
“Maybe firing a sniper rifle at me had something to do with that.”
He sucked in his bottom lip for a moment. “I apologize for doing that, but you have no idea what Amy and Beck were prepared to do to you that night.”
“I left with Beck. Why am I still standing here if he planned to kill me?”
“I didn’t say kill.”
“His team had me dead to rights in some abandoned house turned into an interrogation room thirty miles from here. Why let me leave there alive?”
Sinclair leaned forward. His cheeks flushed and his nostrils flared. Despite the anger on his face, he kept his tone even. “They had to make it look legit, Clarissa.”