Vortex

by Catherine Coulter

But he always kept to his deals, and this low-end piece of crap motel was close to I-95 and a quick exit, or an easy drive back to Bellevue Hospital.

  A spear of light splashed across one of the dingy walls and he automatically started his shadow play his mother had taught him when he was a kid. Now it was a lifelong habit that eased his mind and relaxed him. He stretched his fingers, turned them this way and that until he saw Brutus, a huge mongrel from his neighborhood, a mean bugger who used to chase the kids. He wiggled Brutus’s nose, his ears, then gracefully segued into a rooster that had no name, twisting his fingers just so to form a rooster’s comb. He finished off with an alligator he’d named Lou, who always made him smile.

  Whistler had nothing more to do now but wait and hope Harper died nice and easy in Bellevue. Then his agent would deposit the rest of his money, minus his own 20 percent, and he could go home.

  But why was a fricking FBI agent surveilling Harper?

  The door crashed inward, and a man shouted, “Down, now! On your belly, hands behind your head. Now!”

  He dove for his gun on the table beside the bed, but a bullet caught him behind his left knee, and his leg gave way. They were all over him before he could crawl to the table.

  He heard a woman say, “Hey. And what have we here?”

  Whistler raised pain-filled eyes to a red-haired woman holding his burner cell phone.

  50

  Olivia and Savich

  CIA Director’s Office

  Langley, Virginia

  Friday

  The CIA headquarters at Langley wasn’t in the middle of Washington like the Hoover Building. It sat near the Potomac off the George Washington Memorial Highway, a huge campus that housed Fort Peary and the Farm, surrounded with acres thick with oaks and maples and parking lots. Savich had visited the CIA headquarters before, but never the seat of power.

  Director Marlan Hendricks rose to stand at the head of the conference table in his large corner office when Savich, Mike, and Olivia walked in. It wasn’t unlike the FBI director’s, a large square corner office with a large mahogany desk, a seating arrangement in dark burgundy leather, and a cabinet holding awards, photos with the great and famous, souvenirs from his operational days. Hendricks shook their hands, stepped back, and smiled. “Thank you for coming, agents, and Agent Savich. Ah, here are Mr. Lodner and Mr. Grace. Gentlemen, please sit down.” Rose Jefferson Lee, a tough, grizzled thirty-year veteran, walked in behind them carrying a fresh pot of coffee. She set it down, raised a gray eyebrow at the director. “Everyone can serve himself, Rose. Thank you.”

  Olivia hadn’t said a word. Savich saw her face was set and pale, Mike’s hand on her shoulder.

  Director of Intelligence Fulton Lodner stared at Savich. “What is the FBI doing here? Agent Savich only came into this situation on Tuesday. I thought this was an operational meeting.”

  Hendricks said, “Calm yourself, Fulton. All will be revealed. Have a cup of coffee.”

  Agent Carlton Grace smiled at Mike and Olivia, nodded toward Savich. “Fulton and I have already heard about the French nationals attacking Olivia in the High Point Mall parking lot. Is it true we have the flash drive?”

  Director Hendricks laughed, said to Savich, “I’m sure the halls of the Hoover are ringing with that story as well.”

  Savich nodded. “Anything happens at the Hoover and the taco people in the cafeteria know about it before ten a.m.”

  There were a couple of laughs, but a stone face from Lodner. The director smiled, said to Grace, “Yes, we have the flash drive and it’s been decrypted. Let me add, Agent Savich was integral to its retrieval, as were his team of FBI agents and, of course, our agents Hildebrandt and Kingman.”

  Lodner rose halfway from his chair, waved his hand toward Mike. “Sir, why weren’t Carlton and I informed of this plan? Why were we excluded?”

  Hendricks said easily, “We’ll get to that, Fulton. Please sit down, take deep breaths. Your wife would be upset with me if you stroked out on my office floor.”

  But Lodner wasn’t done. “Sir, how could the FBI be involved in what should have been a CIA op? And what proof do we have that Kingman was not a part of this? As our field agent, he should have turned the flash drive over to Carlton or to me the day he arrived in Washington! What he did was disappear. That callous disregard for accepted procedure is totally unacceptable.”

  Savich saw both anger and insult on Lodner’s aesthete’s face. He couldn’t blame him. He wondered what he’d think if a CIA agent waltzed into his unit, took over, and used his own people. A tough pill to swallow.

  “Enough, Fulton.” There was a bite to the director’s voice, a touch of the spurs. “Drink your coffee.” Hendricks waited until Lodner took an unwilling drink of his coffee, not that it appeared to calm him, before he nodded to Mike. “Agent, explain to Mr. Lodner and Mr. Grace why you did not follow protocol. Tell them what happened when you landed in Washington.”

  Mike sat forward, his hands clasped in front of him. “I spotted two men following me in the airport terminal. I’ve had enough experience to recognize they were foreign operatives. I know the airport very well and managed to elude them. Since they knew exactly when and how I’d be arriving in Washington, I realized they wanted the flash drive.” He glanced toward Grace and Lodner, then at the director. “Sir, I also realized only someone here at Langley could have told them, someone I’d trusted, and that included—and I’m very sorry to have to say this—you gentlemen, so I stayed out of sight in an old abandoned boathouse that belongs to my uncle, who occasionally hangs out there to escape his wife.” Mike cleared his throat, studied Lodner’s set face, then looked at Carlton Grace. Was that a faint smile he saw? Carlton kept things so close to his vest, you never knew what he was thinking. “I knew the information on the flash drive had to be critical, but of course, I couldn’t access it.” There was no need to mention his computer friend at the NSA. “I hadn’t contacted any of my team yet because I was afraid whoever was compromised at Langley would find out and I didn’t want to risk involving them. But after the attack on Olivia Monday night, and then again on Wednesday evening, I was afraid for her and called her.

  “Olivia told me about meeting an FBI special agent she trusted. It was Agent Savich and he was in charge of the shooting at Olivia’s house.” Mike paused a moment. “I called him. He convinced me we had to contact Director Hendricks.”

  Savich continued, “Olivia’s kidnapping at the High Point Mall—yes, what you heard is true. It was part of a plan we agreed on to lure the men who’d already attacked her into believing she knew where Mike was hiding and giving us proof of who’d hired them.”

  Hendricks added formally, “And that joint FBI/CIA operation led by these three led to the retrieval of the flash drive intact and the capture of two internationally known criminals who work for Henri Delos, the CEO of Armament Météore, a leading French weapons manufacturer headquartered in Lyon, France. Both men are in FBI custody.”

  Savich picked it up. “One of the men is René Delos, the younger brother of the CEO of Armament Météore and a known assassin, and the other is Claude Dumont, an American with a French father who moved his family back to France when he was a teenager. Both men were ‘problem solvers’ for Henri Delos. Claude Dumont was one of the two men who attacked Agent Hildebrandt at her house Monday night.

  “Let me add, it was my privilege to work with Mike and Olivia. Both of them put their lives on the line.” He grinned at Hendricks. “I asked them if they’d come into the light—to the FBI—but they told me they’re CIA to the core.

  “It’s no surprise Claude and René aren’t cooperating, but it’s hardly necessary. We’ve found all the information we need on René Delos’s cell phone and the flash drive. French authorities and Interpol have already arrested Henri Delos on charges of crimes against the state, and a lifetime’s worth of others—theft, bank and wire fraud, money laundering, and tax evasion, for a start, tax evasion probably the offense to carry the m
ost prison time.”

  Carlton Grace smiled. “As it doubtless would be here as well. There is still, however, the big question. Who betrayed my agents’ mission in Iran? Who led Delos to Olivia?”

  Olivia closed her eyes a moment, placed the cell phone on the table. “I’m very sorry, sir.” She punched up the recorder, hit play. Andi’s voice filled the room.

  “I am so sorry, Olivia, for everything that’s happened. I ended up betraying you, my dearest friend, and everyone else I’ve loved and admired. I never meant for you and Mike to be in danger of losing your lives. They told me they would never contact me again if I helped them get the flash drive, swore no would else would be hurt. Yes, I was a fool to believe them. I suppose I didn’t, really, but it was easier to pretend. There were reasons, of course, there are always reasons, but the fact remains I betrayed you.

  “On our mission to rescue Hashem, we weren’t supposed to be attacked. The Iranian captain was under strict orders to apprehend Hashem and retrieve the flash drive and not to engage us, but he arrived late, panicked and disobeyed. As I said, his orders were meant to keep all of us out of harm’s way, at least that’s what I was told his instructions were. A lie? I don’t know. As it was, we could all have been killed. We were all very lucky to escape, except for poor Hashem. I tried to get the flash drive from him, but we were under heavy fire and I couldn’t move. I saw him give it to Mike, saw you, Olivia, close by, trying to help Hashem. Then it was mayhem and you were wounded by the RPG and unconscious. Mike picked you up and Higgs grabbed Hashem, and we ran for it. We got to the helicopter and were flown to Balad. The three of us stayed with you until we made it to the hospital. I was so worried about you, Olivia, please don’t ever doubt that. But I also tried my best to steal the flash drive from Mike, and I failed.

  “I informed Henri Delos when Mike was due to arrive in Washington. My only demand was that Mike not be killed and Delos agreed. I was an idiot. Of course René Delos would kill any of us without a qualm.

  “But you were too smart for him, Mike. I congratulate you.

  “I met René Delos in Cannes two years ago while on R&R. I realize now he’d arranged to meet me, knew exactly who I was, though he pretended to be surprised when I told him. The long and short of it is he handed me five hundred thousand dollars in cash and assured me it was only to provide him with any information I chanced to come across that might affect his brother’s company. I justified my taking the money by telling myself no one could be hurt, no information I would give him would be critical to national security. And I wanted the money, wanted the freedom it provided me and my family. And for a while he asked me for very little, only enough, I soon realized, to incriminate me. Then Henri Delos himself suddenly contacted me as we were preparing for our mission, surprised me by knowing exactly what team I was on and where I was assigned. I realized later, of course, my cell phone had been compromised. Delos wanted to know whether I knew anything about where Hashem was headed, where he could find him. When I refused to tell him anything, he said he would release the information I’d already given him to the CIA, ruin my career, and I would be sent to jail, disgraced. Still, I balked. He threatened my family, said he would send his brother, René, to visit them, that all of them would die if I refused. Of course, as I told you, Delos assured me none of my team would be hurt, that the retrieval of the flash drive was his only aim.

  “Olivia, I know you’re thinking I’m great at making excuses, at justifying what I did, and you’re right. I know you can’t forgive me, but you and I, we’ve known each other from the beginning. You have to know I’ve very pleased you and Mike survived and that Delos and his vicious brother will end their lives in prison. I do know French prisons will be worse than anything we can imagine. As for René, rather than prison, I would prefer he be shot like a rabid dog.

  “I will have to live the rest of my life with what I’ve done, with what could have happened to you and Mike. I have severed ties with my family, but at least they will be safe. By the time you listen to this recording, I will have left the United States. You will not find me. If nothing else, I know how to disappear.

  “Good-bye, Olivia. I wish you and Mike great happiness.”

  Savich heard a sharp intake of breath from Lodner, saw his expression was cold, hard, his hand fisted around his coffee mug. He saw tears pool in Carlton Grace’s eyes, and he looked away.

  Hendricks said quietly, “I’d say we’re all very sorry, Olivia. At least Agent Creamer’s recording clears the air for us. There need be no more suspicions. Carlton, Fulton, I’m charging you with finding Agent Creamer, though I doubt it will be easy.” He paused a moment. “No, it won’t be easy at all, very probably impossible.”

  The director studied Fulton Lodner’s face. “I need hardly say there will be no reprimands for either Agent Kingman or Agent Hildebrandt. In fact, I will see to it they both receive commendations for their valor. Mike, Olivia, don’t underestimate the importance of what you accomplished. I thank you. The CIA thanks you.”

  Hendricks paused a moment, smiled. “Agent Savich, it’s been a pleasure to work with you and your team. Perhaps you should consider coming over to the CIA?”

  Savich smiled as he slowly shook his head.

  51

  Mia

  Valley Forge National Park

  Near Pauley’s Farm

  Saturday morning

  Dooley, the three-year-old beagle cadaver dog from the Philadelphia Field Office, whined softly, his body quivering, as he slinked over a low mound of bare winter earth. The sound was heartrending. His person, Special Agent Gil Payne, knelt down and hugged Dooley against him. “You did good, Dooley, you did really good. Come away now, come away.”

  A disparate group of people surrounded the grave of Serena Winters as the forensics team began carefully digging.

  “Agent Payne tells me Dooley’s never wrong,” Creighton’s police chief, Moseley, said.

  NYPD Detective Hoolihan, a born doubter, said, “Well, he must have smelled something. There are a bunch of old graves around here from the Revolution.”

  Mia stood beside Tommy, squeezing his hand tightly. “This is where Kent Harper said Serena was buried, so we’ll find her. He wouldn’t lie with death sitting on his shoulder. He was heavily drugged, but still it was obvious he regretted what happened to Serena.” She paused a moment, swallowed. “He cried.”

  Tommy said calmly, “Doesn’t matter. Both he and Harrington deserve to rot in hell for what they did to Serena. I want them in a cell where they’ll have years to think about it every single day. And we’ll know they’ll never have the chance to hurt another woman in their miserable lives.” He swallowed, stopped talking. Mia squeezed his hand tighter.

  Detective Hoolihan said, “Amazing Kent Harper’s still alive. His surgeon is even hopeful now he’ll make it. The D.A. actually smiled, I’m told.” He looked at Mia. “But what really surprises me is Harper believed he was talking to Serena, who called herself a gaming character, Aolith, and gave himself and his puppet master away. You must be some actress, Ms. Briscoe.”

  Sherlock said, “Puppet master. That sounds right, Detective. Harrington was Kent’s Svengali, a man born without a moral compass, a classic psychopath. And he made sure he damaged Kent Harper’s compass enough to manipulate him.”

  Juliet pointed. “Look!”

  The circle around the grave tightened. They saw a swatch of black hair spilling out of a rotten, molding tarp. One of the forensics team looked directly at Sherlock and nodded. “I think we found her.”

  Sherlock said, “Tommy, Mia, Juliet, all of you, walk away now.”

  Mia choked on a sob, but she didn’t move. “I’m not going anywhere.” She turned to Tommy, saw tears shining in his eyes, and pulled him to her. Juliet gathered them both in her arms, squeezed tight. “You found her, Tommy, Mia. You guys did it, you did it.”

  Mia whispered, her voice liquid with tears, “It wasn’t a week ago Gail Ricci sent me those photos. Less th
an a week when it all started.”

  Sherlock said quietly, “And now, because of you, it’s over, Mia.”

  Mia, Tommy, and Juliet stood silent, holding one another’s hands as the tarp was lifted carefully out of the ground. Mia felt so many things at once, relief they’d found Serena, fury at the men who’d put her here, and relentless grief. Beside her, Tommy seemed frozen, no expression on his face, barely breathing. How could she comfort him when she wanted to curl up and sob? Juliet leaned into Mia and pulled her closer. Mia was grateful Juliet had asked to come, said it was important to her to see it through.

  The wind had died down but the air was cold and damp. Detective Hoolihan had stood beside too many graves in his thirty-two-year career. None of them had ever been easy, some, like this one, a punch to the heart. He looked over at Mia Briscoe and Thomas Maitland, at Agent Sherlock, their anchor, their support. He had to admit he’d been lucky she’d asked to be included in his investigation.

  Life, Hoolihan had found, happened in ways that always surprised you. At least for Serena Winters, there would finally be justice, even if it was seven long years in coming. He looked over at the amazing young woman, Mia Briscoe. She’d never forgotten and once she had the photos, she hadn’t stopped. He looked again at Serena Winters’s grave and wondered if there was ever any real peace at the end of a road like this.

  Police Chief Moseley thought of the fat file that had sat on his desk for so long the pages were yellowed. Seven years, but he’d never had the heart to file it away. And in that thick file had been the blessed photo of Harrington’s Jaguar that would bring justice. Quietly, he said the Lord’s Prayer.

  52

  Mia

  Alex Harrington’s Brownstone

  Upper East Side

  New York City

  Saturday evening