by Alex Ander
The fifty-three-year-old woman was single, had never been married, and did not have any children. A twenty-year veteran of the Marshals Service, her time equally split as a deputy marshal and marshal, Thorn had assumed her current position barely a day ahead of Devlin being promoted to United States Marshal, both women receiving their job offers from the President himself.
Thorn’s stellar career record, which included many arrests of criminals on the U.S. Marshals Service 15 Most Wanted Fugitives list, had made the President’s decision an easy one.
On the other side of the desk, Devlin and Faith sat in straight-back chairs, the older woman on the right. Behind them, still wearing his grubby suit that sported dirt stains and speckles of dried blood, Randall stood with his hands in his pockets.
Three minutes ago, after Devlin and Faith had shared a few tears over Blake Hawkins’ death, Devlin and Randall had been summoned to Deputy Director Thorn’s office. Faith had tagged along with the two agents.
Now, her elbows on the chair’s armrests, Thorn tapped her fingertips together. “Since Jessica was able to get the tail numbers on Crane’s jet, we’ve been tracking that flight. Its original destination was Casablanca, Morocco; however, the plane made two separate changes to its flight plan while over the Atlantic.”
Devlin looked up at Randall. “After the second in-flight deviation—which was to England—the aircraft’s transponder went out. When it came back on, it showed the plane in Troms, Norway.”
Randall cocked his head. “I assume we contacted the Norwegian authorities?”
“We did. But, by the time we were able to get the police over there involved, the jet had already re-fueled and taken off again.”
“Destination?”
“Casablanca.”
“And the pilot was asked why he shut off the transponder?”
Devlin lifted a shoulder. “He claims he never did.”
“Huh.” Randall scratched his chin. “This is looking like a shell game.” He faced Thorn. “Silly question, but I take it our man wasn’t on the plane when it landed in Casablanca?”
The DD shook her head. “Just a father, a mother, and two kids starting a weeklong family vacation in Morocco.”
“Well,” Randall spread his arms wide, laid hands on the backs of the two chairs in front of him, and listed forward, “at least we have a place to start our search.”
Scrunching their eyebrows, Devlin and Faith lifted their noses a bit before simultaneously wrinkling them at his suit.
“I’ve been in contact with members of the U.S. Intelligence Community, but it hasn’t been easy.” Thorn huffed. “Apparently, the higher-ups over there hadn’t received the memo on just who I am.” She paused while recalling her heated phone conversations with representatives from those various agencies. “But they know who I am now.”
Facing Thorn and drawing a fresh breath, Devlin suppressed a chuckle. She knew her boss’s propensity for shedding her professional decorum when the woman thought she was being disrespected. “I’m sure they do, ma’am.”
Faith crossed her right leg over her left and sloped away from the man hovering a foot from her right shoulder.
“Anyway,” Thorn removed her black spectacles, tossed them onto the desk, and stood, her three-inch heels bringing her height up to five-eleven, “we’re working in concert with Norwegian Intelligence to find Crane.” She made her way to the other side of the desk, sat back, and rested palms on the furniture’s edge before crossing her ankles. “I’m told I’ll be informed as soon as our Intelligence Community knows something.”
Randall rose to his full height. “I have a number of contacts in the CIA, ma’am.”
The DD looked up at him.
He noted her thin build, smooth, dark-toned skin, and dark hair, the same length as Devlin’s hair. If he had not known the woman’s true age, he would have thought she was in her mid-forties. “If you don’t mind, I can make some calls and see what they’re hearing through back channels, and from their assets.”
Squinting, she puckered her lips.
“Since Crane has a head start on us, it might speed up the process and help us catch up.”
Thorn mulled his offer for a few seconds before nodding. “Keep it casual, though. I’m new to this high level of intelligence gathering. And, as such, I don’t want my counterparts in the IC thinking I’m already going around them.”
“Understood.”
She glimpsed Devlin and Randall. “You two better gear up. I have a jet on standby at Reagan International. I want you on that plane as soon as we have any kind of actionable Intel.”
Faith put both feet on the floor. “I’ll be ready to go, too, ma’am.”
After eyeing Faith for a couple seconds, Thorn regarded Devlin.
Devlin lifted eyebrows.
Thorn shook her head. “You won’t get any pushback from me. The President was clear. I’m in charge of logistics and intelligence gathering, and you make the calls in the field. You can deputize anyone you want.” She pivoted her head toward the other woman. “I don’t believe I’ve said this, but...I’m very glad to see you’re doing well, Faith.”
“Thank you, Deputy Director.”
Thorn smiled. “I’m not your boss. Please call me Marissa.”
“Thank you, Marissa.”
*******
MINUTES LATER...
After Devlin and Randall had completed a few administrative duties with Thorn, the duo, and Faith, had left the deputy director and were now on their way to Devlin’s office.
Trailing behind the women, Randall glanced over his shoulder and peeped at Thorn through her office windows. “For some reason, she’s hard to read. But it seems—”
“Even for a CIA spook like you?” Devlin arched her eyebrows. “That’s saying something.”
“I know, right? However, it feels like she doesn’t care that much for me. Are either of you two getting that same vibe?”
“Well,” Devlin tossed him a quick smile, “you did threaten to shoot her dog.”
He spun back to face his partner, “Hey,” his index finger rising in the space between them. “I only threatened to make her dog an orphan.”
“You’re right. My mistake. Making her dog an orphan would’ve entailed you killing the DD, so,” Devlin bobbed her head left and right once and let her words drift off.
After a moment of reflection, he slowly nodded. “Yeah. When you connect the dots like that...I can see where she might foster a few ill feelings towards yours truly.”
Devlin chuckled. “Look, Noah. You’re...”
Faith entered her sister’s office.
“...the new guy around here. Everyone dislikes the new guy...at first. Consider it your rite of passage in becoming one of us.” Devlin ducked into her office and made a beeline for the couch.
“Everyone dislikes the new guy? Nice welcome speech. I feel so much more at home here now. You must be...”
Faith smiled.
“...on the orientation committee for new employees.”
Her chin dropping to her chest, the out-of-town detective snickered.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.” Picking up two, tall paper bags displaying a store’s logo, “In time, I’m confident you’ll fit in nicely around here,” Devlin walked back over to him. “Now, please don’t take this the wrong way, but,” she crinkled her nose at his clothing, “you smell.”
His upper body swayed away from her an inch. “No. I don’t see how anyone in their right mind could take that the wrong way.”
She smiled.
He held upturned hands at his sides. “What do you mean I smell? I showered just a few hours ago.”
“I believe you, but,” she hefted a bag and waved a finger at his attire while giving him a fast once-over, “your suit has to be going on what...day three by now?”
Faith snapped her fingers and pointed at him. “That’s what I was smelling on the flight. Here, I thought I had picked a seat some sweaty guy had j
ust sat in ahead of me.”
Randall shot daggers at Faith before hoisting his brows at Devlin. “And just whose idea was it to hijack me off to Seattle with only the threads on my back?”
Smiling, she spied different areas of discolored fabric. “I mean...I see dirt and grime, something that looks like blood, and,” she pointed at a multi-colored blotch on his shirt, “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s a combination of,” Faith lifted a finger with each food item she rattled off, “ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise...from last night’s dinner. There might even be a little relish thrown in there, too.”
Randall confronted his betrayer. “I’ll have you know; I was tired and starving. When I’m tired and starving, I tend to eat fast. And, under those conditions,” he pulled on his shirt and spied the condiment stains, “collateral damage is a very real threat.”
Faith grinned.
“Well, anyway,” Devlin handed over the bags, “these are for you.”
He spread apart two handle loops. “What’s in here?”
“I felt terrible about...hijacking you. So I had my husband pick up some stuff for you to wear.”
Randall gawked at his partner. “You what? The guy doesn’t like me as it is. Now you have him running errands for me? Great.” He eyeballed his new duds. “You sure have a strange way of introducing people to your family, Jessica.”
Devlin snickered.
“For the record,” Faith stepped forward and peeled off the right half of his jacket, “the first time we met...I was extremely happy to make your acquaintance.”
He turned toward Faith, “Thank you,” then eyed her sister. “See? That’s how you make someone feel welcome.”
“I keep telling you.” Devlin slid the left half of his coat off his shoulder. “Curt doesn’t hate you. He just needs to spend some time with you.”
Randall switched the bags from one hand to the other, so the women could remove his coat. “And I keep telling you...alphas don’t play well together.”
Behind his back, the women swapped eye rolls and headshakes at his comment before Devlin tossed his smelly jacket onto the couch and headed for the door. “We’ll give you the room, so you can change.”
Faith lingered.
Randall regarded her.
Her eyes went south before meeting his. “If you’d like,” her voice was low, “I could hang back and help you with your pants.”
The right side of his mouth ticked higher. “Thank you, but I’ve been unbuttoning and unzipping my pants for a while now. I’ve become very adept at it.”
“You never know.” She pivoted away while keeping her eyes trained on him. “I might do a better job.”
Picking up bits and pieces of the hushed conversation behind her, Devlin cranked her head around in time to see the tail end of a visual exchange between Randall and Faith. Stopping, frowning, biting her lower lip, Devlin shot back-and-forth glances at the two while her sibling strolled toward her.
∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞=∞
.
Chapter 22
King
12 MAY—8:13 A.M. (LOCAL TIME)
LILLEHAMMER, NORWAY
All of them holding their downhill skis vertical, Devlin, Randall, and Faith stood at the gate to the ski lift. Wearing a black winter jacket, black ski pants, and dark blue ski boots, goggles resting on his head, Randall turned away from the women on his three o’clock to face a thirty-something man on his left. “First run of the day is always exciting, isn’t it?”
Ten hours ago, back in Virginia, after having contacted several former CIA colleagues, Randall had placed his next call and struck intelligence pay dirt with a teammate from his days with the CIA’s SAC/SOG—Special Activities Center/Special Operations Group. A clandestine meet had then been arranged.
An hour later, Devlin, Randall, and Faith were aboard a Gulfstream G550 heading to Oslo, Norway. Following the seven-hour flight and a ninety-minute drive, the trio had arrived at a ski resort in Lillehammer where they proceeded to buy day passes and rent ski equipment.
As tall as Randall and dressed the same, but a couple years younger, the thirty-something man agreed, “It sure is,” before facing an empty gondola inching its way around a bend.
When the car hit a straightaway, the foursome advanced. Devlin deposited her skis into one of four baskets on the outside of the carrier, stepped into the enclosure, and sat down. Faith, Randall, and Thirty-Something followed Devlin’s lead.
Its door closing, the gondola clamped on to the main cable seconds later and picked up speed as it climbed the mountain.
Wearing more stylish and more colorful ski clothing than the men, both women removed their gloves and unzipped their heavy jackets. The weather outside the transport was in the mid-thirties and breezy. Inside, shielded from the wind, and with the sun shining through windows, the atmosphere was stuffy.
On Randall’s right, seated across from her sister, Devlin looked to her eleven o’clock and eyed Thirty-Something. His hair was buzzed down to a quarter inch and a shade darker than his brown eyes. Thin eyebrows and thin lips sandwiched a narrow nose with naturally flaring nostrils that gave him a menacing appearance. “So I’m—”
Thirty-Something quickly raised an index finger in the space between the two couples.
She flicked her eyes toward Randall who seemed unfazed by the other man’s abrupt gesture.
The gondola hit the halfway point in the journey.
“I apologize for my rudeness, but extreme caution comes with the territory. You never know when someone might be listening in, so I prefer to,” Thirty-Something twirled a finger at the openness around them, “put some distance between me and any prying ears.” Inclining toward the women, he smiled and extended his hand. “My name’s Chase.”
Devlin noticed the man’s stern features soften into a warm, preacher-like countenance. “I’m Devlin.” She dipped her forehead toward the other woman. “This is Faith.”
Handshakes were doled out.
“It’s very nice to meet the both of you.” His stoicism returning, Chase faced Randall.
Randall half closed an eye at him.
Both men sported slowly broadening smiles.
The women exchanged glances before regarding the silent standoff.
Simultaneously, Randall and Chase leaned forward and slapped palms together. Looking like arm wrestlers locked up, they gripped and squeezed each other’s right hand.
Chase smacked Randall’s right deltoid muscle. “King. It’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”
Randall’s smile grew bigger. “I can’t complain.”
“Ha! If I remember correctly, you were always complaining about something.”
“How would you know? Your brain was never really your best asset.”
“True.” Chase nodded. “That’s true. All the ladies know what my best asset is.” He glimpsed the women, and his smiled faded. “Excuse me. I didn’t mean to...to...I was just,” he motioned toward Randall, “busting his—”
“We’re,” Devlin dismissed him with a wave of her hand, “all adults here. We’ve heard worse.”
“And,” Faith grinned at the boasting male, “without any visible evidence, we ladies rarely put much stock in a man’s wild claims.”
Chase beamed back at her for several seconds before bursting into laughter while facing the man across from him. “You never told me your companions were going to be such fun. I like them,” he came back to the woman on his left, “a lot.”
His expression doing an about-face, Randall clenched his teeth.
Devlin observed her partner’s jaw muscles bulging while his eyes flitted from Faith to Chase to Faith again. What’s eating him?
Faith spotted Randall’s piercing stare.
His gaze dropped to the floor.
A beat later, she wiped the smile from her face and glanced down. “So,” she squirmed on the metal bench, “what’s the story behind this King name, anyway? Is that a nickname?”
Faith’s eyebrows inched closer together. “Why King Solomon?”
“Because,” Chase smirked, “he’s such a wise, wise man.”
Randall half grinned while shaking his head at the man.
“He was always giving out bits of wisdom, reciting ancient proverbs, telling us stories from his childhood—things his Pops had told him.”
“You’re kidding.” Devlin spied her partner. “He was telling stories about his Pops way back then, too?”
“Oh yeah.”
Faith chimed in. “I’ve even heard a couple of those already.”
“The famous Pops tales.” Chase interlaced forearms over his chest and cocked his head at Randall. “After a while, the guys in the unit began wondering if Noah had run out of material and was simply pulling stuff out of his butt.”
The women smiled.
His cheeks flushing a bit, Randall glimpsed Faith and Devlin. “Don’t believe anything that comes out of his mouth. I would never say anything that wasn’t true.” He spied his former teammate. “And I seem to recall my advice saving you from getting involved with that woman who turned out to be married.”
Chase huffed. “Yes, but,” he glanced away, his mind taking him somewhere else, “I wish you hadn’t given me that advice until after I had,” his gaze zipped toward the women before settling on his friend, “had been with her.”
“Please.” Randall peered out his window. “Her husband was a cop. He’d have made your life miserable had you...been with her.” In the next instant, he poked his chin at Chase. “Now that we’ve revisited the past, how about we get down to the business of why we’re here? What does the CIA have on our target, Michael Crane?”
“Just so you know,” Chase showed the other man his palms, “I’m not here in any official capacity. I’m just doing a buddy a favor.”