Bloody Politics (11 page)

twelve

Late Sunday afternoon

Raymond unlocked his office
door and stepped inside. To his surprise, there was a fast-food bag sitting on his front desk along with an extra-large takeout cup of what smelled like coffee. The aroma of a hamburger sandwich inside the bag beckoned him forward.

“Trask?” Raymond called.

“Yeah, I'm back here,” Trask's voice came from down the hall.

Raymond dug out the first of two sandwiches from the takeout out bag and tore into it. The coughing had kept him awake most of the night, and this morning he hadn't felt like eating. Until now. Maybe he should just forget about eating regular food and head for the drive-thru instead. He sipped from the creamy hot coffee as he walked down the hallway to the inner room with surveillance monitors on the desk. Other cameras and computers lined the walls, their screens dark, no longer in use.

Trask was seated beside the table, staring at the monitor screen showing the front of Malone's townhouse. He leaned back in the chair, hands behind his head.

“Damn, Trask, don't tell me you spent all weekend here?”

Trask gave a little smile. “Most of it. After you sent me all that info on DiMateo, I decided to do some digging of my own.”

Raymond wasn't sure, but he thought he spotted the hint of a smile. He sank into the chair beside Trask and took another deep drink of coffee to soothe the pain in his throat, which had started to throb last night. “I sent you his Special Forces duty tours, Trask. I doubt you could find out more than that.”

“Let's just say I added some background. Put it in context, so to speak. I thought Malone might find it interesting.”

Raymond peered at him. “What in hell are you up to?”

Trask gestured to a file folder on the table. “Take a look.”

Reaching for the folder, Raymond opened it to find several 8 x 10 photos. DiMateo standing beside several uniformed men, gold braid covering their shoulders, along with other men in business suits. Was that Ryker in the group? Another photo showed DiMateo standing in a group of other military men in fatigues, jungle foliage in the background. Rifles in hand, each man held what looked like a severed head. A third photo showed another jungle background and DiMateo squatting with other uniformed men around naked bodies piled in a heap. Some looked to be children.
What the hell?
There were enlarged newspaper articles with headlines. Nicaragua. Columbia. Raymond scanned a couple. Finally, a single page had words typed in all caps: “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH?”

Raymond glanced at Trask, who was watching the monitor. It showed Malone's empty front yard. He had only one question. “Why, Trask?”

Trask merely smiled, just a little, as he continued to watch the monitor. “Just thought I'd let a few snakes loose into their garden.”

“Not smart, Trask. This guy's gonna get pissed and try to find out who sent the photos.”

Trask's smile turned smug as he continued to lean back in the chair. “There's nothing to find. Some old newspaper articles. Old photos. A little Photoshop. Anybody can do that on a laptop. There's nothing to trace.”

“Don't be so sure—”

“Well, well, they're back. They left yesterday morning. Small suitcases, so they didn't go far.”

Raymond took a deep drink of the coffee as he watched Malone and DiMateo get out of his car. “You've delivered this package, I take it?”

Trask nodded. “Early this afternoon. I used the express delivery uniform and truck. Package is sitting beside the front door. Okay, the show's about to start.”

Raymond didn't say anything else. He pulled out the second sandwich while he watched the monitor screen.

_____

“I'll bring the suitcases in right after I return this call,” Danny said as he flipped open his cell phone. His car trunk popped open.

“Want some coffee?” I asked as I approached the front door.

“Sure, then we can head uptown for dinner.” He leaned against the side of his car.

A courier mail package sat beside the entry door. I scooped it up. I wasn't expecting anything. Could it be intended for Senator Russell? I saw it was addressed to me, so I pulled the strip on the back and reached inside. I pulled out a file folder with no markings. Inside I saw pictures: 8 x 10 blowups of black-and-white photos. Photos of Danny in some junglelike surroundings with a group of soldiers. Guns were everywhere. On their backs, in their hands, on the ground. And each of these men was holding something in front of them. What was it? It looked … was that a
head
?

I turned to another photo. Several men in suits, standing together. Some were naval officers in white uniforms. Danny in a suit, talking to a guy beside him. I stared at the photo. Wait a minute … was that Ryker?
Good God!

A chill settled over me as I turned to the last photo.

It showed Danny in another jungle setting crouching down with a bunch of other soldiers. Naked, dead bodies lay in a pile on the ground in front of them, blood smeared all over their faces. Smaller bodies, like children, lay beside the others. The men were crouched around the entire gruesome scene along with Danny. Like hunters, surrounding a trophy elk.
Did the men kill all those people and children?

My stomach lurched as I turned to the newspaper articles and started reading. News stories reporting guerilla armies fighting in Central American countries. Government troops attacking. Old memories of decades ago and the wars that ravaged South and Central America. I remembered the news stories as I recalled the wars in those chaotic years. Africa. The Middle East. So much fighting. So much war. So much killing.

I turned the pages until I found the last one and read the question typed there. “DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU'RE SLEEPING WITH?” An icy cold shot through me.

“Here, I'll open the door,” Danny said as he approached, carrying both bags under his arm. “What's in the envelope?”

I looked up at Danny and stared at him. No words came.

Danny peered at me. “Molly, what's wrong? What's in that package?” He dropped the suitcases and reached out.

“The past,” was all I could say.

He grabbed the folder and started going through it. I watched his face darken in anger. “What the hell! What sick sonofabitch would send you this?” He glanced up at me, and I saw Danny's expression change as he stared at me.

I just stared back at him, as every doubt I'd ever had slithered from the underbrush in the back of my mind. Hissing, whispering.

Lies. All of it, lies. Everything he's ever told you. You can't trust him. Lies. Lies. That's why he doesn't tell you where he goes and what he does. He's still killing people. Cannot trust him. Lies. All lies.

“Molly, these photos are fake. Doctored. I've never spoken to Edward Ryker in my life. And you knew I was in Nicaragua and South America, because I told you myself. But all these are fakes, I swear they are. Whoever the sonofabitch is that sent you this crap, I'm gonna—”

“Danny,
stop!
” I blurted, holding up both hands.

“Molly, listen—”

“
No!
I can't listen. Just go. I don't want you here right now.”

“But, Molly—”

“Stay away. I … I need to think,” I said, backing toward the front door, hands still up, ready to push him away if he approached.

But he didn't. Danny stood watching me, his face reflecting some of the same emotions that wrenched through me now. Pain. Confusion. Then he grabbed his valise from the stoop and backed away, still holding the folder with the incriminating past.

“I'm gonna find the sonofabitch who did this, Molly. I swear I will. He's after me, but he's going through you to get to me. I'm going to call Prestige and have protection on you starting tonight.” Then he turned and strode to his car, backing out of my driveway with a squeal of brakes.

I stared after him, then grabbed my small carry-on and headed for my own car. I couldn't be alone tonight. Not after this. I needed to think. I dug out my keys and jumped into the car, revving the engine loudly.

Drive. Get away. Right now
. I backed down the driveway and headed for Wisconsin Avenue. Meanwhile, my fingers sought out the music player. I punched in my playlist and flipped it on a loop as I headed toward Key Bridge and up the parkway to the mountains.

Those familiar and ominous guitar chords shuddered through the speakers.
Gimme Shelter.
But there was none.

_____

Raymond watched Malone back her car out of the driveway and head down the street and off the monitor screen. He glanced over at Trask, who was still leaning back in the chair beside him, the smug smile still in place.

“Satisfied now?” Raymond barbed.

“Oh, yeah.”

Raymond dug the last of the fries from the paper bag. “Well, you've released the snakes, but you've also succeeded in pissing off this guy. Not smart.”

Trask just laughed, then stood and stretched. Like a cat who'd been crouched in the grass, waiting for a bird to appear.

“You've also broken the cardinal rule, Trask. Never make it personal. Do that, and you become vulnerable.”

“Don't worry about it, Raymond. I'm not. DiMateo will never find me.”

Raymond sipped the creamy coffee. “Trask, you've been in this business long enough to know we never say never.”

Only then did Trask's smile fade.

Later that evening

I curled my legs up beneath me on Samantha's library sofa and clasped the ceramic mug of coffee with both hands. The warmer autumn temperatures were fading away. Tonight was chilly. So much so that Samantha had started a fire in the fireplace across from us. The flames licked up the last of the kindling as it snapped and popped.

Soon Daylight Saving Time would officially end, and the sudden appearance of dark night skies an hour earlier would be jolting. Suddenly bright light shone outside the library windows looking out on Samantha's front yard. Now that her home had the security totally upgraded, bright spotlights shone outside along the entire perimeter of her house whenever the motion detector sensed movement.

“I'm waiting for my neighbors to complain about the lights coming on in the middle of the night,” Samantha said as she sat in the stuffed armchair next to the sofa.

We both faced the fire, which had grown. More heat radiated toward us, and it felt good. Even though I wore a sweater, I was still cold. “I'm sure they understand your need for security.” I sipped my coffee. “I'm just glad your house is totally locked down like mine. No one will get in without you or your housekeeper allowing them.”

Samantha swirled the bourbon in her glass. “I'd like to thank Danny for calling Prestige Systems and recommending me.”

I pressed the warm mug to my chest, absorbing its heat, as I stared into the flames, licking higher now. “It's okay. I'll write down his email for you.”

Samantha sipped her bourbon. “Molly, I can understand how shocked you must have been, seeing those photos, especially the awful ones, but everything you know about Danny tells you he's a good man. He'd have no reason to lie to you about meeting Ryker. Why would he? And if he says those photos are fake, phony, then I'm inclined to believe him. Why won't you?”

I let out a tired sigh. “I want to believe him, but those pictures were so … so horrible. Dead children lying in a pile.” I closed my eyes and shuddered. “I don't know if I can get them out of my head.”

“I understand, Molly, believe me, I do. Just … just promise me you'll listen to him when he tries to talk to you. I know he will. You told me he said he was going to find out who sent the photos, and I don't doubt he will. Frankly, I think you should be worrying more about who sent that package. Clearly, someone has been watching your house or something. How else would they know Danny was staying there with you?”

Samantha made sense, I knew that. The anxiety about someone watching me hadn't had a chance to penetrate yet. Those sickening photos still claimed my attention. Whenever I closed my eyes, there they were—haunting me. Children with bloody faces lying dead in a pile. Danny and comrades in arms kneeling behind them. My stomach lurched again.

There was a light knock on the library door, and Samantha called, “Yes, Anna?”

Gray-haired, matronly Anna stepped inside the room. “Excuse me, Mrs. Calhoun, but you have a phone call. The gentleman said he had an important message for you. A mister DiMateo.”

I stared first at Anna, then Samantha. “Why is he calling?” I said, suddenly anxious.

Samantha rose from the armchair's embrace. “Probably because he knows you're over here. Thank you, Anna. I'll take the call here.” She walked over to her cherrywood desk and picked up the phone. “Good instincts, Double D. That is your nickname, right? Molly's here with me, and she's staying the night.”

I watched Samantha hold the phone, obviously listening to Danny's response.

“I see,” Samantha said after a couple of minutes. “I'll tell her then. Do you have my address here in McLean?”

That caught me by surprise. Was he coming here?

“That's very interesting. I'll be sure to tell her. Oh, and Danny, thank you for referring me to Prestige Systems. I appreciate it. And … good luck.” She clicked off the portable phone.

I sat up so quickly I nearly spilled my coffee. “I can't see Danny now. Not yet.”

“Relax, he's not coming here. He's abiding by your demand that he stay away. He even said that right now.” Samantha paused by the liquor cabinet and poured more bourbon into her glass.

“Then why did you give him your address?”

“Because he told me he's already arranged for Prestige Systems personal security service for your protection,” she said as she returned to the stuffed armchair. “One of their escorts will pick you up tomorrow morning and take you home so you can get ready for the office. He'll be here at 6:30 a.m.”