Face Off (18 page)

CHAPTER
31

INTEL FROM THE
assassination attempt had begun to flow into the InterSec unit before Laura had returned from the White House. In two days’ time, the volume of material had grown exponentially. Her acting as Mariel Tate for most of the previous day had pushed the public-relations department into critical mode as requests for interviews and statements from the Guildmaster swamped the office. Saffin had done her best—and her best was an understatement—to keep things moving.

With her dual roles slamming into each other, Laura gathered files from InterSec and took them up to public relations. She didn’t like mixing the duties of the two offices, but troubleshooting the media had become a nightmare she didn’t want to leave Saffin alone with. By late afternoon, the pressure had shifted course, and she had to address the preliminary investigation as Mariel. In a moment of desperation, she flat out told Saffin to keep visitors away while she plunged into the InterSec material.

Saffin took the news as if Laura had told her she was going to lunch. Keeping silent about her double life in front of Rhys and everyone else at the Guild was difficult, and knowing that Saffin could be trusted made life a little easier. A quick knock sounded at the door, and Saffin slipped in. “I’m sorry to bother you, but Resha is on his way up again.”

“Again?”

Saffin folded her arms. “Third time. He’s getting suspicious about your door being closed. He almost opened it last time.”

Laura looked down at her desk. Inverni Guardian schedules and notices were spread everywhere. On her monitor, surveillance video from the assassination attempt played. “I’ve been trying to find decent footage that shows the location from which Draigen’s sniper fired. How much time do I have?”

Saffin raised her eyebrows and twisted her lips. “Minutes.”

She jumped up. “Dammit.” She stacked papers together and shoved them in folders.

Saffin rushed to the desk. “Yikes. Don’t do that in front of me.”

Laura paused. “What?”

Saffin neatened the folders. “Make such a mess.”

Laura bit her lip as she watched Saffin, then checked her watch. “Saf, I have to take care of something and can’t let Resha chew up my time. Can you hide all this stuff and pretend you never saw it?”

She shrugged. “Sure. I do that all the time with crap I don’t want to do.”

Laura picked up her bag. “You’re kidding, right?”

Saffin rolled her eyes. “Yes, Laura. Of course I’m kidding. Get going.”

“You’re the best, Saf,” she said as she rushed out the door.

“I know,” Saffin called after her.

Laura took the elevator down to the parking garage. In the lower lobby, she sidled into a blind spot of the security camera and activated the Mariel glamour. It was an old trick, one she used sparingly in case an attentive security guard noticed anything on the monitors in the bowels of the building. Taking a moment to leave her bag in her InterSec SUV, she walked out the exit ramp to the sidewalk.

Barricades along the sidewalk stood like accusations of failure, the chipped sidewalk a testament that the shooting had not been prevented. Draigen was alive, Laura reminded herself. That was what was important. The regent of the macCullen clan was alive and the only person who had died was the shooter.

Laura didn’t think it was over. Despite the failed attempt and the heightened alerts, chatter among security-agency channels had not abated. Rumors abounded of a trial run, that the assassination was meant to fail. The conflicting information came in from disparate sources that had never acted in unison before. Local U.S. interest groups and European political cells were rattled and excited. Yet no one claimed responsibility.

The building Sean Carr had fired on Draigen from was a long two blocks away. The walk was easy but did nothing to set Laura at ease. Bureaucracy had already set in at the building, and she had to work through four lines of security. The D.C. police held the front line, weeding out visitors who did not have legitimate business in the building or who were not law enforcement. After them, the Guild recorded names and photographed any fey who entered. Under the circumstances, that smacked of intimidation of Inverni supporters. The Inverni security staff themselves were next, a suspicious group that acted convinced everyone besides them was interested in destroying evidence. After the twenty minutes it required to meet their approval, Laura was happy to see the familiar black jumpsuits of the InterSec guards who had control of the top floor and attic space of the building. Not all of them knew Mariel Tate on sight, but they knew enough to read a high-level InterSec pass without causing an argument.

Finally alone, she trailed down a dusty hallway on the attic level, sensing body signatures. It was as much exercise as investigation. The hallway wouldn’t tell her much—too many people had passed through it since the assassination attempt—but sorting through the different trails helped her calm down and prepare for what she had come for.

Crime-scene tape stretched across an open door. As she ducked under the tape, the ozonelike odor of essence strikes tickled Laura’s nose. At least two major bolts had passed through the space. She wound her way through stacked chairs to a broken window frame with plastic sheeting fixed over it.

She picked up traces of her essence-bolt where Carr must have stood to make his shot at Draigen. Laura’s return fire had hit him and wrecked the window casing. She peeled back the sheeting. Without leaning out far, she had a clear view of the plaza in front of the Guildhouse two blocks away. Perfect line of sight. She pressed the sheeting back in place.

Slowly pivoting, she noted the pattern of scattered chairs. Her shot would have thrown Carr left, right where the chairs had been knocked askew. She crouched, sensing his body signature on the floor, but no telltale investigation markers to indicate his body had fallen there. Which meant that wasn’t where he died.

She stood. People in a panic used the most direct path available. She paced the open aisle through the stacked chairs to a line of storage boxes against the back wall. With her pocket flashlight, she swept a beam of light along the floor and under the chairs. Crime-scene investigators had been through already, but the chance they had missed something always existed. Maybe not in such a high-profile case, she thought. Before she reached the boxes, someone knocked at the door.

“Hey, someone said there was a crazy lady in the attic, and here you are,” Sinclair said.

Laura smirked over her shoulder. “I’m surprised you got through all that security.”

He frowned in curiosity. “Why?”

Crouching in front of the boxes, she flicked the light along the floor. “Your security clearance isn’t as high as mine.”

He tickled her on a shoulder blade, then stepped back, a subtle reminder that he remembered how she felt about mixing work and play. “It was a breeze.”

She glanced up, smiling. “Are you kidding me?”

He shook his head. “I knew the D.C. cops at the door. The Guild guys waved me along because they thought I was human. You left my name with the Inverni guards, and Eldin passed me in down the hall.”

“Eldin?”

Sinclair gestured over his shoulder with his thumb. “Skinny elf in the elevator? Works across the hall from us?”

Her eyebrows drew together as she tried to place him. “He does?”

“Yeah. He thinks you’re hot, by the way. They all do over there.”

She tilted her head up. “They? You know a ‘they’ over there? How do you know them?”

He shrugged. “Met them in the gym. We shoot hoops.”

She brought her attention back to the boxes. “Don’t tell me—you play center.”

“Nope. Forward. Galt from accounting plays center. He’s a frost jotunn. They’re kinda short for giants, but he’s at least a head taller than me.”

She shook her head. “You know someone in accounting, too?”

He peered over her shoulder. “Yeah. He used to give me the hairy eyeball when I picked up my check. I thought he might have been sensing my jotunn essence somehow, but turns out he couldn’t figure why Terryn was paying me out of a supplies account. I told him it was top secret, hush-hush.”

She smiled. “Paying you out of supplies, Jono, is an example of Terryn’s sense of humor.”

He leaned against a crate and waggled his eyebrows at her. “You know, I don’t mind being used as a tool sometimes.”

She leaned down as the light flashed on something. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“What are we doing here?” he asked.

“Sean Carr had two major wounds—one to the chest and one to the wing. The chest shot killed him. I’m a good shot, but I fired blind. The wing hit was mine.” She walked halfway up the room toward the window. “The essence evidence in here confirms it. My hit knocked him out of the window. Seeing this layout, it would have been virtually impossible for someone to deliver the deathblow from outside.”

“Virtually,” Sinclair said.

She leaned to the side to see beneath a chair. “Right. It’s possible, of course, but I was the only person to react to the gunshots and gauge the direction of their source. We didn’t have security this far up the street, so no one could have been on scene fast enough to deliver the shot without Carr’s being ready for it.”

“You did wound him,” Sinclair said.

“He probably couldn’t fly with the damage, but it wasn’t incapacitating. So he was trapped here on the ground. Which means that whoever killed him did it inside, and if it was done in here, there might be a body signature I can lock on.”

Sinclair pursed his lips. “Except probably a hundred people have been through here since the shooting.”

Laura stepped around a chair that lay sideways on the floor. She crouched again. The flashlight beam picked up a flash of pale yellow. “Ah, there it is.”

She stood next to an index card on the floor. “This marks where Carr’s head was when he was found. Judging by the position, I’d guess he got up from beneath the window and made his way down the main aisle. The impact of the kill shot would have thrown him back a few feet”—she shifted away from the index card toward the back of the room again—“which would have put him about here.”

Sinclair faced her, holding his hand out as if firing an essence-bolt. “So the shooter would have been about here.”

“Lower. You’re likely taller,” she said.

He dropped his hand a foot. “I don’t think the shooter was here. Carr would have been facing him directly and seen he was about to be fired on. He would have tried to defend himself.” He stepped to his left behind rows of chairs. “Line of sight is blocked on this side.” He moved to the right in front of the boxes, keeping his hand pointing at Laura. “Anywhere along here is possible. Carr wouldn’t have necessarily seen it coming from here.”

Laura moved along the main aisle. Dozens of body signatures flared in her senses, streaming colors of blue and white, yellow and green, indicating various fey species. She recognized a flash of a signature here and there, people she had known on the InterSec security teams or some she had met on the Inverni Guardian units. Aran macCullen had been in the room, which was no surprise since he had taken the lead in the investigation.

“It’s pretty contaminated,” she said.

She moved next to Sinclair and immediately registered three or four strong signatures. “Okay, this is interesting. I’m sensing a large pool of Carr’s essence, so he must have hung out back here waiting for Draigen’s scheduled departure. I recognize a druid from InterSec who works on crime-scene investigations. He must have sensed Carr’s essence, too, because he lingered long enough to leave a good imprint. There’s also another Inverni essence that shifts back and forth like someone was pacing.”

“Aran macCullen?” Sinclair asked.

She shook her head. “Not strong enough. It matches the signature I picked up in the morgue, though. If I know the person, I can gauge how old the signature is by how it’s degrading, but without knowing who was here, it could either be someone with Carr or someone watching the investigator work. I’ve got a good fix on this signature, though.”

“So now what?”

She grinned up at him. “We play poker.”

CHAPTER
32

LAURA STARED OUT
the window of the office at Legacy. The faint reflection of Fallon Moor’s face stared back at her as she tapped into her hyper memory recall. Between the research profile compiled by InterSec and her own interview, she processed everything she knew about what Fallon Moor knew. DeWinter had left a message for her—for Fallon—that a project-update meeting was scheduled, and she needed to be there. No other details were given.

She reviewed the list of possibilities. Intelligence reports indicated that Moor was a facilitator of sorts, using her connections within an underground network to make things happen. She also had a keen eye for finances and knowledge of how to move through electronic banking systems without leaving a trace. Legacy had a number of backers with substantial means, but they wanted deniability in the event Legacy’s more shady operations became public. Moor’s skills provided both sides with satisfaction. Legacy got its fund. Its backers got their anonymity.

Laura checked her watch.
Has she come up with anything else?
she sent to Terryn. Despite being on leave, he had stationed himself outside Moor’s holding cell again to relay messages. As long as Genda didn’t find out and make an issue of it, they could continue the Legacy investigation.

No,
he replied.

They had been trying all morning to get Moor to discuss what she thought the meeting was about. She offered the likelihood that it was about the rocket launchers from the InterSec raid. Laura suspected that was wrong. It didn’t tell them anything they already knew. Of course, Legacy wasn’t happy about the lost weapons. That was self-evident. But why have a major meeting about it? The email listed a dozen people, none of them on the company directory, all of the addresses false or masked accounts.

Keep at her,
Laura sent.

She fixed her hair in the reflection of the window, then picked up a pad and pen and went down to the conference room. The small room had no windows and no telephone. Eight people, including DeWinter, sat in silence, waiting as others arrived. No cell phones or PDAs were out. Laura suspected electronic jamming surrounded the room.

Laura met DeWinter’s glance as she sat a few places away from her. The two men to either side did not acknowledge her. She recognized about half the men and women, most businesspeople with strong anti-fey politics. The only other fey person in the room was an elf. Out of habit, she triggered her hyper memory so that she could recall faces in detail later.

“That’s everyone. Our other two guests could not attend,” said DeWinter.

“Let’s move quickly. I have a plane to catch,” a plain-faced woman said. Her name floated into Laura’s memory: Rosa Lentner, an executive with a major science research firm in the Midwest.

DeWinter reviewed his notes. “Our acquisition is imminent. The funds we provided have enabled us to bypass several security measures.”

“I thought we weren’t prepared to receive the package?” Lentner asked.

“Yes and no,” DeWinter said. “The system is not ready, but we have facilities to contain the acquisition. It’s only a matter of a few days.”

They’re talking about an acquisition and a package,
she sent Terryn.

A large, overweight man Laura didn’t recognize leaned forward. “I don’t like to think that the pod isn’t ready.”

Ask Moor about the pod,
Laura sent.

A tolerant smile creased DeWinter’s face. “I assure you, it’s fine. The same technology for the pod can be used as a temporary solution in a separate room.”

She’s being evasive,
Terryn sent.
She said it sounds like weapons. Legacy has been interested in military transports.

That was new, Laura thought.
What about this pod? What is it?

Please repeat. You’re fading,
Terryn said.

Laura shot a look at the elf. At close range, she was able to sense his body signature, but she didn’t notice that he was using essence.
The pod, Terryn. What is the pod?

Faint . . . intermittent . . .
he sent. The sending sounded broken and weak, as if it had lost its energy.

Terryn?
She received no response but hid her frustration. Someone had jammed her sendings. Given the lack of electronics in the room, it didn’t surprise her that they employed essence wards, too. Legacy might not like the fey’s abilities, but they sure liked the benefits.

The elf moved his head in her direction, and she wondered if he sensed her sending. She could feel flutters in the air when people did sendings. It was an ability that powerful fey tended to have. He didn’t look directly at her and didn’t say anything, so she didn’t think the jamming was coming from him.

“Why the rush? We have more than enough room in the schedule,” said Lentner.

“This window of opportunity might close. We’ve already had one failed attempt. I don’t want another,” said DeWinter.

Lentner didn’t respond, but an older gentleman steepled his fingers together as he shifted in his seat. “Where did these funds come from?” he asked.

DeWinter looked at Laura. With Moor’s access codes, she had made the transfer herself. As she had said to Sinclair, she wasn’t happy about helping an enemy, even doing their work, without knowing the full extent of what was going on, but sometimes it was necessary to reach the larger goal. “A liquid asset account.”

“That’s not what I asked,” said the man.

Laura glowered at him. “I know. That’s all you’re getting.”

The man clenched his jaw. “The transfer was substantial. I have to make accountings for the funds.”

“Please assure our benefactors that the funds came from a new, unexpected source,” said DeWinter.

Interesting bit of information to relay to Genda, Laura thought. If a new player was on the scene, it wouldn’t be in the data files InterSec had. “Can we expect more?” she asked.

An uncomfortable smile twitched the corner of DeWinter’s mouth, and she worried she might have made the wrong move. “Not likely. It appears to be a once-only event,” he said.

So, whoever it was wanted this acquisition to happen, then to have nothing more to do with Legacy, she thought, a random variable in the process. That likely meant whatever Legacy was planning would have broader ramifications than its own goals. No one gave away twelve million dollars without a direct, possibly personal, interest.

“Are you saying you’ve brought someone in without our approval?” Lentner asked.

The woman was vocal and persistent. Laura thought she might bear looking into more closely.

“You misunderstand,” said DeWinter. “The benefactor knows nothing of our operations. Our brief association is of mutual but separate benefit.”

Definitely meaning the package would have broader impact, Laura thought.

“I still don’t like the package being on hand like this. The longer we have it before we are ready to execute, the higher risk for exposure.”

DeWinter rested his hands on the table. “I am considering accelerating the timetable. We have a very timely event that might provide greater success than our original plan.”

Lentner made a dismissive sound. “You always press like this, DeWinter. You’re getting too rash. We need to be fully prepared.”

“No names here,” he said.

That made her angry. “This isn’t a game, DeWinter. We all know each other.”

“Security. If you cannot refrain from being careful with your speech, you will have a hard time in front of a Senate hearing,” he said.

As Lentner and DeWinter challenged each other with stares, the overweight man turned his attention to Laura. “Your absence from Monday’s meeting has caused concern.”

Moor hadn’t mentioned any Monday meetings, and Laura had no idea who the man was. “I had a more pressing matter to attend to,” she said.

His eyebrows arched. “More pressing? What could have possibly had more importance than”—he glanced at DeWinter—“replacement for the lost supplies?”

Laura didn’t want to continue the conversation. Unknown territory was dangerous territory. “Are you questioning me?”

The man seemed to gather some courage. “Yes, in fact, I am.”

Laura boosted some essence into her ruby and accessed part of her template. She let her hand twitch against the table surface, let the fingers lengthen and her nails shift to claws. She took a calculated risk. “I don’t answer to you.”

All eyes in the room went to her hand. The threat of going boggart intimidated many people, and having most of the people in the room afraid of the fey in the first place only added to it.

“I have already discussed that with her and approved of her decision,” said DeWinter. He smiled at the man, but Laura knew the look was for Moor.

She sensed the lie, but she didn’t need that ability to know they hadn’t discussed anything. They hadn’t. This sort of situation was the reason personal relationships in an operation were bad. They created competing priorities and loyalties. It was one of the reasons she worried about getting involved with Sinclair. Still, he had made a good case for ignoring that worry, and she was letting him convince her.

“What is this meeting about?” she snapped.

People shifted in their seats, sending furtive looks at DeWinter. He had called the meeting. His level of authority was evident. “To announce the shorter schedule of operation. I will have the precise date in a day or two. In the meantime, it is imperative we use the next few hours to protect our assets. I suggest we all initiate the market-management plans we’ve discussed.”

The overweight man frowned at Laura. “That is precisely one of the items discussed at the meeting you missed.”

Laura had nothing to work with to defend herself. She didn’t know the plans or the players. DeWinter’s answer to her question rang true in her senses. The intent of the meeting was more to inform others that he was speeding up his schedule than anything substantive. The situation had reached the point where the risk of exposing her lack of understanding of what was going on outweighed whatever additional information she gained. She stood, sending her chair skittering back. “You heard what you need to know. We have the funds, the opportunity, and the schedule. Get moving. I don’t have time for this.”

She stalked out of the room, leaving behind a ring of stunned faces. She had not been in her office more than ten minutes before DeWinter arrived. “That wasn’t very diplomatic, love,” he said.

With a practiced air of guilt, she smiled. “I’m not much into coddling, Adam.”

He chuckled. “True, but some of our relationships are fragile. We need to make them feel part of the process.”

She strolled around her desk and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. “You call the shots, Adam. They needed to be reminded.”

He gathered her hand in his and kissed it. “You’ve been on edge lately the last few days. Not yourself.”

She lowered her head against his shoulder. “I know. I have a lot to keep track of. I promise I’ll be my normal self again soon.”

He held her and kissed her on the forehead. “I love when you allow me to see you like this.”

Keeping her head down, she rubbed her hand on his chest. “You make it easy to be myself.”

He kissed her again. “I have to go. Some of them want to talk privately.”

She broke their embrace. “Okay. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help with the new schedule.”

“You’ll be the first to know,” he said.

Laura breathed a sigh of relief as he left. DeWinter knew how to run a secret operation—no written evidence, no names, coded phrasings. She gathered her things, not wanting to risk getting cornered by any of the other meeting attendees.

She had some good leads. DeWinter’s accelerated schedule worried her. Less time to find answers meant the possibility of failure. She refused to accept that as an option.