Out of Reach: A Novel (13 page)

“See, you remember more than me.”

Alec snorted in disgust and sat back, feigning resignation. He was tired and irritable and not in the mood for games. Garth, on the other hand, seemed to thrive on them. Well, Alec was about to blow him out of the water.

“You like little girls, Roland?” Alec smiled, one man to the other, sharing a secret.

Roland grinned, but shook his head. He wasn’t admitting to anything. “Do you?”

“How would that information go over here?” Alec asked. “If say . . . the rumor got out somehow?”

Not real quick on the uptake, Garth frowned. But once he got it, he responded every bit as strongly as Alec had hoped. “Hey, look at her.” Garth shoved the picture back across the table. “She don’t look like no little girl to me.”

“Then you do remember her.”

He backed off, considered, then came to a decision. “Yeah, yeah. I remember her.”

“Did you grab her?”

“Hell no. Just like I told the cops, I found her on the streets, gave her a place to live.”

“Out of the goodness of your heart?”

Garth shrugged. “Something like that.”

“Yeah, we heard this story before, and I’m not buying it.” Alec leaned forward again, arms on the table. “Now I’m going to ask you again. Did you grab her?”

Garth hesitated, his eyes flicking to Erin again before coming back to Alec. “Why should I tell you anything?”

“I already answered that question.”

“And this don’t change nothing?”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to you, Roland. All I want is the man who grabbed this girl. You give me that, and I walk out of here a happy man. So, did you grab her?”

“No. I bought her.”

Alec’s stomach tightened, and he fought the urge to look at Erin. Nothing in her file of abstract facts could have prepared her for hearing those words from Garth.

“You
bought
her?” Erin asked, her voice cold. Hard.

This time Alec had to look at her, but what he saw surprised him. Instead of the face of an outraged sister, he saw a stoic facade, a look almost of detachment, as if Garth was talking about something distasteful but unconnected to her.

Recovering quickly, Alec turned back to Garth. “Who sold her to you?”

Garth backed up, hands in the air. “No way in hell, man.”

“Look, you’ve already got your deal from the DA. All I want is the man who snatched this girl off the streets.”

“I said, no way.”

Alec waited, knowing his silence would eat at the inmate faster than words. Garth already knew the consequences of denying Alec. Now he’d just have to decide which fate was worse.

“Besides, I don’t know who grabs them. I got her from a . . . you know . . . middleman.”

“How?”

“If I tell you that, I’m dead.”

“If you don’t, I expect you’re dead anyway.” Pedophiles were the lowest of the lows, even in prison. “I expect you’ll become some big guy’s whore. If you last that long.”

“Okay, look, all I did was place an ad.”

“Where?”

“Different papers, depending on the time of year.
The New York Times
in the winter. Miami in the summer.”

Alec leaned forward. “Tell me about the ads.”

“I tell them what I want, and they deliver.”

“You advertised for a twelve-year-old girl?” Erin asked in that same emotionless voice she’d used earlier.

“Hell no.” He glanced at her, licked his lips, nervously.

“A puppy. A bitch if you want a girl. Months to years. And different breeds, depending on what else you want.” He focused again on Alec. “I want a seven-year-old girl, I advertise for a seven-month-old bitch.”

“So, you advertised for this girl?” Alec didn’t know how Erin was doing it. He could barely keep his own disgust under control. “Then what?”

“I get an answer, time and date of where to pick her up. And where to leave the payment. I never see the guy who delivers her.” He turned his hands palms up. “That’s the truth.”

Alec leaned back, thought, then shoved the yellow pad across the table. “Okay. I want the codes. I want to know when and where to advertise.”

“Hey, it’s probably all changed. It’s been fifteen years, and it’s probably done on the Internet now.”

“So, tell me how to do it. How to tap into this network.”

“I can’t—”

“Oh, I expect you can.” Alec shoved back his chair. “You write down what you remember. Then tomorrow I’m going to have a couple of agents in here to go over it with you in detail.”

Garth started to object, but Alec spoke right over him. “If your information turns out to be good, then we got nothing else to talk about. If not . . .” Alec shrugged and pushed to his feet. “Then have a nice life. I expect it will be rather short.”

Outside, the California night was cool and damp.

They stood in the prison parking lot, Erin’s back to him as she leaned against the rental car to steady herself. She hadn’t said anything since they’d left Garth and the prison walls.

“Are you okay?” he asked, mentally kicking himself for bringing her along. He should have found a way to keep her away from Garth.

“I could kill him.” Her voice was shaking with anger. It was the first show of emotion he’d seen from her, and he could only guess what it had taken for her to keep it inside.

“A bitch. He advertises for a bitch and gets a little girl. What kind of monster—” She broke off, her entire body trembling. “I really could have killed him, you know.”

Alec took a step toward her, but she held up a hand to ward him off. “No. Don’t.”

He waited, giving her the space she needed. Though it was hard. He suspected Erin had been handling everything alone for a very long time and could use someone to lean on for a change. It bothered him that he wouldn’t mind being that person, and that she’d probably never allow it.

Finally, she took a deep breath and turned around. “I’ll be okay.”

Alec wondered if that was even possible as he watched her pull herself together, hauling in her emotions until she held them once again under tight control. Although he admired her strength, he had to wonder what such denial was doing to her physically. It couldn’t be good.

“It looks like this was a wasted trip,” she said. “Nothing we found out here is going to help you find Cody.”

“You’re right, it won’t help Cody.” They’d investigate Garth’s information, but it would be a lengthy process. “But it might help another child. So, not wasted.” Though he had to admit he’d been hoping for something more, something that would lead them directly to the Magician and Cody Sanders. “Come on.” He nodded toward the car. “Let’s get going.” They had reservations on a red-eye back to the East Coast.

He’d left Cathy running the investigation in Baltimore and had checked in with her when they’d first landed. They’d hit a wall. So far, they’d gotten nothing more at Cross Street Market, no other sightings or information about the man seen with Cody Sanders. Nor had anything come of the sketch of the man Erin had seen in the park. Alec hated to admit how much he’d been counting on Garth giving them something else to go on. So he needed to get back, to see if he could find some other way to breathe some life into the search.

Only from now on, Erin Baker was out of it.

He waited until they were on the road, heading for the airport, before bringing up the subject of William Neville.

“Erin, you can’t go to that embassy party tomorrow night.”

“Really.” She sounded distracted, like she wasn’t even listening to him. Or at least not taking him seriously.

“Neville is dangerous.”

“So am I.”

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with her stubbornness. “Look, I know you’ve had a lot of martial-arts training, but that doesn’t mean you’re a match for a man like Neville.”

“I’m also a pretty fair shot.”

He glanced sideways at her, unable to believe they were having this conversation. “And you’re going to walk into the German Embassy with a gun.”

“They wouldn’t let me through the front door.”

“This isn’t funny.” She was an infuriating woman, using throwaway lines to distract him from the real problem.

“I’m not laughing.”

“Then forget the embassy.” He’d find another way to get to Neville.

“Look, Donovan, I’m the only one who can do this. The FBI can’t walk into a foreign embassy and mingle with the natives. But I can. I know embassy protocol and I know the people. And I’m not going to do anything stupid. I’m just going to talk to the man.”

“And say what?”

She shrugged. “I won’t know that until I see him.”

“This is crazy, Erin. You’re a civilian.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Donovan. I do know what I’m doing. And I’m no more of a civilian than you are.”

XVII

“W
HERE IS HE
?” Donovan’s disembodied voice came through clearly to the receiver in Erin’s ear. It, along with the wireless transmitter embedded in the pendant around her neck, kept her tied to him.

“He’ll be here,” she answered, when in truth, she was beginning to worry about Sam. Though she wasn’t about to admit that to Alec Donovan.

Sam had promised to meet her with an invitation to the German Ambassador’s going-home party, and he was forty-five minutes late. It wasn’t like him. Sam was meticulous to a fault in all things, including punctuality.

She glanced in her rearview mirror and pretended to touch up her makeup while watching the street. She’d parked several blocks from the embassy, where Sam was supposed to meet her.

There was no sign of him.

“I’m going to give him a few more minutes,” she said.

There could be any number of reasonable explanations. He could have been called in on an emergency at Langley. Or it could be as simple as heavy traffic and a dead cell-phone battery.

“I don’t like this,” Donovan said.

“Neither do I.”

Normally, she’d be on the guest list, and the physical invitation, though expected, wouldn’t be required. Until yesterday, however, she hadn’t planned on attending this particular function. Without an invitation, she’d have to find another way in, an idea that didn’t exactly appeal to her. Slipping past armed guards and through service entrances wasn’t the easiest thing to pull off when dressed in a cocktail dress and three-inch heels.

“Then let’s call it a night,” Donovan suggested.

“Feel free to leave anytime you want.”

Which she knew he wouldn’t do, not as long as she was determined to go inside. He wasn’t happy about her approaching William Neville. Even after she’d practically admitted she was CIA, Donovan had tried talking her out of attending the embassy party. Eventually he’d realized that nothing he could say would change her mind. For better or worse, she was in this. So he’d commandeered a communication van and technician to monitor her.

Doing this, she suspected, gave Donovan the illusion of maintaining control. Something Erin understood all too well. Of course, she didn’t even want to think what his superiors would say if they knew he was using FBI equipment to monitor a CIA officer within a foreign embassy. That was his problem.

She was breaking a few rules herself.

So she’d agreed to wear a transmitter and receiver. Not that she needed Donovan’s permission to go after Neville. But if it made him happy to monitor her, she could live with it. After all, it wasn’t the first time she’d worked on a tether.

She glanced at her watch. Fifty minutes. Sam wouldn’t stand her up if he had any other choice, and that was what worried her. She’d talked to him this afternoon, and he’d been onto something. Only he’d refused to speculate until he was certain. Now she wished she’d pushed a little harder.

When she’d gotten home after her quick trip to the West Coast, she’d called him immediately to set up a meeting. Even though it was early on a Monday morning, she knew she’d find him in his office. Sometimes she wondered if he even had a place to go home to, or whether he camped out in his sterile ten-by-twelve cubicle.

As she’d expected, he’d been waiting for her call. They’d once again met in a parking lot, a Wal-Mart this time, and he looked like he’d slept in his clothes. If at all. He’d gathered information on Claire’s kidnapping, but it was digging into William Neville that had him really excited.

“The guy’s a regular Midas,” Sam said, talking a mile a minute while handing her reports she didn’t even try to read with him in the car. “He inherited a small, floundering shipping company, the last remaining asset of his family’s dwindling fortune. And he managed to build it into a thriving business, profitable enough that he could diversify and buy up other companies, primarily in emerging markets. He’s into mining in South America, technology companies in Southeast Asia, and banking in Eastern Europe.

“Oh, and he’s expanded his shipping interests to support it all. Over the last thirty years, he’s amassed a respectable empire.”

Erin nodded. That was pretty much what Alec Donovan had told her. And nothing new.

“Now hold on.” Sam pulled off his glasses and polished the lenses. “I can tell you’re not overly impressed. But just wait. The shipping company. Well, my sources claim Neville made it viable by running slaves up the African coast.” He grinned from ear to ear. “Can you believe it? He’s a modern-day slaver.”

Erin wasn’t smiling.

“Of course, that’s not a good thing,” Sam hurried to say. “It’s horrible, despicable. But who knew?”

“What about now, Sam? What’s he into now?”

“Well, on the surface he looks clean, though ruthless. You don’t want to take this guy on. If he comes after your company, you’d best just hand over the keys. That’s not a crime, but if you dig deep enough, you have to wonder. Once a ruthless bastard, always—”

“Sam.”

“He’s got connections to Saudi Arabia and Iran, which again in itself is not incriminating, but . . .” He shook his head and started gathering up his files. “It’s still too early to say. A guy like this Neville shields himself behind so many layers, it takes time to peel them all away. And I’ve had”—he glanced at his watch—“not quite twenty-four hours. So I don’t want to speculate. I can’t afford to be wrong on this. Give me a few more hours, and I’ll give you the best I can.”

“Just tell me what you suspect.”

“Tonight. I’ll bring your invitation to the embassy party and turn over whatever I’ve found.”

After that, he’d refused to say any more. And she’d let him get away with it. She’d gone home to get some sleep and read the files he’d put together before the evening.

They were particularly disturbing.

One didn’t think much about slavery in the modern world, but evidently it was alive and well. Mines in Brazil, brothels in Thailand, and farms in India were all manned by slave labor. Even in Western Europe, the UK, and U.S., household slaves numbered in the thousands. According to Sam’s research, the number of slaves around the world ran into the millions, with some estimates as high as 200 million. A staggering and frightening statistic.

And William Neville had ties to all of it.

Now, pulling out her cell phone for the second time in fifteen minutes, Erin dialed Sam’s office in Langley. As before, no one answered. Then she tried his cell phone and home number. Still nothing.

Something was wrong, and a part of her wanted to go looking for him. The other part, the one trained to think of the mission first and foremost, reminded her that Sam wasn’t a child. He’d gone through the same year of CIA training she had, and could take care of himself. But of course, he couldn’t. He was an analyst, who’d barely squeaked through the Agency’s physical training, and then only with a great deal of help. Still, if it came down to getting a lead on Cody Sanders or looking for Sam, all her training told her that Cody was the priority.

So she was back to finding another way into the embassy.

“I’m going in.” Ignoring Donovan’s objections, she climbed out of the car. She’d decided to bluff her way through the front door rather than find a less direct route. After all, she was well known within the embassy circuit. If she was lucky, someone would vouch for her. So as she got closer to the embassy, she fell in behind other formally dressed guests making their way toward the building.

Just as she was about to head for the door, however, a threesome—two men and a woman—rounded the corner, coming from one of the side streets bordering the embassy, where guests were left to their own devices to find parking. They looked awfully young for embassy hopping. Then she recognized them.

“Cassidy.” She approached the young man she’d put on the mat in Bill Jensen’s class at the Farm. Slipping her arms around his neck, she said, “I thought you’d stood me up.”

The look on his face was pure shock, for about half a second. Then he grinned and put his hands on her waist. “I’d have to be a fool to do that.”

She let him pull her just close enough to give him a peck on the cheek. “I need to get inside.”

“Oh, I imagine we could work out something.”

She flashed him a smile and pulled back. “Don’t push your luck.”

She turned then and greeted the other two, pulling their names from her memory. “Sheila and Chad, isn’t it?”

“Hi, Erin.” And she had to give the woman credit for remembering to use her first name. Using last names was pretty much taboo within the Agency, particularly in the field.

As a training exercise, recruits from the Farm were sent to embassy parties under the guise of State Department personnel. For those who ended up as field officers, it was good practice for what would become a regular activity. Evidently, Cassidy thought Erin was part of the practice, and the other two weren’t going to question him.

It worked for Erin.

So she draped herself on his arm and said, “Shall we go in?” They made their way into the embassy, where Cassidy handed his invitation to one of the tuxedo-clad butlers in the foyer. Erin squeezed Cassidy’s arm and continued to smile, as if she was just thrilled to be included.

Once inside, Cassidy turned to her, checking her out from head to toe. “Well, I didn’t expect—”

She extricated her arm from his. “Thanks, you just redeemed yourself. Now don’t go getting into any trouble. I’d hate to have to come rescue you.”

Cassidy winced. “Very cute.”

“Yeah, I know.” She kissed him on the cheek again, then nodded toward the reception line, where the ambassador and his wife stood with key staff members to greet other Washington elite. “Now get on with whatever you’re supposed to do here. I’ll see you later.” And she walked away.

To Cassidy’s credit, he didn’t ask questions or try to stop her. He and his two companions moved off to introduce themselves to the embassy staff.

“I’m in,” she said, after taking a glass of champagne from a passing waiter.

“If you make it out of there in one piece, I expect an explanation,” Donovan replied.

“Explanation?” She sipped the champagne and scanned the crowd. She’d been working the D.C. embassy parties for a year now and recognized many of the faces. She’d also studied files on the most promising potential foreign agents and the most volatile embassy personnel. General William Neville hadn’t been on either list.

“Like who just waltzed you through the door,” came Donovan’s voice again.

“Oh, that.” She had no intention of enlightening Donovan about other CIA personnel. “Sure, whatever you want to know.”

She worked the room, stopping occasionally to smile or say a word to an acquaintance. She’d become a common face to these people, so no one questioned her presence. Neville, on the other hand, didn’t frequent many embassy functions outside those given by his own ambassador. And she couldn’t be certain he’d show up tonight.

She’d just entered one of the smaller rooms, a gallery of some kind with portraits lining the walls, when a familiar male voice stopped her. “Erin? Is that you?”

She turned toward the approaching man. “Hello, Sebastian.”

He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”

“I decided to come at the last minute.”

“And snuck your name on the guest list.” He grinned. “Tsk. Tsk.”

His name was Sebastian Cole, and although she’d spoken to him a number of times in the last year, she hadn’t figured out where he fit in the scheme of things. The Agency had very little on him. He was the son of a wealthy New York banker, with more time and money than direction. So he’d made Washington his home and the embassy circuit his social scene.

Of course, none of that meant a thing. He could be anyone, working for any government. Even her own.

“Actually,” she said, “I came with a date.”

He arched an eyebrow and glanced around, as if looking for the missing man.

Erin laughed. She couldn’t help but like Sebastian. Where others might find him sarcastic and cynical, she found his irreverent wit and charm refreshing. “He’s around somewhere.”

“Obviously not a love match, then, but a convenience.”

“Something like that,” Erin said, tasting the champagne, the cool bubbles sweet on her tongue, and scanned the crowd for Neville.

“Well, you look particularly lovely this evening.”

Erin refocused on Sebastian. “Thanks.”

Learning to dress and behave like a socialite had been a hard lesson for her. She’d have preferred facing down a gang of thugs in a dark alley any day. But the embassy parties required that she look and act the part, so she had a separate wardrobe she called her embassy gear, a half-dozen cocktail dresses and gowns. Tonight she wore one of her best, a beaded black Versace that clung to her like a second skin. She’d wanted to catch Neville’s eye, and even if she hadn’t yet spotted him, it was nice to know she’d pulled off the charade once again.

“Sebastian, would you do me a favor?” She moved in closer, where no one else could hear.

“Oh, I do love secrets.”

She slipped an arm through his. “There’s someone I want to meet.”

He slapped his hand against his chest. “And here I thought I was your only love.”

“Sebastian, you’re gay. Remember?”

“Oh, yes, that could be a problem.” He gave her a dazzling smile, and she thought, What a shame. He really was too good-looking for words. “So, who is the lucky man?”

“General Neville. Is he here?”

“Ooooh. You do have good taste. Handsome, in a very stoic sort of way. Lots of money.” He nodded toward the main reception area. “He just arrived a few minutes ago. Come, I’ll see that you get acquainted.” He took Erin’s arm and led her toward the door, but as they crossed into the next room, he added, “There’s one thing you need to remember about the General, Erin.”

She looked up at her escort, aware of a new seriousness to his voice. “Which is?”

“He’s the direct type.” He met her gaze, all the humor she’d come to associate with Sebastian Cole gone. “Your best bet is to come at him straight on. If you dance around him, he’ll eat you alive.”