Power Play (An FBI Thriller) (30 page)

D
ay Abbott shrugged. “I remember my dad’s gun from when I was a kid, but after he left, I never saw it again. I thought about it once or twice over the years and assumed he’d taken it with him. A lot of people own guns. How do you even know about my dad’s gun?”

Davis said, “Your father registered the Smith and Wesson some thirty years ago. Do you know where it is?”

“No.” Abbott gave Davis a full-bodied sneer. “The person who shot at you and Perry last night—did you get hit? Is that why you’re wearing that dick Band-Aid on your face?”

Davis grinned at the man who looked about ready to burst out of his beautiful suit and leap on him.
Ready to make things personal, Day?
Davis said, “What, you don’t like a jungle theme? It’s from Perry’s medicine cabinet, of course. She smoothed it down herself.”

Griffin, his voice as smooth as the teak railing on his dad’s prized sailboat, said, “The gun used last night, it was the same caliber as your father’s pistol. To cut off this thread, we’d like to check it for ballistics, if you have it somewhere.”

“But—”

Davis said over him, “You speak to your father often, Mr.
Abbott?” Davis began writing in a black notebook, aware Abbott was watching him.

“Every week,” Day said. “Thursday night, even when he’s traveling or I’m traveling. My parents split up a long time ago. When he left, my dad made me promise we’d always speak once a week. We have. It’s a habit. He’s my dad.”

Day got slowly to his feet. He was looking at them like they were a couple low-class slugs. He said, “Well, are we done here?”

Griffin said, “Perhaps you could tell us why you think all of this is happening, Mr. Abbott.”

Day leaned over, splayed his palms on the desktop. “I believe, as does my mother, that Mrs. Black unwittingly hurt someone in England and that this someone wants revenge. About the threatening notes to Perry, the shots fired at her last night, I can only think it’s meant to hurt her mother.” He straightened. “I really can’t do your jobs for you, Agents. I know of no one who would want to hurt Perry or her mother here in the United States. Now, I have nothing more to say to either of you. I want you to leave now.”

Davis said, “Mr. Abbott, what does your mother think of your marriage plans with Perry?”

Day was silent for a moment. “My mother may very nearly rule the known world, but she doesn’t rule me.” He caught himself. “It’s obvious Perry doesn’t fit the mold of the lovely young professional woman, what with her riding around on her Harley like a wannabe Hells Angel. I know my mother thinks Perry’s behavior is her dad’s fault. Mom said Brundage Black was selfish, that he heaped all his attention, all his pride, on the little daughter he made into his clone, and he never let her go. I don’t expect you to understand any of that, Agent, since you hardly know Perry. But
realize this. I do love her and she loves me. As for my mother, she’ll come around.”

Davis pulled a small plastic envelope from his pocket. “Would you mind giving us a cheek swab?”

Day stared at him as if he’d grown another ear.

“It won’t hurt,” Davis said.

Griffin saw the pulse pounding in Day Abbott’s neck. His face was flushed, anger flowing hot and heavy. “You want my DNA? You’ve got to be joking.”

“Nope, not at all.”

“You like throwing around your cop’s weight, Sullivan? Intimidating people? You’ve been trying to drive a wedge between Perry and me all along, and that’s why she hasn’t returned my calls. You think she’d ever have anything to do with you? Once this is over, once you’re out of her life, she’ll come back to me and she’ll never give you another thought.”

His sneer was full-blown now. “I’ll bet you couldn’t take her out of the States, not on your cop’s salary. Tell you what, Sullivan, I’ll think of you when I take Perry to Cannes, while we’re wandering the beaches, while I’m making love to her. Take your stupid swab and get out of my office. You’re deluded if you think I’ll give you my DNA.”

Davis held it together, mostly, but his voice was flippant, and he knew he was goading Day Abbott. “No, not deluded; the FBI shrinks tested me, said I was good to go,” Davis said. “Whether Perry ends up with you on the beach in Cannes or with me on the Champs-Élysées in Paris, we’ll get there quicker if you give us your DNA. It’s a simple cheek swab. We’re going to be asking everyone involved in the case, everyone with access to Perry, to give a DNA
sample willingly. If you do, you’ll very likely be out of the running as our shooter last night. Here.”

Day Abbott never looked away from Davis. “Get out, both of you.”

“You want us to think you were firing only at me last night?”

“I didn’t shoot at you!”

“You’re a smart guy, Mr. Abbott. You’ve got to see it’s the way to go. If you’re cleared, you may never have to see me again.”

Day Abbott said, “I am exercising my rights, nothing more. I don’t know anything about my father’s Smith and Wesson. You have no basis for a warrant of any kind. You have absolutely no reason to be here now. I want no more of your harassment. Leave.”

Davis continued holding out the Q-tip.

Day splayed his big hands on his desktop, leaned toward them again. He said, his voice low and vicious, “You’re nothing but a yahoo, Sullivan, brandishing a gun. Perry won’t fall for you. You’re too low-class. You’re spitting in the wind. Get out of here and take pretty boy with you.”

Davis said to Griffin, “Well, truth be told, I wouldn’t want him for my lobbyist.” He saluted Day Abbott and strolled to the door, Griffin on his heels. They heard Day Abbott’s thick, fast breathing behind them. Davis opened the door, turned back. “This could be your best chance to get back with Perry quickly. Otherwise, we might have to ask you down to the Hoover Building later for more questions.”

Day Abbott shook his head, gave him a disgusted look. “You know what, Sullivan? You’re a liar; I’m not. Give me the swab. Believe me, you and I will never talk again without my lawyer present.”

Davis handed him the swab, watched him rub it on the inside of his cheek. He carefully slid it back into the bag.

“Thank you. Won’t take very long to check this out,” Davis said. “Hey, it didn’t hurt, did it?”

Day stood behind his desk, arms crossed tight over his chest, holding himself still. That was the last look Davis got of the man who hated him now, and who happened to be the son of the secretary of state. Savich would not be pleased. Davis closed the door behind him, with no good-byes.

Davis stood against the mirrored elevator wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “All right, Griffin, what do you think of Mr. Day Abbott?”

Griffin said slowly, “Other than he’s so jealous of you he’d like to drive a stake through your heart, he’s probably a decent guy.

“I think he wants this over, and that’s why he gave us the cheek swab. You know as well as I do he had nothing to do with the shooting last night. You never thought he did. I’m glad it didn’t get physical. Even so, it wouldn’t surprise me if he tells his mama two idiot agents were all over him.”

Davis said, “Unfortunately, I agree with you. Hey, Abbott nailed you, though, pretty boy. Will I see you modeling underwear in a magazine someday?”

Griffin laughed. “Nope, I’d make a crappy model. Except maybe for Anna.”

Criminal Apprehension Unit

Monday afternoon

S
avich was surprised it took his boss Jimmy Maitland several hours to call him. He put the delay down to the secretary of state being in transit from New York that morning. Davis and Griffin had filled him in on their interview with Day Abbott, starting with the good news about getting a DNA sample and an alibi from him for the previous night, which they could check on. But neither of them would quite meet his eyes. The only other good news Savich heard was that Davis hadn’t slugged him. Savich asked him, “So he insulted you? How?”

“Let’s see, he called me a low-class slug, a liar hiding behind his shield, basically a loser, that sort of thing,” Davis said.

“So you lost control of the situation. Tell me that isn’t what you had in mind all along, is it, Davis?”

“No,” Davis said. “Yeah, it was a mistake.”

Savich sat down, waved to the chairs in front of his desk. “Tell me about it.”

Maitland said now to Savich over the phone, “Director Comey relayed a call from the secretary of state. She gave him an earful
about Agents Sullivan and Hammersmith doing a number on her son this morning while they were interviewing him, said they were completely inappropriate. This is, alas, the secretary of state we’re talking about here, Savich, a woman with so much mojo she gets our director on the phone and reams him out. Please tell me Madame Secretary has been misinformed.”

“Sir, Sullivan and Hammersmith interviewed him about the attack on Perry Black’s home last night, entirely appropriate, since Day Abbott is closely involved with her. I’m told it was Abbott who started with the insults. You know Davis, though, he’s not very good at lying still while getting kicked, but he didn’t let things get that far out of hand. We had Griffin along as a witness.”

“Whatever happened, Secretary Abbott is royally pissed. If the interview was as tame as it sounds, then why would Abbott complain to his mother about Davis?”

“The short version is that Day Abbott wants to marry Perry Black and he’s very jealous of Davis, and he’s not above asking his mother to hurt him.”

“I don’t suppose Davis—no, I’m not going there. If this guy is jealous of Davis, that kind of bad blood won’t go away.” Savich heard his boss curse under his breath. “You know, he couldn’t have picked a better way to hurt Davis’s career. If there’s a formal inquiry from State alleging he behaved unprofessionally, let his personal feelings get in the way, we’ll have to pull him off the case, put him through a review process that will stay on his record. I really don’t want this to happen. Take care of it, Savich, get things smoothed out, all right?”

“Yes, sir. I’ll deal with it. About Davis—”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore. The secretary of state
wants to see you and Davis in her office in, ah, thirty-two minutes. You want me along to run interference?”

“No, sir, but I think I’ll take Sherlock with us. She might help cool the secretary down a bit. I’ll let you know what happens.”

“You know what?” Maitland said. “If my mom were the secretary of state, I’d call her, too.”

Secretary of State’s office
Harry Truman Building
Washington, D.C.

T
hirty-one minutes later, Savich, Sherlock, and Davis finished clearing three different security checks, all fast, efficient, but not as polite as the White House. Davis was nervous, he admitted it to himself, as they moved step by step toward the seat of power, toward the woman who could ruin his career in the FBI. Savich had told him not to worry too much, to act properly deferential, and leave most of the talking to him.

They were shown into the richly paneled office of the secretary of state. Arliss Abbott was standing behind her desk when they entered, her arms crossed over her gray Armani-suited chest. She said nothing at all until the three of them were standing directly in front of her desk, like disruptive schoolkids in front of a headmaster to be disciplined. Behind her impressive desk was a wall of solid built-in wooden bookcases filled to overflowing with books and knickknacks, probably gifts from world leaders, and a dozen shining photographic moments with various heads of state. It wasn’t an overly large office, small enough to be fitting for a
servant of the people, but still, it announced power, tradition, and a big fist.

An older aristocrat of a man stood at her left. He had a long face, razor-sharp cheekbones, a thin nose, and boasted a beautiful salt-and-pepper mustache above his seamed lips, perfectly matching his styled hair. He gave off the subliminal
I’m smarter than you, richer than you, more important than you.
He didn’t smile at them. He did not move from where he stood, merely nodded and introduced himself as Bernard Pearson Franklyn.

A much younger man, about Davis’s age, stood behind him, obviously his subordinate in billable hours, judging by where he stood. He looked dramatic, no other way to put it, with his dark, liquid eyes and glossy black hair a bit on the long side. He wore a black turtleneck beneath a black blazer. He was a sharp package, the perfect distraction, Davis thought, for a living and breathing jury. He continued to smile when he introduced himself. Sasha Powers, and what kind of name was that? Davis wondered. Like his boss, Sasha did not offer to shake hands. These two were an impressive duo.

Arliss Abbott nodded to them, only a whisper of a smile on her face and none in her voice. “You’re prompt, gentlemen. And who is this?”

Sherlock pulled out her creds and handed them to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Secretary. I’m Agent Sherlock, FBI.”

Arliss Abbott looked at Davis and held out her hand even though she knew very well who he was. Savich got his creds out, but she waved his away. “I know exactly who you are, Agent Savich.”

She studied them, and looked at Sherlock. “And why are you here, Agent Sherlock?”

To protect them.
She said, “Agent Savich believed I could be useful.”

Arliss raised a brow. “In what way, Agent Savich?”

“She’s been closely involved, ma’am. Her insights are invaluable.”

Whatever that meant.
Sherlock returned Arliss Abbott’s gaze, waiting for her to move on. She had never before been in the presence of the secretary of state, didn’t know what to expect of this woman with her obvious intelligence. She was fascinated to see how she would handle this meeting—like the professional negotiator she was or like a lioness protecting her cub? She looked briefly toward the two lawyers, Franklyn leaning against the secretary’s desk, the theatrical young stallion Sasha Powers with his diamond stud standing behind him at attention.

Arliss said to Davis, “Agent Sullivan, when I met you last Tuesday night with Ambassador Black, I did not take you for a bully.”

No, you took me for something else entirely.

“Indeed, after Natalie explained why you accompanied her, she assured me you have her complete confidence to keep Perry safe. I understand you saved her life last night, is that correct?”

Davis nodded. “However, the assailant escaped.”

“I am grateful nonetheless,” Arliss said. “Will you tell me now how those events led you to turn around and confront my son in the fashion you did?”

A smooth and flawless segue,
Sherlock thought.

“After the shooting last night, ma’am, interviewing your son was standard procedure. However, he became quite upset at the nature of the questions we needed to ask him—”

She rolled right over him. “You should have notified this office as a courtesy, Agent Sullivan. You should have made an appointment to see him to give him the opportunity for legal counsel. You
did neither of these things. Instead, you arrived at my son’s office with no prior notification, simply barged in and accused him of trying to murder the woman he is currently viewing as his future wife. Both he and I have reason to be outraged at that behavior, Agent Sullivan.”

“Madame Secretary,” Savich said, “I sent Agents Sullivan and Hammersmith to interview Mr. Abbott. It is not our procedure to notify anyone of prospective interviews. Let me assure you, however, that if we need to speak to Mr. Abbott again, I will see to it we notify your office.

“As to what happened this morning, I think there are differences between what Mr. Abbott told you and what actually happened.”

“Oh? My son is now a liar?”

“No, ma’am. A difference in viewpoint, I’d say.”

“My viewpoint, Agent Savich, is that by not notifying my son of your planned visit, and Agent Davis’s tone being what it was, the interview smacked of an attempt to intimidate, even though viewing my son as a suspect in this tragedy is ridiculous. He has loved Perry his whole life; Natalie will verify that.”

Her eyes went to Davis. “My son believes you had personal motives for your questions, your tone, and your behavior, Agent Sullivan, the reason being that you have feelings for Perry Black, the woman you have been assigned by the Bureau to protect. He believes you are jealous of him, and thus your attacks and your obvious animosity. What do you have to say for yourself, Agent?”

Davis wanted to tell her that her precious son was a jackass, that he’d been the one to attack. But he knew he shouldn’t have retaliated, shouldn’t have provoked him. What made it worse was that Davis also knew Perry had no intention of marrying Day Abbott. Davis had been unprofessional. He’d been wrong, and it burned.

He said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your son is right, my behavior did border on the unseemly. There were words between us, words that shouldn’t have been spoken.” He drew a deep breath. “I promise you that will never happen again.”

“For the simple reason that you will never again interview my son, Agent Sullivan, unless there is a prior appointment, his lawyers are present, and you aren’t. Are we clear on that, Agent?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Savich said, “The Bureau will gladly stipulate to that, ma’am. Since none of us wish either Ambassador Black or her daughter to come to any harm, we must continue in a reasonable and logical way to pursue evidence.”

Arliss gave him a long look. The two lawyers took this as their cue to speak.

Mr. Bernard Franklyn said, “Since you’ve mentioned the matter of pursuing evidence, Agent Savich, it is our position that the DNA sample you took from our client, Mr. Dayton Abbott, was illegally obtained.” He turned to the young man behind him and gave a nod.

Sasha Powers gave them a blinding white smile. “The fact is, Agent Savich, that your department had no warrant for such an invasive request, and it appears that Mr. Abbott would never have agreed to provide the sample if he had not been coerced into doing so.” His dark eyes settled on Davis. “Agent Sullivan himself has agreed he behaved inappropriately while obtaining it.”

Savich said, “Mr. Abbott gave Agents Sullivan and Hammersmith a sample, after, admittedly, some discussion as to the reasons for the request. The DNA is already being analyzed and matched. What is important here is that because we have Mr. Abbott’s DNA, we will shortly be able to exonerate him from any suspicion.
Given this positive outcome, I see no reason why there would be any legal issues in the future about how the DNA sample was obtained.”

Arliss said, “This is not a game of mutual intimidation, Agent Savich. Trust me that you wouldn’t fare well if it were. I understand you have a job to do, that everyone in a case such as this has to be interviewed. My son is not a boy. He is a grown man and he will deal with this. However, you are right. The DNA my son so imprudently provided you will clear him of any involvement.

“What happened this morning is unacceptable. I believe Agent Sullivan understands that. Since I do not wish to deprive Perry of Agent Sullivan’s continued protection, I am willing to let this go for now, with all the assurances you’ve given me. You are all excused. Thank you for coming.”

On their way out, Davis saw there were coffee cups and a beautiful jug of coffee sitting on a low table. They hadn’t been offered any.

Savich was bemused. The secretary of state could have lopped off their heads, but instead she’d backed off.

He wondered if Davis understood how lucky he was.