The Black List (11 page)

“If Trip flew out anywhere, it wasn’t under any name we have.”

“Maybe he’s still here, then,” Griffin said, scanning the report.

“Not likely.” Tex waved the sheet of paper he’d brought in. “This sort of—”

“Hold up.” Griffin reread the paragraph just to make sure he hadn’t misunderstood. “This might explain a few things about Dorian’s death and the armed intruders at the charity last night.”

“You gonna share?”

“They traced some money that was funneled to a Somalian terrorist group they think was helping facilitate Yusuf’s movement into the country.”

“Does it tell us where Yusuf is?”

“No.”

“Then how did that earn a big fat Priority stamp?”

“The money comes from a charity.”

“Like
that’s
a new source?”

Griffin shook his head then turned the page. “Maybe it’s not the charities. It’s the umbrella organization that disburses the money.” He looked up at Tex, still trying to wrap his head around what he just read. “A
.
D
.
E.”

“The group that Eve works for?”

“The same.”

“Please tell me she’s one of the good guys . . .”

“She’s raking in a million bucks a day for A
.
D
.
E. So far it’s not looking good.”

“But she was my Jessica Rabbit . . .”

“Sorry, bud.”

“Yeah, it gets worse.” Tex took a deep breath, letting it out in frustration as he laid the photocopy from the airport security camera on Griffin’s desk.

A limo, undoubtedly from the service that picked up Trip from Sydney’s complex, was parked at the passenger drop-off zone in front of Virgin Atlantic. Three people were standing by the limo, waiting for their luggage as the driver removed it from the trunk. Trip, Micah, and Eve.

Sheila sat in
a chair at Sydney’s kitchen table, her shoulders slumped, a look of disbelief on her face as she faced her interrogators, Griffin and Tex, while Sydney and Carillo stood in the background. Carillo nursed a large cup of coffee, and a killer headache to boot. Sydney didn’t feel the least bit of sympathy for him. He wasn’t the one whose night was ruined by Sheila’s idiot boyfriend. His headache would go away. She, on the other hand, had every reason to hold a grudge, even if she couldn’t exactly announce why, she thought, as Sheila listened to what Tex was telling her.

“What are you trying to say?” Sheila asked. “That Trip set me up? He wouldn’t do that.” She looked at Carillo. “Tell them, Tony.”

“What can I say, Sheila? The guy drugged us.”

“Then he had a good reason.”

“Ya think?”

Sydney gave Carillo a surreptitious kick, whispering, “
Not
helping . . .”

Carillo crossed his arms, leaned against the wall. “Sheila. Just answer their questions.”

She wiped at a tear, then waited for Tex to continue.

He slid the photocopy of the airport security footage, asking, “Have you ever seen any of these people before?”

She looked at it. “Sure. Trip, Micah, and his assistant Eve.”

“Where did you last see them?”

“Last night. Trip, I mean. Micah and Eve in San Francisco, where they finished up their West Coast tour.”

“Ever overhear any conversations between them?”

“No.” She eyed the photo, then looked up at Tex, her eyes glistening. “You don’t think that he and her are . . . you know . . .”

“I’m not sure what to think.”

Griffin asked, “How did you and Trip meet?”

“At coffee around the corner from my house. I heard him ordering with that English accent. I just love to hear him talk.”

Sydney could hardly blame Carillo when he shifted on his feet, whispering, “Seriously?”

Tex, however, gave a sympathetic nod. “Any idea what other names he might have been using?”

Sheila glanced down at the photo, shaking her head, her voice low, disbelieving. “Are you sure his name isn’t real?”

“Pretty sure, ma’am,” Tex said.

“But he was taking me to meet his family.”

“Any idea where they live?”

“Somewhere in England . . . ?”

“Letters from anyone? Return address from anything we might be able to trace him to?”

She shook her head, looking around the room. “Do you think he made that up, too?”

When no one answered, her face crumpled. “But he said he loved me!” She covered her eyes with her hands, sobbing.

“Ah, geez,” Carillo said on an exhale. He walked over, put his arm around her shoulder. “How about you go lie down. Take a nap, okay?”

She nodded, allowing him to help her from the chair, then walk her into the spare bedroom. “I can’t believe . . . what an idiot I am . . .”

“Nah, trust me. There’s way bigger idiots out there.”

Sydney, glad to see Carillo finally coming round, waited until they disappeared into the room before asking, “Wouldn’t he have had a visa when he flew out here with Carillo?”

“We already checked. His ID was American. Driver’s license only with his aka. So whoever facilitated his U.S. stay did a damned good job of getting him some good old-fashioned American ID to get into the country and out of it.”

“He wasn’t on the same flight as Micah and Eve?”

“The only one we can even place on a flight is Micah,” Tex said. “And yet we have all three passing through airport security around the same time. Since they couldn’t get past there without a ticket, we have to assume the worst. They’re gone. Right along with our lead to wherever this money is disappearing to.”

Carillo returned, picking up his coffee cup.

“How is she?” Sydney asked.

“A mess. And here I thought Trip was
the
one.” He sipped his coffee, made a face, then walked over to the sink and dumped it. “My impending alimony aside, what now?”

Griffin leaned back in his chair, sliding the photo back into the folder. “Donovan’s meeting up with a local MI6 agent as we speak.”

“Donovan?” Carillo asked.

“Donovan Archer. Another ATLAS agent,” he replied, and Sydney recalled the man from the last operation she worked with Griffin in France.

“So what does this mean?” Carillo said. “They think Micah’s in on it with Eve and Trip?”

Griffin shook his head. “According to what we can find, he’s clueless, not only about the high volume of money being funneled out, but that any of it is making its way into terrorist hands. Right now, finding Trip and Eve are our best leads. We can use your help.”

Carillo poured a fresh cup of coffee. “As much as I’d love to put one between Trip’s eyes on the government’s dime, someone’s gotta babysit Sheila until we’re sure no one’s coming after her. Take Sydney. She’s better at that international stuff.”

“I think she’s better off here,” Griffin said.

She wanted to ask why, but the bedroom door suddenly opened and Sheila came out. Her eyes were bloodshot, her nose red and running. Her expression was one of hope as she stood there, focusing on Carillo. “If you thought I was in danger, you’d do everything you could to protect me, right?”

“Sheila—”

“I think Trip would, too. Protect me. Even if it meant leaving me behind. That means his heart’s in the right place.”

Carillo’s chest expanded as he inhaled deeply, probably trying to keep his temper in check. “Yeah. Sure it is.”

“If you heard him talking to his niece Emmie, wishing her a happy New Year, you’d see what I see. He’s a good man. That’s why he left me. To protect me.”

“You think he would have said something,” Carillo muttered under his breath.

“He probably didn’t because he was worried I’d follow him. And for all your FBI intelligence, you think you’d ask the person he called from my phone
right
before he took off. Maybe I should go look for him myself. God knows you’re not doing any good.”

“
What
person?” Carillo asked.

“How the hell should I know? His phone was dead, so he borrowed mine.”

“You have the number?”

“Of course I do. How do you think I found out he was flying to England?”

18

Carillo was about ready
to slam his fist into a wall as the meaning of the term “stir crazy” became abundantly clear. The moment Griffin and Tex copied every number from Sheila’s phone, they left. Sydney, tired from apparently having to stay up to make sure he and Sheila didn’t die in their sleep by aspirating on vomit, had napped all day, leaving him alone with Sheila, who spent the remainder of the day
and
night watching a Dr. Who marathon, crying at the English accents because they reminded her of Trip.

When Sydney finally emerged from her room, Sheila was demanding that Carillo take her home.

“I’d love to,” he said, “but you know damned well I’ve got my psych evaluation tomorrow afternoon. I can’t go back to work until they release me, and I’m sure as hell
not
going back home until that happens.”

“So what am I supposed to do in the meantime?” Sheila asked. “Sit here and twiddle my thumbs? I doubt whoever’s after Trip even knew I existed. Trip was a
very
private person.”

“Yeah. Kept a few secrets, didn’t he?”

“I want to go home, and you can’t stop me.”

“Be reasonable, Sheila.”

“I
am
being reasonable. And besides, we’re imposing on Sydney. It’s not fair to her.”

Carillo looked to Sydney, silently willing her to talk some reason into his wife’s head. “Tell her it’s not an imposition.”

“If she thinks it is,” Sydney replied, “you can both check into a hotel.”

“See?” Carillo said. “No imposition.”

“That’s not what she means, Tony, and you know it.”

To which Sydney said, “Maybe she could stay with Doc until you get back.”

“
That’s
your way of helping?” Carillo said.

Sydney ignored him, and Sheila said, “Can’t you at least call Doc? I could stay at the condo. Whoever was after Trip wouldn’t know to look for me there—if they were even looking for me at all.”

Knowing she wasn’t going to let up until he attempted, he called. Doc agreed, and Carillo made the flight arrangements.

Early the next morning he and Sydney personally escorted Sheila into Dulles International Airport and up to the security gate to stand in the long line of passengers waiting to be screened before being allowed into the terminal. Sydney moved off a few feet, giving them the illusion of privacy.

“Doc will be waiting for you when the plane lands,” Carillo said.

“I’ll be fine. They weren’t after me,” Sheila pointed out. “They were after Trip, and he’s gone.”

“Yeah, well, just in case, I’ll feel a lot better knowing that Doc’s with you.”

“I really don’t think he needs to stay with me at the condo, Tony. It’s not like they know where you live.”

“Just until this blows over, okay, Sheila?”

“Fine.” She leaned over and kissed him on his cheek. “If I didn’t say it before, I really do appreciate what you’re doing for Trip.”

“I’m not doing it for him.”

“I know.” She offered a smile, then handed her ticket to the guard, and Sydney and Carillo left her as she made her way through the lineup to the X ray and screening.

Carillo watched her until she slipped her shoes on, gathered her belongings, then walked off toward her gate.

“I think Sheila’s right,” Sydney said. “I don’t think she was ever a blip on their radar.”

“Surprising, considering the stupid moves she’s made since this whole thing started. Doc, at least, will keep her in tow.”

“Breakfast?”

“Definitely. Gotta gear up for that psych eval. This whole forced-leave-after-a-shooting-to-make-sure-you’re-mentally-fit sucks. I feel like going in and telling them exactly what I think.”

“That’ll get you a fit-for-duty. Not. They already think you’re stressed, Carillo. Don’t push it.”

“I know how to play the game, Sydney. I’ll be released and I can get back to San Francisco and my nice boring life.”

“And sign those divorce papers?”

“I can practically smell the ink drying.”

Carillo held the
door for Sydney, then followed her into the building and to the elevator. The shrink on retainer for their fit-for-duty interview was on the sixth floor. “You know why they make us come here, right?”

“I’m sure you’ll tell me.”

“Throw us off our game,” he said. “They do it on purpose. Home court advantage. Just like we do when we’re interviewing some dirtbag suspect.”

“Or maybe they just like being in their own comfortable office instead of one of our sterile interview rooms?”

“I just want to get back to work. I don’t like all this sitting around doing nothing. You know they’re out to get us.”

“Then don’t give them a reason to.”

His phone rang, and he pulled it from his belt. “Carillo here.”

It was Doc. “You did say your wife was set to arrive this afternoon?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“She wasn’t on the flight. I checked. She canceled at the gate and took the next flight to London.”

Carillo stopped in his tracks. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”

“With everything that’s happened? I wouldn’t kid about something like that.”

“Son of a bitch . . .”

“You want me to do anything?” Doc asked.

“I’ll get back to you. Thanks.” He disconnected, then hit the number for Sheila, wishing he could reach through the phone and strangle her. “Call me as soon as you land. Do
not
leave that airport.”

“What’s wrong?” Sydney asked.

“That idiot wife of mine made a slight detour on her way to San Francisco. By way of London.”

Sydney’s mouth dropped open. “What the hell are you going to do?” she asked when she finally recovered. “You haven’t even told them what’s really going on. It’s not like they’re going to let you go chasing after her.”

“First step, get through the damned psych eval.”

Carillo was
not
a fan of psychiatrists, psychologists, or any other medical professional who purported to know when an agent should or should not be allowed to return to duty, especially when
he
was the focus of that diagnosis.