True Honor (21 page)

“Amy, what’s the problem?”

“Please step from the car.” The tone of her voice said she expected the order to be obeyed. Other than stepping back out of the way, she simply waited for him to comply.

He shut off the car, picked up his billfold from the dashboard, and stepped out.

She motioned back toward her patrol car and he followed the silent order. He saw the relaxation creep in as he moved away from his car. “What’s going on?”

“You picked up this rental car at the Bismarck airport?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ask for this particular car by model?”

“I requested a large car with leg room.”

He saw a small smile as she looked him over. “Yes, I imagine a compact would have been a problem. Where were you September 11?”

Now he was more confused than ever. “With your sister in Virginia.”

She studied him for a moment and then gave a small nod. “I figure her read of character is still pretty good.” She stepped away and lifted her radio. “Jim, send a tow truck. The car is at mile marker 8, Route 6, just inside the state line.”

“Will do, Sheriff.”

“I gather there’s a problem with the car,” Sam said.

“Yes.”

“A problem for me?”

Amy smiled. “Not unless your prints are on the stash we think is inside that wheel well.”

Sam blinked. “I’ve been driving around contraband?”

“Despite the war, most crime around here is still the normal kind. We arrested the kid who put it there two days ago, only he had managed to confuse the car he put it in. Process of elimination, we made it out to be yours. We’ll get you another rental car.” She leaned against the side of the squad car and tugged open a pocket. She offered him a butterscotch candy. “Sorry about the welcome; it’s going to be a boring twenty minutes.”

“I’ve done boring before.”

“I thought you were down at Timber Lake. What are you doing up this way?”

He let himself relax. “Looking for you.”

“Truly? Well you found me.”

MAY 24

Friday, 11:18 a.m.

Central Intelligence Agency

Darcy studied the time line tacked on Gabriel’s bulletin board. “Luther hired snipers to go after our guys on September 9; he just hired Jerry and a former IRA sniper. We think Luther was behind the wave of sniper attacks across Europe. Looking at that picture, it’s pretty obvious we need to get a better handle on snipers who are out there for hire. I don’t see that pattern ending.”

“It looks to me like he’s hiring just the sniper and letting that man choose and provide his own support team,” Gabe agreed.

“If only we could get an idea of his target list.”

“We need to focus more on squeezing Luther’s money,” Gabe countered. “We find his money, then his ability to hire snipers of this caliber disappears. The diversity of his targets suggests he’s not the one with a master list. The names are being given to him by different groups, and he’s simply facilitating the contacts.”

Gabriel tacked a new picture of Vladimir to the board. “We’ve got this down to Luther, his wife, Renee, and Vladimir. We get them, and the people they’ve hired will die on the vine.”

“Add an unknown person to replace Dansky,” Darcy said. “Luther’s new number three has to be several things: trustworthy, a good planner, and probably experienced at moving money.”

“Add acceptable to Vladimir. He’s hiring the help and will be thinking about his own safety as much as Luther’s. He won’t want someone he doesn’t trust to know their movements.”

Darcy nodded. “Not a small point.” The calendar on the wall haunted her. The September 11 anniversary was out there and coming closer. “Luther’s got a hit list, and it scares me that the Brits or the Special Ops guys that hit him in Algeria and Morocco will be on it. On the opening day of this war he attempted three hits in the space of an hour. Can we at least put together a list of names of who might be vulnerable and warn the guys?”

“I’ve already talked to the Defense Department. They understand the risks this new information represents. Don’t worry about that, Dar. They’ll take care of their own. My guess is the team will be tucked away on some military base out of sight, and they’ll have arranged security for the families. A sniper has to establish a base of operations, has to know the terrain. If you’re new to town, it’s not easy to move within a town like Norfolk these days and not be noticed. There are too many military personnel at the numerous bases who are already looking for trouble.”

Darcy had experienced a taste of that security on her brief trip to Norfolk. She knew it was good, but she still didn’t like the threat out there.

The phone on Gabriel’s desk rang. He leaned back to answer it. “Hello.”

“Yes.”

Darcy looked over and saw a strange look cross his face.

“What’s the address?” He reached for a pen and paper.

“We’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.”

Gabriel hung up the phone.

“What?” Darcy asked.

“The FBI has something we need to see. They may have found one of Luther’s hired snipers.”

MAY 24

Friday, 11:50 a.m.

Shelton, North Dakota

Sam walked around Darcy’s home, feeling a combination of envy, wonder, and sheer disbelief. She had called this house a multiyear project. There was some truth to that. The plumbing and electrical probably needed to be totally gutted. The outside was weathered and would need substantial work to go with the new roof she’d put on. But the house . . . 

Sam leaned over the stair railing to peer down at Amy. “She’s planning to what?”

“Rip out that staircase and put in a spiral one and open up this part of the entryway.”

“This is pure walnut.”

“I told her that,” Amy said.

“How’s she going to get furniture upstairs with a spiral staircase?”

“She says she’ll just never change it.”

“Amy, she buys a masterpiece and she wants to modernize the heart out of it?”

“She’s bored.”

The house must have twenty rooms; it was huge. He found the bathroom Darcy had mentioned she was remodeling. Half the floor tiles were pulled up, tile that must have been custom-made given the scripted
J
in each tile. A few were chipped and they showed the yellowing of age, but still . . . “Who built this place?”

“An old guy who found a gold mine and wanted the town to remember him.”

“They will.”

“But not for the reason he hoped. He drove his car into the creek and drowned.”

“Ouch.”

“Darcy was a favorite of his. He left her first rights to buy the house.”

“This is a spectacular house. She owns all the land too?” He looked out the stairway landing window to get a good view. The grounds reflected an enormous amount of Darcy’s energy. The fence bounding the property had been repaired and the underbrush cleared. An outbuilding had been torn down and the ground leveled. There was enough wood chopped to keep a fireplace blazing for a full winter season. Darcy had been working from the outside of the property in.

“She owns just over a hundred acres—all the surrounding land plus the land down to the creek.”

Sam descended the stairs, letting his hand slide down the banister. “With a lot of work this will become a great place.”

Amy perched on the window seat overlooking the huge front yard. “I think I’m starting to really like you, Navy SEAL Sam Houston. You’ll be good for Darcy.” She offered a book of wallpaper samples. “She chose this one for the kitchen.”

“She was pulling your leg.”

“I sincerely hope so.”

“She was smart enough to buy a wonderful house; she’ll fix it up right. And she’s got to be joking about the spiral staircase.” A multiyear project—Darcy had certainly found that. It told him a lot about the future she planned for herself: a place with space, freedom, work that would keep her outdoors. This was a decision to return to her roots of her hometown and family. They were good priorities. “What does she talk about doing once she gets the house fixed up?”

“Besides wandering into my office to see what’s going on that might be interesting?”

“She mentioned she was a bit bored.”

“That’s the understatement of the year. Darcy has to be in the middle of the action or else she’s out somewhere making the news.” Amy picked up another paint sample strip. “Actually, she has been seriously exploring a few options. Our dad was a biographer, a rather good one. He used to go to these obscure towns to look up the house where someone had been born, visit neighbors who might have lived in the community for decades, dig out school yearbooks and talk to fellow classmates. Darcy used to help him with the research. I think she was exploring writing some history of the cold war from her firsthand perspective. She also talked about buying the ice cream parlor when Sandy retired. Personally I’d bet on the ice cream parlor with a few tall tales for the tourists who come to town.”

“You actually have tourists visit your spot-in-the-road town?”

Amy laughed. “A handful every year. And the town is big enough to have its share of troublemakers.” She got up. “My husband and I live in the ranch house down the road. You want to come to lunch? You can spend the afternoon making a video that is guaranteed to make Darcy homesick. Your new rental car should be here by then.”

“I want you on the tape.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“You don’t need to get back to the office?”

Amy shook her head. “One of the pleasures of being the boss. Jim will call if something urgent crops up.” She locked the house behind them. “I’m glad you came by, Sam.”

“Can you not tell Darcy I came to look you up?”

She laughed. “Tell her what?”

Seventeen

* * *

MAY 24

Friday, 12:05 p.m.

McLean, Virginia

Darcy walked up the carpeted stairs of the condo, following Gabriel and the state police officer who had become their escort. They had already passed through two checkpoints and ducked under yellow police tape just to get to the building. She was not accustomed to walking into a crime scene. She saw information about events like this in reports, occasionally saw photos, but it didn’t exude the sight, smell, and punch of the reality.

Given the number of Fairfax County sheriff and Commonwealth of Virginia police cars blocking off Great Falls Street, the lack of people inside the condo was surprising. The upper level of the condo had only one FBI agent and two men from the crime scene unit present.

“Sir, they’re here.”

The FBI agent turned, finished his phone call, and came to meet them. “Special Agent Mike Sands. I called.”

“Gabriel Arneau; this is my partner.”

Darcy endured the curious look and quietly returned it. The agent nodded his thanks to their escort, dismissing him.

“What we have is a murder and a message left for you, Gabriel. As soon as the sheriff reported what they had, the director tapped me to handle this one. Since the scene context seems critical to figuring out what happened, I’ve held things for the moment rather than let the crime lab guys move in. I’ve worked a few cases with Agency connections, and they haven’t been the smoothest experiences in my life. I’d like your cooperation.”

Gabriel shifted both forearm crutches to his left hand and raised his right hand to rub the back of his neck. He looked over at Darcy. “What do you think?”

She’d summed up the agent in his first two sentences. He’d already proven he was more interested in getting information to solve his case than protecting it from an interagency turf war, and the FBI director trusted him. Darcy smiled back at Gabe. “He’s not wearing a tie, those shoes haven’t been spending much idle time behind a desk, and he was smart enough not to ask for my name.”

The agent winced at the mention of the tie.

Gabe rested his weight back on his crutches and nodded. “Mike, how do you define full cooperation?”

“A seat in your office.”

“Since she monopolizes the couch, you’re welcome to it. We’ll figure out how to expedite the code word clearance to make it happen.”

“Oh, I’ve already got the code word clearance, not that it’s much of a blessing; hence the director’s call.”

Gabriel laughed. “Show me what we’ve got.”

Agent Sands led the way to the room at the end of the hall. The layout suggested it had been intended for use as a large bedroom, but it had been turned into an office.

“You want to clear the room so we can talk freely?” Gabe suggested.

Mike nodded to the two technicians photographing the scene, and they left the room.

“They rushed a set of fingerprints through the system. They identified him as a former Russian army officer,” Agent Sands offered.

Maps on the wall, photos. Darcy had never seen a sniper rifle up close, but she put two and two together and the open gun case on the bed made it obvious that the weapon wasn’t used to hunt deer. Darcy stood just inside the doorway and simply absorbed it. The blown-up photos on the wall were taped at eye level in a line. She was looking at the images of people she knew, agents now working at CIA headquarters. The street map of this area had also been blown up, and one-way streets were marked in red with ongoing construction points highlighted.

A man was dead. He was slumped over the table near the window, his face turned away. From the look of the pool of blood, not much remained of his head. He wore a tailored suit, and at the wrists she could see white shirt cuffs. Pinned to his back was a white piece of paper with a message.

Even from across the room she could read the words written with a red marker.
Call Gabriel Arneau, CIA.
The message was so startling. Darcy accepted the image she would have to wrestle to forget and walked across the room to join Gabe beside the body. “Your desk phone number.”

Gabe knelt to study the note, not touching anything.

“Tell me what you know, Agent Sands.”

“We think his name is Mikail Provosta. Immigration didn’t know he was in the country. We’re guessing he’s been dead about eight hours. He had one lethal sniper rifle in that case.”

“You shoot some?” Gabe asked.

“Enough to know what I’m seeing is some well-developed planning.”