Undercover (21 page)

Marshall turned to look at her as they drove away, and he turned the corner as quickly as he could. She was deathly pale and shaking as she held her dog on her lap and stared at him. “I'm sorry if I frightened you. My name is Marshall Everett, I'm a retired DEA agent. Drug Enforcement Administration. Those men have been watching you for weeks. Two of them, then they added two more yesterday, and they were moving in on you. I reported it to the CIA via my agency. They know who the men are, two of them at least, but they don't know who hired them. If you know anything about Jorge's brother, he could be after you. If so, it's taken him two years to find you.” He could see that she was shaking in her seat, and she glanced nervously at Stanley and clutched Lili to her. “My dog won't hurt her,” he reassured her.

“Where are you taking me?” she said in a choked voice. “I don't know anything about Luis except that he's high up in government, and was going to overthrow the government with Jorge. But I don't even know their last name. Jorge never told me. He said that his brother was a double agent, operating for the people's good.”

“Meanwhile they kidnap you,” he said through clenched teeth. He had taken several sharp turns, and got on the Périphérique at Porte Maillot, and from there to the freeway heading toward the airport, although he had no idea why he was heading there. He just wanted to get her away from the four men on Avenue Foch.

It occurred to her that Marshall might be kidnapping her, and not the South Americans he claimed were after her. But something about his story rang true. She didn't know who to believe, and every bad memory of two years earlier was rushing through her head. But there was something credible and trustworthy about him. He was
not
like Jorge in any way.

“I don't know where I'm taking you,” he said honestly. “Somewhere safe.” It was a promise he hoped he could keep as he called Bill Carter on his car phone then, to reassure her and contact him to tell him what had happened. It went straight to voice mail, but the message on speaker in his car said that it was Senior Special Agent Bill Carter of the DEA, which gave him some credibility at least, although the message could have been a fake for all she knew.

She had been afraid to resist him when he told her she was in danger and insisted she go with him. She was terrified of Marshall, although she recognized him from the park, where she'd seen him with his dog, and never paid much attention to him, or anyone, and now she was in his car and didn't know where they were going, and neither did he. He left a message for Bill to call him, and told him he had Ariana Gregory in the car with him, that four men had been moving in on her outside her house. And he requested that Bill call him immediately. The situation was serious. And he must call Sam Adams and tell him what was happening.

At the mention of Sam's name, Ariana relaxed considerably. It told her that Marshall was for real. But so were the men who were after her, in that case, and she turned to Marshall with terror in her eyes. “Why are they after me?”

“I don't know, but they've been following you for weeks. I reported it as soon as I saw them. I called my old boss at the DEA, and he called Sam Adams.” He didn't tell her that he'd first called about the journals he'd read. He didn't want her to know he had them and had dug them up after he saw her bury them.

“Why didn't he call me?” She looked frightened and confused. This was a terrible déjà vu for her.

“Because they don't know what's going on or who's behind it. And he told my old supervisor at the DEA that he didn't want to scare you for nothing. I hate to say this to you, but I don't think this is nothing.” It had just grown exponentially more serious with what Marshall had seen and sensed was about to happen, and she knew it too. There were tears running down her cheeks, as she continued shaking and looked sick. She felt as though she'd been catapulted two years back, into the past. She had thought the nightmare was over, dead and buried, and now she was in it again.

“I thought this was all over,” she said miserably through tears, and he felt sorry for her as he drove.

“Everyone else did too. I think the photo of you in the
Tribune
must have hit the wire services and the Internet, and now they know where to find you. We'll figure out what it is and who's behind it,” he reassured her. And he suddenly had an idea and punched in another number on his phone, and she noticed he was driving with one hand. The phone rang, and a man with a heavy Scottish accent answered immediately.

“MacDonald. New Scotland Yard.” He sounded alarmingly official.

“Mac? Marshall Everett. I need a favor.”

“Not you again,” he said with a groan. “The last time I saw you, you damn near got me arrested in Panama. How the hell are you, lad? Keeping out of trouble? Where are you, by the way? You're a hard man to keep up with.” It had been nearly four years since they'd seen each other and a lot had changed, which Mac didn't know.

“I'm in Paris, with a lady friend. Do you have room for two houseguests?”

“Don't they pay you guys a decent wage? Can't you take your woman to a hotel?”

“I'm too cheap to pay for one. I'll take the couch, if you've got one.”

“And leave your woman to me? Good man,” he said, as Ariana smiled in spite of herself. He sounded like a nice guy, and he was further credibility for Marshall. “Scotland Yard” had done it for her, unless he was part of a plot too, which seemed unlikely. As terrified as she was, she believed Marshall now, although she was still shocked that she had gotten into the car with him, but he was very convincing, and the look in his eyes had told her she had to, or something terrible was about to happen. He had saved her. “When are you coming?” Geoff MacDonald asked him. He was a commander of the Specialist Crime Directorate of the London Metropolitan Police Service, in the unit to investigate organized international crime. They had first met when Geoff MacDonald took a special training class at the FBI Academy in Quantico while Marshall got his DEA training there. And they had worked on a few cases together over the years, and become friends.

“We'll be there in about five hours. We wanted to surprise you. We're on the road from Paris now,” Marshall said, trying to sound more casual than he felt.

“Are you still undercover?”

“At the moment, yes. In real life, no. You'll see why when I get there.”

“That must be a blessing to those blokes in South America, with you screwing up their business. I'm surprised they haven't killed you by now.”

“They tried,” Marshall said, laughing. “And listen, Mac, don't tell anyone I'm coming. Nor the lady.”

“Ah, cheating on your wife, are you? I hope I'm not on speakerphone,” he said with a broad guffaw, and even Ariana laughed.

“You are, and I still don't have one. No one will have me.”

“Sounds right. What's your poison these days? Tequila or scotch? I'll go round the shop and get some before you get here.”

“I'm working, Mac,” Marshall said, trying to sound respectable to Ariana. He and Geoff had shared some rowdy times after hours, and at the end of a case.

“A likely story, with a woman with you. Is she an agent?”

“No. I'll tell you when I get there. I'll call you when we get to London. You can give me the address then.”

“Have a nice drive. Keep both hands on the wheel, lad. Eyes straight ahead,” he said, and laughed at his own joke, and then they signed off, as Marshall looked apologetically at Ariana.

“Sorry, he's a little rough around the edges, but he's a great guy. We've done some DEA work together. I'd trust him with my life. In fact I have.” He grinned. And as he drove, he realized how much he missed his job. The adrenaline was pumping, and all he could think of were the four men on Avenue Foch who had come within a hair of grabbing Ariana for the second time. “We can't go back now, until we know who those men are and what this is about. I think we should stay out of Paris till Sam tells us,” he said seriously, and she nodded. She didn't want to be anywhere near them, and was grateful Marshall had been there. “We can stay with Mac while the CIA boys figure it out. Those men are going to expect you to come back in a few hours. They won't realize you're really gone for a while. They'll probably think you're shacked up with me. But by tomorrow they'll know something went wrong. Do you have anything sensitive in your apartment?” She shook her head as Stanley put his enormous head over the backseat and sniffed at Lili, and she licked his nose. They were doing fine so far. “Is there anything they shouldn't find? Anything that links you to Jorge or his brother?”

“No. I got rid of all that a while ago.” Marshall had to stop himself from saying “Yes, I know. Now I have it,” but he just nodded. “How did you know what was happening?” she asked him. If all he said was true, and she was beginning to think it was, she was in danger all over again.

“I saw one of them watching you. There were only two of them at first. They took turns following you to the park. I called my boss at the DEA, and he got the rest from Sam Adams at the CIA. I ID'ed a photo of you.” The explanation was too thin, but she was too upset to realize it just yet. Her mind was in a jumble from what had almost happened, again. She shuddered at what would have occurred if he hadn't noticed. She'd be gone by now, with a hood over her head, in the trunk of their car. Or maybe even dead. She wondered if they'd been looking for her for all this time, and if the photo in the
Herald
Tribune
was really how they found her.

They drove on in silence for several hours, and reached the tunnel at Coquelles near Calais. Marshall had called ahead for a reservation. And they arrived in time to board half an hour before departure time of the shuttle. Marshall drove the car onto the platform, and they opted to stay in it. He didn't want Ariana wandering around, in case there were more of them than he knew and they'd been followed. He didn't think so, and had been watching the road closely, but he wanted to be cautious. He wanted to get her to London safely. He was grateful that he always carried his passport in his pocket, and Ariana said she had hers in her purse. She always carried it on her abroad as ID, and Marshall was planning to say that both dogs were service dogs if they were questioned, and he still had one of his old cards on him that identified him as a senior special agent of the DEA.

It took thirty-five minutes to cross the English Channel, and they left the shuttle at Folkestone, where they both showed their passports. And then they drove on. And just as they reached the outskirts of London, Bill called him from his office, and Marshall told him what had happened. He kept him on speakerphone so he could drive and Ariana could hear him too. She was still quiet and deathly pale.

“Where are you taking her?” Bill asked with deep concern.

“To a friend of mine from Scotland Yard.”

“Not that maniac they sent to Panama with you?” Bill laughed as he said it.

“The very same. I figured she'd be safe there. We're going to his house in London.” He told Bill about the four men then.

“I hope she drinks a lot.” Marshall glanced at Ariana, and she smiled. At least it lightened the moment. “I'll call Sam right away.” And then he addressed Ariana. “Miss Gregory, are you all right?”

“Yes, yes, I am,” she said hesitantly. It had been a stressful few hours, and she was fighting the memory of her terror of two years before, but this was far more civilized, and she was reassured now that Marshall was what he said he was. By sheer luck, she had made the right decision to go with him.

“You're in good hands—the best,” Bill reassured her. “We'll get to the bottom of this quickly. Agent Everett did the right thing getting you out of Paris.”

“I'm glad he did,” she said in a small voice, and looked gratefully at Marshall as she said it. “Why do you think they're after me again?”

“We don't know yet. But I think Special Agent Everett may be right. It may be Jorge's brother, worried about what you know and trying to silence you before you expose him. It's taken him a while to find you.”

“I don't know anything about him, except that he's in the government. That's all I know.”

“It sounds like he's playing a double game, and your knowing that puts him at great risk. That's enough to make him want to get you out of the picture. Sam Adams can figure out the rest,” he said calmly. He wanted to talk to Sam too about arresting the four men in Paris and holding them for questioning. Some or all of them were probably on a terrorist list, which would give them grounds to deport them. But they had to get to the root of the problem and find out who had hired them to grab her. More than likely it was Jorge's brother, if that could be traced.

Marshall called Geoff MacDonald after that, and he gave them his home address and said he'd meet them there in twenty minutes. It took them that long to get to his house. Mac was waiting for them when Marshall rang the doorbell. It wasn't as warm as it had been in Paris, and Ariana was cold in her shorts and T-shirt, as they walked into the house. Mac clapped Marshall on the shoulder.

“Good to see you, lad.” And then he saw Ariana and smiled broadly. He was in his early fifties, a tall, burly man who had played rugby in his youth. He looked admiringly at Ariana and waved vaguely at the house. “Sorry, my wife left me thirty years ago, and I haven't had time to clean the place since.” They had brought both dogs in with them, and Mac didn't seem to mind. Ariana went to the kitchen to give them each a bowl of water, and the two dogs acted as if they had grown up together. Stanley got Lili soaking wet as he lapped up the water, and Marshall left them both out in the backyard for a few minutes. Mac offered Ariana and Marshall a drink, which they declined. He said he had a guest room upstairs for Ariana if she wanted, and he waved grandly at the couch for Marshall. It looked like it had no springs left, but he didn't care. Then Mac noticed his arm and frowned.