She hesitated for only a moment. No sense in trying to fool Russ. “No, I don’t. No plan. Just a gut feeling.”
“What kind of feeling?”
Marika looked off into the city, thousands of windows glimmering in the afternoon sun. “That it all happens here.”
Chapter 24
Betrayal. It never got old, no matter how many times you had done it before. Using people — getting close to them, learning them, using that knowledge against them. Exploiting their mistakes. Their sins.
And there were times even you didn’t know what you were doing, or what it would become. Like now.
One night had brought him to this. Just one night. A fling. And now it was their leverage.
Thomas picked up a framed picture off the coffee table, glancing into the eyes of a wife. A loving husband. Soon-to-be parents.
“Her check-in just placed her at a gas station three miles away,” the voice in his ear informed him. Carol. “Be ready.”
Right.
He knew when she entered the driveway, the chime of an alarm going off within the house. Heard her footsteps on the stairs outside in the garage, fumbling with a key in the door.
Showtime, and just like any good show, it was made of lies.
The fluorescent in the kitchen came flickering on, catching her in its light. The photo…hadn’t done her justice. She was more beautiful than he had remembered — radiant in the flush of her pregnancy.
Thomas waited for her to set down her purse on the counter, laying her phone beside it.
“Hello, Nicole,” he said, moving from the shadows of the family room. He saw her face go white at the sound of his voice, her voice trembling as she began to speak.
“W-what are you doing here? I told you it was over — it was a mistake. I told you never to call me again.” The words came tumbling out of her mouth in almost a panicked rush.
“So I didn’t call you,” Thomas replied calmly, eyeing the distance between her and her cellphone. “I just came. You weren’t that hard to find.”
She made no move toward it, indecision in her eyes. “What if Trent comes home — finds you here?”
“I’m counting on him doing just that,” he replied, a note of sadness in his voice. “In fact, I want you to call him, just to be sure he does.”
“Why? We’ve been happy these last few years, I’m expecting his child — and yes, don’t look at me like that — it is his child,” she retorted angrily. “I can’t allow you to ruin all of that.”
“And I won’t,” he lied, knowing it was an impossible promise. “You know I work in homeland security. I need to talk to him — can’t use normal channels. I just need you to get him to come home.”
She stood there, a look of disbelief on her face. “How?”
Thomas took a deep breath. It was Harry’s playbook, all the way to the bitter end. “Tell him you’re in labor…”
“Special Agent Altmann,” Marika announced, flashing her badge. “We just flew in from Denver — you should have received a flash from the S-A-C there. We’re following up on a lead in the Abu Kareem case.”
“We did,” the young woman behind the desk responded, barely looking up from her work. “What can I do?”
“I was ordered to liaise with Special Agent Powers. Can you direct me to him?”
“You’ll have to speak with me instead.” The woman got up from behind her desk, setting aside a stack of papers. “Agent Chase, a pleasure to meet you.”
“What’s the problem?”
“Powers just went home. His wife is expecting a child.” A smile, for the first time. “Apparently she just went into labor. Men…they have no idea what we go through, do they?”
If you say so, Marika thought. “What are you doing concerning the threat?”
“The LVMPD has been brought into the loop as much as we’ve deemed necessary and the resorts have been notified that Abu Kareem is a person of interest.”
“Is that all?”
Agent Chase half-turned, looking into Marika’s eyes. “This city deals with terrorist threats several times a year, Agent Altmann. We’ve even had chatter that suggested Lashkar-e-Taiba sympathizers might be operating in the city. That was over a year ago, but we don’t let our guard down. The resorts — their facial recognition software is more advanced than ours and interfaced with the DMV databases, in addition to ours and Interpol’s. If Abu Kareem darkens their door, we’ll know within minutes.”
The pale glow of the laptop was the only light illuminating the library, a cold light absorbed in the dark furniture, the towering oaken bookshelves.
Roy Coftey lowered his empty glass to the desk, still tasting the rum on his lips. The way forward was…unclear, to put it mildly.
His hand slid across the smooth mahogany of the desktop, tapping gently on the computer mouse. It was all there — everything, all the evidence of treason. E-mails dating back over the course of nine months, back to the time when Hancock’s campaign had first encountered trouble.
Coftey remembered it well. Remembered the late night teleconferences with Ian Cahill. You have to deliver Oklahoma, Roy.
With the Sooner State’s electoral votes numbering a scant nine, he’d known they were desperate at that point. Known they’d be pulling out all the stops.
He just hadn’t known how many stops there were to pull. Voter fraud was one thing — they’d done it for years, no big deal. Just the way the game was played. But this…this was beyond the pale.
His shirt was damp with sweat, the tie loose around his throat. He ran a hand through his greying hair, the memories flickering across his mind’s eye.
Waist-deep in a rice paddy, the sun burning down. Even now he could smell the burning, sulphurous stench of gunpowder, hear the sound of slugs splashing into the water around him.
They’d been out in the open that day in Cambodia. On their own. Deniable.
Just like Kranemeyer’s team in Israel. Betrayed by their own leaders. Politicians.
Coftey shook his head, favoring his empty glass with a weary glance. That was why he’d come to Washington those many years ago, wasn’t it?
To be better than them. To make a difference. And somewhere along the way…he had become like all the rest.
Thirty-four years was enough to corrupt a saint, and he’d never qualified in that category.
What had he become?
He cast another long glance at the evidence on-screen, his lips curling up in a sneer of disgust. Not that.
His hand slipped out, fingers encircling the bottle of rum as he poured himself another glass. Taking Hancock down would require going up against his own party, depriving them of their chance to retake the White House.
In all likelihood, it would be the death of his political career. Of everything he had worked to build over the decades.
He could feel a presence and he looked up to see Melody standing in the doorway of the library, her slender form draped in a robe. “Planning to join me?”
“Yeah,” Coftey replied, a slow smile passing across his lips. “Just as soon as I finish my rum.”
He watched her go before turning back to the computer — remembering his words to Kranemeyer.
“Let’s burn it down.”