"I understand that," Marlene conceded, "however"-she began ticking off her counterpoints on her fingers-"her passport was found in her apartment. No one has used her credit cards or her checking account. She'd laid out her clothes and her books, like any good student getting ready for school the next day. Also, I did some nosing around in the Basque community, which is like one big family, and by everybody's consensus, Maria and her father were as close as we are to our own children. Do you think Lucy or the boys would 'run away' and leave us wondering what happened to them?"
"No, of course not," Butch replied. "If I had to give an opinion, I'd agree Maria's dead. I'm even willing to concede that it's a plausible theory that the reason she is dead is because she was pregnant and Huttington was the father. But it's just one theory and there's another that says she's the victim of a complete stranger who saw a pretty girl and took her into those mountains, killed her, and left her body there. It's a big country. What I'm having a harder time wrapping my arms around is that her disappearance, and probable murder, is somehow connected to Mikey's case."
It was a fair point, and they'd dropped the conversation. Then the telephone rang. It was Murrow calling to alert them to a forthcoming story by Ariadne in the next morning's edition of her newspaper.
"Let me read you a little of it," Murrow said. "It's, uh, written in the first person and starts with Ariadne meeting with an anonymous source on the Staten Island Ferry this evening."
This reporter and her source were ambushed last night on the ferry by terrorists led by alleged Russian agent Nadya Malovo-the same woman captured after the hostage crisis at St. Patrick's Cathedral and turned over to Russian authorities by U.S. law enforcement.
Malovo confirmed to sources that she was responsible for planting the bomb at the Black Sea Cafe earlier this month. She also boasted that she worked for powerful individuals in Russia who were encouraging acts of terrorism by Islamic extremists. Their aim is to frighten the public in Russia and legitimize their violent suppression of Chechen nationalists to Western governments by claiming to be fighting the worldwide "War on Terrorism."
"Wow, heck of a story," Karp said.
"Um, yeah, but boss, I feel like I better tell you something…"
"Uh-oh, I'm not sure I like the sound of that."
"Yeah, well, it probably won't get out," Murrow replied. "But in case it does, I wanted you to hear it from me first… I, uh, well, I was there when this all happened."
Karp wasn't the only one who swore after the story hit the streets. There was an immediate storm of criticism aimed at Stupenagel from congressmen, federal law enforcement agencies, the State Department, and the Russian embassy. They dismissed her story as "fantasy" and "fabrications." It was pointed out that all the men found dead on the ferry were from Muslim countries and several were on the Homeland Security Department's list of terrorism suspects. A few days later, a spokesman for the department announced that an investigation had determined that the purpose of the terrorists on board the ferry had been to take over the boat and blow it up. "Any reports of a more massive conspiracy have been discounted," he said without referring to Stupenagel's story specifically.
The rest of the media-stung once again by a Stupenagel scoop-was only too happy to run with the "official" version of events and snipe at their competitor. Their stories implied that Stupenagel was embellishing her story to pump up her role in the action. Several papers printed editorials lambasting her for "irresponsible and the 'me-first' journalism…that sullies the good name of our profession."
Stupenagel did have one defender. Senator Tom McCullum was quoted as saying that the intensity of the criticism following the publication of Stupenagel's story "probably is a good barometer of the veracity of her reports." He then announced that he wanted to expand his call for a congressional inquiry into the "debacle at St. Patrick's Cathedral" to include the bombing of the Black Sea Cafe and the attack on the Staten Island Ferry.
Stupenagel had just laughed off the criticism as "professional jealousy and political butt-covering." Then, in a reversal of their usual roles, she had sworn Marlene and Butch to "off-the-record" secrecy before she would reveal the entire story, including identifying Ivgeny Karchovski and David Grale as the leaders of the so-called antiterrorism squad.
When she was finished, Karp had started in on her but Stupenagel shut him down. "I didn't want him to go, either," she said. "But he insisted out of concern for me. It's his life, Butch, and like it or not-and I'm not entirely sure how it happened-we seem to have found a connection. He didn't do anything illegal, nor was this in the DAO's jurisdiction. We kept his name out of it, and no one else knows he was there. So lay off."
A few days later, Marlene returned to Idaho to continue preparations for the trial. Butch wouldn't be coming for another couple of weeks, but she wasn't alone. Detective Clay Fulton had insisted on accompanying her. She suspected that her husband had asked him to keep an eye on her, but Fulton made it sound like it was his idea and that he needed a vacation away from Manhattan.
When she asked how it was that a New York City detective could justify working on a civil case in Idaho, he explained that like his boss, he was taking a leave of absence. He, too, was still rehabilitating from leg wounds after being shot by Andrew Kane during the sociopath's bloody escape a year earlier. "Besides, Helen's never seen that part of the country," he said of his wife, "and she has a notion to try skiing at Sun Valley when the trial is over."
Ostensibly, Fulton was working on the O'Toole case, but after talking it over with Marlene and Butch, he'd also volunteered to nose around a little regarding the disappearance of Maria Santacristina. "Just in case there's something to this theory that they're connected," he said.
As it turned out, Fulton had once again proved why he was one of New York's finest. In fact, Marlene had driven to Sawtooth from O'Toole's house that night to meet with Eugenio Santacristina because of what Fulton had recently learned.
The fresh layer of snow squeaked beneath Marlene's boots as she walked from the SUV she'd rented to the Basque Cultural Center in Sawtooth. All she'd told Santacristina was that she had some news that might interest him. He'd asked no more questions, but suggested that they meet at the cultural center so that she could see a real Basque festival. "And no one will bother us there."
A few lonely flakes still filtered down, but otherwise it was a clear February night in the mountains, with stars so brilliant that they shimmered like bits of crystal against the ebony backdrop.
Stomping the snow off her feet, she entered the center just as a dance was beginning in the main hall. A wide circle of men and women held hands, twirling, stomping, and laughing as they moved counterclockwise to the music. The women were dressed in loose white blouses with dark vests and long, full red skirts that blossomed like giant roses as they swung their hips and kicked their legs. The men wore red berets, white shirts, and white pants accented by a red sash.
In the center of the circle, young men took turns performing wild, acrobatic leaps and spins to shouts of admiration from those in the circle, as well as from the spectators. The energy and music reminded Marlene of gypsies, or some wild mountain tribe whose customs and origins were lost in the depths of time. She spotted Eugenio Santacristina standing across the hall with a group of similarly dressed men and waved when one of the men touched his shoulder and pointed to her.