Sanders checked around the corner of the building to make sure Moynihan was still in the car. “How so?”
“I spoke to Reed.”
“The one with the crack-whore daughter?”
“Yes, the heroin addict I told you about,” he corrected. “He said one of their operatives went dark. The timing of it makes him our prime suspect.”
“Did Reed say it was him?”
“No, but he didn’t have to. There’s no doubt their operative was at the airport with Francis Millar. He all but confirmed it. You don’t just buy DARPA-made devices at a shopping mall kiosk. He sounded nervous to me. Like he had something to hide.”
“You’re threatening his daughter. Of course he’ll be nervous.”
“Reed said this operative is too good to make a mistake. It matched up with the MO in Poolesville. It was professional.”
“Yeah. No doubt, but he can’t be in two places at once. He probably wouldn’t have had the time to make it to Dulles.”
Culder hadn’t thought of the timing. “True, but Simpson has more than one operative. We’ll have pictures of this one soon. Be ready to head to Chicago tomorrow. In the meantime, I need you to check out a place in Ashburn.”
“Virginia?”
“Yes. The analysts picked up a cell signal from one of the phones that was near the black site. It looks like it was turned on to make a call. The signal was traced to Cochran Mill Road. A place called the Lucky Stone Quarry.”
“How fitting.”
“Is she still with you?” Culder asked.
“Yeah, she’s in the car.” He looked nervously around the corner again to confirm. “We’re in Rockville, parked at a twenty-four-hour gas station.”
“Good. This quarry, it might be a good place to take care of business once you have everything under control.”
The hair on the back of Sanders’s neck stood up. He had carried out his share of hits, but this was the first time that the director had ordered him to kill a woman. Not only that, but a fellow law enforcement officer. Someone who he knew didn’t deserve to die. He’d had other jobs that didn’t sit well with him for one reason or another, but this one opened up a whole new category of wrong. He believed in everything he did on the HVT Squad, but this time it would be difficult to separate the job from the person. This wouldn’t be a memory that was easily wiped away. This hit would haunt him.
He headed back into the station and picked up some coffee before returning to the car. Moynihan reached across the front seat and opened his door with a push. He gave her an approving nod and followed it up with a smile.
“Thanks,” he said as he passed her a cup.
“No problem. Thank you. Lord knows I need it after tonight. Was that Director Culder?”
He nodded. “About tonight,” he said with a severity she hadn’t seen before. “Culder doesn’t want anything to get out about this operation. At least not yet. It’s way too sensitive.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Jake, three men are dead, and Melody Millar has disappeared. It’s not something you can just sit on. A young girl’s life is at stake.”
Culder was right. She wasn’t about to keep her mouth shut.
“Not permanently, Cathy,” Sanders said in a “No shit, Sherlock” tone. “Culder is concerned. He thinks Poolesville might have been an inside job,” he lied.
She looked at him in disbelief. “What?”
“Exactly. So, at least for now, we need to make sure we keep this under wraps. Our phones, the ones that were on at the house, need to stay off.”
“Gotcha. Wow.” She turned to look out the passenger window and quietly added, “I should really call someone about this. Damn cell phones.”
“What was that?” Sanders asked.
Moynihan took a sip of her coffee. “Never mind,” she said.
The FBI agent fixed her eyes to his, and he had no doubt that she could see right through him. Sanders shifted in his seat, increasingly uncomfortable with the situation.
“I’m not so sure I need this anymore,” she said, placing her coffee into a cup holder in the center console. “That news pretty much woke me right up.”
“Keep drinking,” he said. He gave her an appraising look. “They were able to trace the location of one of the cell phones from the house. We need to go check it out.”
Chapter 61
His shoulders tightened, and he slouched down in his seat. Etzy Millar cringed as he watched the stunning beauty unzip the blue carry-on bag. His eyes widened as she pulled out a couple of small carbon parts for the device Trent Turner had referred to as the PMD. His heart pounded as she reached her hand into the bag once again. Her face wore a look of concern. She stopped short, leaving the item she had just grabbed inside his bag. Her face turned red, and she quickly put everything back and closed the overhead bin.
It was an awkward start to the flight, but everything had settled down for the rest of their trip. The woman had checked her instrument with the flight attendant and never spoke to Turner again. Before they landed, the operative handed Millar a cell phone and an earpiece. He planned to use them to guide him to their hotel from a distance.
The first several moves were preplanned to make sure no connection was made between the two of them. A couple of loops around the airport, a cab ride to a nightclub downtown, out the back door and into a waiting cab. And then things got interesting. Turner had given him a crash course on countersurveillance tactics at his townhouse, but Millar learned to appreciate the craft even more after putting it to use through the city of Chicago.
The two men entered the hotel room. It looked as if its last coat of white paint had been put on decades ago. There were two twin beds made up with well-worn blue bedding, a desk, and a small bathroom.
“That was nuts!” Millar said.
Turner immediately went to close the window shades and said, “It turns out you’re a popular guy.”
“Yeah, I saw him. This spy stuff is pretty cool.”
Turner smiled. “You spotted one, did you?”
Millar gave him a quizzical look.
“Good thing I didn’t give you a heads up about the others,” Turner said. “We wouldn’t want things to get too cool.”
Millar raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “What?”
“Let’s just say it was more than one guy.”
“No way!”
“Way.” Turner shook an angry finger at Millar and squinted one of his eyes. “You, my friend, are being watched by the FBI.”
Millar’s thoughts turned to the news program that showed the FBI processing the crime scene.
“It wasn’t too hard to put it together,” he said. “He’s…” He looked down before continuing somberly. “Well, he was my best friend, so…”
“Sorry about your friend. That’s tough.” The operative met his eyes and said, “They didn’t take you in because they were hoping you’d lead them to something or someone.”
Millar smiled. “Well, I didn’t.”
Turner nodded and said, “No, you didn’t.”
“So what’s the deal with that beauty on the plane? She had eyes on you, man. That was intense.”
“That?” He shrugged his shoulders with a half smile. “Well, it’s complicated.”
“I take it that wasn’t part of your being-anonymous script,” Millar joked.
Turner shook his head and laughed. “You’ve got that right.”
“I figured you two had hooked up before or something, you know?” Millar scratched his arm nervously as he remembered the scene. “When she started pulling stuff out of your bag… Man, that freaked me out. I thought we were busted.”
Turner laughed and tossed the bag on the bed. “She wasn’t going to get past this.” He unzipped the bag and pulled out a book entitled Coping with Loss — Honoring the Memory of a Loved One in Life, written by Dr. Charles Reed.