“It’s looking more and more like she was running scared. Her boss and her mother were on these animals’ hit list. She probably thought she was next.”
“Agreed. I just wish we could find her.”
The intelligence czar consulted his facility map, then motioned toward a hallway that would lead them to the central tower. “The surviving perp should be out of surgery by now.”
They came to an elevator and went inside. Speers used the butt of his cane to push the button for the 11th floor. He waited for the doors to close and then said, “Ellis doesn’t even recognize me. If she had listened to me in the first place, she would’ve never ended up here.”
“You think someone is targeting her?”
“All I know is she met with Nathan Drucker, and he ended up dead. Then Ellis comes out here, and we’ve got three more bodies on our hands. A water taxi captain with a goofy name claims that he charged her 300 bucks to take her out to Vashon, then saved her life with the only weapon he had on the boat, a freaking flare gun.”
Fordham’s face lit up. “Flare gun? I’ve always wondered what one of those would do to a person. Seems like they could burn a hole right through somebody.”
“No such luck. It hit the a-hole right in the face, though. Caught his beard and hair on fire. Captain Zack said the guy looked like an asteroid with legs when he ran out of the house.”
They took the elevator to the 11th floor. Fordham’s special agents were stationed outside the room. Two thick-necked studs in their mid-20s. They eyed Speers and Fordham warily.
“Can I help you?” the elder of the two agents said.
“I can see why you wouldn’t recognize me, but my friend here?” Speers motioned toward Fordham. “Seriously?”
Both men shook their head. “Some ID might make this go faster.”
“How about you go back to the Seattle field office and look at the picture of the guy plastered on the wall next to the president?”
By then Fordham already had his FBI badge out of his jacket. A light went on in the talker’s eyes as he stood a little straighter. “Mr. Director, sir. I apologize.”
“That’s not necessary. The FBI has 35,000 employees and at the end of the day, I’m just one of ‘em.”
The double doors opened. The talker stepped aside so that the surgeon could pass. Speers flashed his ID. “Director of National Intelligence.” Then he took out the passport belonging to the assailant, Roberto Melfi. The man was balding and bearded, with a stocky-looking neck and face.
“Ah,” the surgeon said. “You’re here about the burn victim?”
“It’s the other way around, doc. He’s not the victim. He’s the bad guy.”
“Well I hope force was really justified, because in addition to the burned face, fractured vertebrae and broken ribs, I had to remove what was left of his right eye.”
“We need to talk to him. Is he awake?”
The doc stiffened. “Did you hear what I just said? Your people really jacked him up. He’ll be lucky to make it through the day.”
Speers’ phone rang. He pulled up Eva’s mobile profile on his phone and showed it to the doctor. It was Eva’s official presidential portrait. “Okay, doc. You tell the president we can’t talk to a suspected terrorist.”
“Wait, that’s really her calling? Right now?” The doc put up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. Talking is going to be tough, though. His lips are burned off.”
Speers answered the phone as Fordham ushered the doctor out of earshot. “Madam President.”
“It’s been four hours since I had a progress report,” she said. “That’s too long relative to the heat I’m feeling.”
“I’m sorry, Madam President.”
“The prime minister is having second thoughts about keeping this under wraps. I need some good news.”
Speers understood. The longer this crisis went unresolved, the more likely that it would become an international scandal.
“We identified two suspects,” Speers said. “One deceased. The other one’s in bad shape.”
He heard the tension in Eva’s voice ease a bit. “That’s encouraging. So what’s the bad news?”
Speers told her about Vera Borst and Dane Mitchell.
There was a long silence before the president spoke again. “So let me get this straight. Three international leaders, representing three separate bodies of government, have been brutally tortured and killed, thousands of miles apart from each other.”
“Plus the professor,” Speers reminded her. “I understand Dr. Mitchell was a rising name in the bioengineering world.”
He did not tell her the truly terrible news. Captain Zack had called 911, and the local police and paramedics had been on the scene within minutes. The FBI had, of course, asked the first responders to keep the story out of the press, but with this kind of a horror show, these embargoes never lasted long on the local level. There was little they could do short of sequestering everyone involved. Sooner or later, details about the heinous crime were going to hit the press. He would be worried enough about that part for both of them.
*
No one — not even his brothers in Venice — would have recognized Brother Roberto Melfi. Bandages covered his entire face. Two small holes had been carved into the bandages. One, over his nostrils, enabled him to breathe. The other permitted him to see out of his remaining eye.
The monk could only stare up helplessly as a man positioned himself over the eyehole, looking down as if peering into a deep, dark well. He heard the man take the Lord’s name in vain. Melfi forgave him for that. Anyone would have been horrified by his appearance.
“Hello,” he said. “My name is Julian Speers. Blink twice if you understand English.”
Melfi knew English all too well. He also knew that he would not be alive much longer. Even now, his pain had receded, and he felt a certain lightness of being, as if his spirit was separating itself from his flesh. The Lord would take him soon. He felt obligated to use his final moments meaningfully. If only he knew how.
“You are under arrest for the murders of Dane Mitchell and Vera Borst,” Speers said. “Understand?”
He blinked twice.
“Good. Can you tell us anything about the death of Rand Preston?”
Melfi blinked only once.
Speers’ face was suddenly tense. He did not believe him. “Are you telling me that you did not visit the home of Rand Preston in Washington D.C.? Blink twice if you were there.”
Melfi blinked only once.
Speers disappeared from view. Melfi heard him swearing again. He was chatting with someone. Yes, there was someone else in the room. They talked for a moment before Speers appeared again in his tunnel-like field of vision.
“I’ll be honest with you. You killed a Swedish citizen on American soil. The Swedes are going to want you. You know what their prisons are like? It’ll be like being in a hotel. If you tell me what I need to know about the senator, I’ll consider releasing you into their custody.”
Brother Melfi was not motivated by promises of light punishment. He would soon get his reward in heaven. Nevertheless, he blinked twice to show that he understood. Then he focused all his energy on his right hand. With considerable effort, he managed to lift it. He curled his fingers together and moved them slowly up and down, as if he were writing.
Speers said something to the other man in the room. He disappeared from view. Melfi felt someone open his hand and place a pen between his fingers. Then he saw a note pad appear overhead. Speers must have been holding it. It seemed impossibly far away, but with the other man’s help, his writing hand was lifted toward it until the inky tip was pressed against the pad.
He jotted a quick note.
You must stop them.
Speers flipped the notepad over and read it. His face broke into an icy grin. “Stop them? You did a pretty good job of that yourself. Those people are dead.”
Melfi pressed the pen to the paper again.
The others. The world is in danger.