"Four years ago," Cavanaugh said.
"Give me some help here. I have no idea what that means."
"You were in Rome. In charge of a team protecting a Russian oil executive."
Ali's face tightened. "That." He looked at the four agents next to Rutherford. Beyond them, GPS personnel listened at the open door. "How public do you want this to be? Do you still care about security, or are you too busy suspecting me?"
Rutherford gestured for the agents to leave.
As Cavanaugh started to close the door, Gerald Brockman came in.
"Private party?" the Afrikaner asked.
"I forgot to send you an invitation, but you might as well join the fun."
Brockman leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his dark suit.
Cavanaugh finished closing the door and turned toward Ali. "The Russian oil executive was shot to death."
"That's right."
"While you were in his hotel suite."
"Right again. A sniper bullet through a window. One of the Russian's competitors probably ordered the hit."
"Carl Duran was part of your team."
"Duran? That son of a bitch hasn't worked for us in years. Why do you care about him ?"
"The Russian," Cavanaugh said. "Tell me what happened. Why did the security fail?"
"He was one of those arrogant clients who thinks his protectors are butlers and bell hops. 'Carry my bags. Phone for diner reservations. Get my shoes polished.' I told him we did only one thing, and that was to protect, but we couldn't do that if our hands were compromised and we were distracted by silly errands. I told him, if he didn't like that idea, if he was unhappy with our security, then he should hire somebody else. I checked with Gerald--" Ali indicated Brockman leaning against the wall. "--who was my superior at the time, and he said I did exactly right."
Brockman nodded.
"The client loved his vodka," Ali said. "He also loved standing in front of his hotel suite's windows at night, grinning at the lights of Rome. I kept closing the draperies. He kept opening them. I kept telling him he had to stay away from the damned windows. One evening, when he was especially drunk, he yanked the draperies open, spread his arms toward the city lights, and told me, 'You see, nobody's out there, waiting to kill me.' 'Then why in God's name did you hire us?' I asked. 'For show,' he said. He chuckled, gulped more vodka, and told me, 'I must be important, mustn't I, if I need so much protection.' He laughed again, and that's when the bullet smashed through the window."
"The glass wasn't bullet resistant?"
"It wasn't an option. He chose the hotel. Anyway, how many hotels have that kind of glass? We wouldn't have needed bullet-resistant windows if the stupid bastard had followed instructions and kept the draperies closed. The bullet caught him here." Ali touched the middle of his forehead. "Mushroomed. Blew most of his brains out the back of his head. Working with the police, we discovered that the shot came from the roof of a building two hundred yards away. It had been raining for the previous two days and nights. The shooter must have had a poncho rigged to form a low tent. We found his dry outline where he'd been lying on the otherwise wet gravel on the roof."
"Patient man."
"Or woman," Jamie said.
Cavanaugh nodded. "Nobody's more patient than you are." He stepped toward Ali. "How did Carl Duran fit into this?"
"He was part of the security outside the Russian's suite. The sound of the bullet shattering the glass was loud enough that he heard it and charged inside."
"Wasn't the door locked?"
"Of course, it was," Ali said.
"You let him in?"
"I was too busy trying to help the Russian. When I realized I couldn't, I hurried to phone for an ambulance."
"Then Carl couldn't have gotten in unless he had a key."
"It's been a long time. But, yes, obviously he must have had a key."
Brockman straightened, pushing himself off the wall. "I was in charge of the team that investigated the shooting. There were some questions: whether Ali should have been more insistent to the Russian about staying away from the draperies, for example."
" Insistent? I did everything but put him in handcuffs!"
"But on balance, we saw it as a basic case of a client jeopardizing his own security," Brockman continued. "As for Duran, he was with a member of his team outside the suite when the bullet came through the glass. Chunks of the glass were all over the room. Clearly, the bullet came from another building. Where is all this going? Why are you so interested in Duran?"
Cavanaugh explained what they'd learned.
"He knows so much about our agents, somebody in GPS needs to be passing information to him."
"Somebody in authority," Jamie told Brockman. "We think Duran's using blackmail to get that information. The only time, you, Ali, and Duran intersected was in connection with the Russian's death, so there's a strong chance that's when the trouble started."
"You think I'm involved?" Brockman said angrily.
"No. You were second-in-command when Carl was fired. If Carl had a way to blackmail you, he'd have forced you not to fire him."
"So you're blaming me ?" Ali demanded.
"You had a connection with Duran, dating back to the Russian's murder," Cavanaugh pointed out.
"Meanwhile, Kim--our company drug addict--gets a free pass?"
"She helped us," Jamie said. "In fact, she risked her life for us."