Good, he was starting to accept that Liam was in the know. “You can consider me more like his partner, but I’d be a fool to trust the boss, you know? And she’d take his side. Like you said, they’re close and I have to keep the upper hand if I want to stay alive. If I hadn’t put her down, the boss would have held all the cards, ended up killing me, burying me deep. Now, I’ve got a pretty fair chance.”
It was fine with him that Ralph was afraid of him, still eyeing him like he was a terrorist. Fear was a great motivator.
Liam knew when to stop pushing, when to let things settle. He sat back and contemplated the unconscious Elena. He had only a couple of minutes before her blood pressure booted up and she came back, maybe woozy for a bit, but mad as hell, ready to fight him. Unlike Jacobson, he wasn’t about to underestimate her. He looked for something to tie her up, but he didn’t see anything. He pulled a toolbox from under the seat and found mankind’s savior—duct tape. He wrapped it around her wrists, her thighs, and her ankles. Then he wrapped her arms to her chest and fastened the tape around the arm of one of the front seats. It kept her forward and steady, and if she twitched, he’d know it.
He smiled, waved at the pilot. “This is only a precaution. She’s all right, don’t worry. I liked your maneuver back there at the road, that was real impressive. You landed easy, held steady enough to give Jacobson his shot at the agents. Then you rose straight up, nice and smooth and fast. It was well done. Not your fault the big man got shot.”
Henley licked his lips, knowing he could be in bad trouble, helping these people escape the cops. He’d seen a man die a horrible death, but still he couldn’t help himself. He preened, and Liam saw it, added, “Tell me how you learned to do that.”
Henley shrugged, tried to look modest. “It wasn’t hard. Any trained pilot could have done it. I was told to be fast in and out, then fly back to the boss’s place.”
Where is that?
Liam said, “I guess you’ve worked for the boss for a long time?”
“I’m his pilot whenever he’s in the U.S.”
“And when he’s not, what do you do?”
Liam saw Henley’s eyes narrow. He’d taken a wrong step. He said quickly, “Well, of course you fly some bigwigs around.” Still, he looked uncertain. Liam laughed. “Do you ever get to fly to New York? That’s my kind of town, lots of gorgeous broads, any kind of action you want.”
Henley’s eyes flickered, his brow smoothed out, and he shrugged. “Yeah, you know how it is. They pay me well, tips under the table, so who cares if I can’t understand them?”
Understand them? “I can’t, either. Pisses me off.”
Henley looked back at him, shrugged again. “Who wants to learn Russian?”
The boss was Russian? “I’m with you on that.”
Elena groaned, jerked awake. He leaned forward, stroked her hair. “Shush now, girl, you’re okay, I had to close you down for a bit. Don’t move now or I’ll have to do it again.” He leaned closer, whispered in her ear, “Next time I might not pull back quick enough, kill you flat-out. So hold still and don’t feel bad I got you. Fact is, you couldn’t shoot me, now could you? Might kill me, and then what would the boss have to say to you? And that gave me my chance.”
She whispered, “Get this duct tape off me.”
“I don’t think so, lass. My mum didn’t raise a stupid git.”
“What are you saying to her? Are you threatening her?”
“No, Ralph, no threats. Elena’s getting her brains unscrambled, wanted to know what happened. She’s going to be nice and quiet for the rest of our flight.”
Still, Henley turned in his seat. “Ms. Orlov, are you all right?”
Elena Orlov? She was Russian, too? Here he’d thought she had some Mexican blood in her. But she didn’t have an accent, and Liam had a good ear for accents. He kissed her cheek. “Make Ralph happy, love, reassure him, and then shut up.”
She cleared her throat and yelled up at him, “Don’t worry, Ralph, I’m good.”
“Yes, she is, Ralph.” Liam leaned close to her face. “Play nice or I’ll throw you out of the helicopter and have Ralph fly me to wherever I choose to go. It’s your boss who loses out.”
She met his eyes. He saw she believed him.
He said into his headset microphone, “Hey, Ralph, they always speak Russian around you? But you’re their pilot.”
Henley was shaking his head as he slowly banked left. “They always ask for me, they don’t trust their own sisters.”
Liam nodded. “But the boss is going to stay awhile. He’s got our big deal going down.”
“Whatever you’re doing with him must be big-time, maybe big enough to get him back cozy again with Putin.”
“It goes up that high? How do you know? I thought they only spoke Russian in front of you?”
“Well, his houseboy said something to me before Abram came out and told him to mind his own.”
“Abram’s one tough cookie.”
“Yeah, the boss listens to him, lets him run both his houses, on the Potomac and in Washington.”
“Yeah, right,” Liam said, nodding. “What did the houseboy say before Abram shut him down?”
“Only that something big was cooking. And then last month, Petrov had me fly him to New York, to the United Nations. He was feeling really pleased with himself, even drank some champagne. He said something about being more important than any of those idiots at the embassy.”
The Russian embassy? Liam said, “It’s not like he’s one of them. He’s got his own agenda.”
“That’s the truth.” Henley cut the helicopter down through the clouds, and rural Virginia sprawled out below them, the pastures, trees, and towns south of the maze of highways. They flew northward over bedroom communities, until the jumble of highways spiraled out like spokes on a wheel, all the roads leading to Rome. He said, “You ever been to Petrov’s place on the Potomac?”
“No,” Liam said, “but I figured I’d see it sooner or later. That’s where we’re going?”
“Yes. It’s nice and private, right on the water, and it’s only a short flight from D.C. He wants something from you, right?”
“Oh yeah, he wants something,” Liam said.
“What?”
“Maybe he wants me to make him Putin’s best friend,” Liam said.
30
MCKEE, KENTUCKY
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Cam and Jack climbed out of the Crown Vic in the small town of McKee, population eight hundred souls, and looked up at the biggest building in town, a redbrick three-story wonder boasting square concrete columns at its entry.
“Pretty impressive for a small town,” Cam said.
Duke waved his hand. “Well, it’s not only the seat of town government, the Jackson County Judicial Center, it’s also the Jackson County Sheriff’s Department. Anything you need to get done you get done here. Even the three bars in the next block can’t compete.” He paused, kicked a pebble out of his path. “I sure hated leaving Chief at the hospital. He was cursing a blue streak about having to call his wife. She’ll be flying up here, fussing over him, and he hates that. Cam, good thing you got out of there with only some stitches and a sling, thank the good Lord.”
“Better yet,” Cam said, “the sling makes it look more serious than it really is, and I don’t have to worry about calling a husband.”
Jack looked around, getting the feel of the town. McKee was charming, if on the funky side. The short, squat gray store right across from the redbrick monument that housed the jail and courtrooms had a big sign over its window: MR. BILL’S GUNS AND GROCERIES.
They left Duke to chat with the sheriff and were directed by a deputy to the single, small, windowless interview room. Clyde Chivers was already seated at the banged-up wooden table at least twice as old as he was, tapping his fingertips on a piece of paper in front of him. He was in his early twenties, skinny as a flagpole, a seedy mustache trying to take root on his upper lip. He looked scare
d and slightly sick. He met their eyes and tried to manage a look of outrage at this indignity.
Cam pulled out a chair, sat down, eyed him for a moment. “Hey, Clyde, I like the alliteration—Clyde Chivers—your daddy come up with that one? Or is that on your mama’s head?”
He blinked, opened his mouth, shut it, then managed, “Nope, it was my aunt Mabel, my mama’s sister. She writes poetry.” He shut his mouth, straightened his shoulders, and tried to dial up the outrage again. “You’re the people who tried to kill me. You wrecked my Tahoe. You should be the ones here in jail, not me.”
Jack lounged back in his chair, relaxed and as loose as a lizard on a sunny rock. “Nah, we didn’t want you dead, Clyde. Actually, we usually don’t want anyone dead. We only wanted to catch the three people you pretended to pick up.”
“I don’t know about any three people. I was driving to McKee, to see a bud of mine. Why am I here? What do you want? I didn’t do anything. You know I was alone, so you have no right—”
Cam sat forward, looked him straight on. “Shut up, Clyde. The sheriff found five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills under your front seat. You going to tell us who gave you the money to pull your little stunt on Clover Bottom Creek Road?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, I didn’t do anything, nothin’, you hear me?”
Jack said, “Don’t waste our time and try to deny it. We’re in a hurry here.”
“You’ve got no right to hold me. So I have five hundred bucks, that ain’t no crime in my universe.”
“There you’re wrong,” Cam said. “These are very bad people, Clyde. And you helped them escape us.”
Clyde Chivers was shaking his head back and forth.
Jack leaned forward. “I don’t suppose the guy who called you, who paid you, happened to mention that the three people you helped escape us stuck a knife in a young hiker’s heart yesterday? His name was James Delinsky and he was a student at Virginia Tech. They left him for the animals to scavenge. And that means, Clyde, that you aided and abetted murderers. You’re either going to confess all your sins and not leave a thing out, or you’re going to spend the next twenty years at the Pennington Gap federal penitentiary. Your one and only chance to avoid that future is right now.”
Chivers licked his lips as he eyed both Cam and Jack. “No, really, I don’t know anything, I—” He tried to shove away from them. Jack leaned over the table and grabbed the front of Chivers’s shirt, hauled him out of his chair, and gave him one good shake. “Listen up, Clyde. These are very bad people. They might let you live until you get to prison, but after that? Understand, Clyde, you’re what’s called a loose end.”
Cam said, “And you know what happens to loose ends, don’t you?”
“No, that isn’t right, no one will hurt me and you can’t, either, you—”
Jack gave him a final shake and shoved him back into his chair. “Actually, Clyde, I can do anything I want to you, and probably be awarded a medal for it. As I said, we’re talking very bad guys you hooked up with.” He looked down at his watch. “You have three minutes.”
“I want a deal, yeah, that’s it, a deal. I didn’t know, I swear I didn’t. Give me a deal.”
Jack looked over at Cam. “I can’t give you a deal, but Agent Wittier here knows the federal prosecutor in charge of this case. Do you think the prosecutor might consider loosening the noose around Clyde’s neck if he’s honest and up front with us?”
Cam looked thoughtful. “Well, Ms. Cherisse is usually fine with helping people like Clyde here who have a hard time understanding the danger they’re in. But, Clyde, you better hope we find these people before they stab you like they did the hiker. He was only a couple of years younger than you.”
Chivers was gnawing on his lower lip, looking scared. His hand shook as he picked up the glass of water beside him and drank half of it down. He swiped the back of his hand over his mouth. “Okay, but you’ve got to believe me. I didn’t know anything about these people, not a single thing. The guy said if I did this one thing, they’d leave me alone, but I swear, I wouldn’t have done it, except the guy who called me blackmailed me.”
Jack rolled his eyes. “Imagine, trying to blackmail an upstanding citizen like you. What about?”
“No, really, it’s the truth. He knew about the crop of marijuana in my back forty and he was going to call the sheriff on me. It was either that, or take the five hundred bucks he left in my truck.” He puffed up a bit. “I’m not stupid, I checked to make sure the money was there.”
Cam said. “Who is the man? Do you know him?”
“He didn’t tell me his name, and I didn’t recognize his voice. He said he’d heard about my little sideline selling pot and he needed my help, now. He didn’t tell me anything about these three people. He told me to drive up and down Bottom Clover Creek Road, and if I saw some people hiking out of the forest, I had to make sure they saw me and then take off like a bat out of hell. I thought, I’m getting five hundred bucks for punching the gas? I couldn’t believe it when you started shooting at me. You shot out one of my back tires, and I thought I was going to die until I saw the cop cars blocking the road.”
“The man who called you. Tell us about him. Did he sound young? Old? Accent? What?”
Chivers thought about that. “He sounded like a regular adult guy, younger than my dad. He did have this accent, not Southern or from Boston, you know how they talk. He sort of sounded like that old series about that English detective in Oxford, Inspector Morse, I think his name was.”
“So you’re saying the man who called you was in his thirties or forties and had an upper-class British accent.”
“Yeah, that’s it, and he knew about my crop of weed, and I realized one of my clients must have ratted me out and that’s how he got my name. I swear, he threatened me, threatened to call the sheriff. I can’t see I had any choice. The prosecutor, she’ll believe me, won’t she?”
“Yes, she will. Give me your cell phone, Clyde.” Cam held out her hand.
“They took it already. Will I get it back?”
She nodded. As she and Jack rose and left the room, she said over her shoulder at the door, “You’re free to go, Clyde, if you want to. But I suggest you be very careful. Your cell phone will be with the dispatcher.”
Chivers rose straight out of his chair, sputtering. “You can’t leave me, it’s inhuman. I didn’t do anything all that bad, really, don’t you see? I mean, my crop helps support my folks. Without me—”
“You could ask the sheriff to keep you in custody if you like.” Jack winked at Cam as he shut the door on Clyde Chivers.
Outside in the bullpen Cam retrieved Chivers’s cell phone, scrolled through Chivers’s calls with two deputies looking on. She found a blocked call from earlier in the day. “Probably from a burner phone. They don’t miss much.”
“I know, they’re smart. The man who called Chivers, the man in charge, is a Brit? Or was he another underling?”
Cam grinned. “Are we thinking they’re so smart because they outfoxed us?”
“I’d like to think they were lucky, but I doubt Savich would agree. I emailed Savich the big man’s prints. We’ll know if he’s in the system soon.”
Cam said, “Where are we headed now, Jack?”
“Savich said to come back to Washington. He says he’s got a lead on one of the six people who rented the safe-deposit boxes Manta Ray emptied. And he told me the tail number you saw on the Robinson doesn’t exist. Agent Lucy McKnight is getting together a list of all Robinson R66 helicopters in the Washington area.”
“Did he mention we were fired?”
“He didn’t say and I wasn’t about to ask him.”
31
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WASHINGTON, D.C.
TUESDAY AFTERNOON
Savich arrived at John Doe’s hospital room twenty minutes after Dr. Wordsworth called him. He spoke briefly to newly-assigned guard Agent Wilcox, then stepped in the room
to see Dr. Wordsworth checking John Doe’s infusion set. Once satisfied, she turned to him and smiled. “Thank you for coming, Agent Savich. Needless to say I’ve never had one of my patients nearly murdered under my care. It shocks me that something like that could happen here, at the hospital, to someone who’s completely helpless.” Dr. Wordsworth nodded toward John Doe’s second FBI guard, Agent Crosby, standing by the window. “It’s a great relief you now have two agents guarding him. Agent Crosby assures me if anyone tries anything more, he will need the emergency room. I called you, Agent Savich, because I promised to follow up with his test results and the bloodwork I sent out.” She shook her head. “To be honest here, some of it doesn’t make sense to me.”
“As puzzling as finding out John Doe is the father of Kara Moody’s baby?”
“Nothing could be that strange.” She shook her head. “Amazing, really. A man she believes is crazy bursts into her house two days ago, her baby is kidnapped yesterday, last night she saves that man’s life, and now she finds out that same man is the father of her baby, a man she’d never seen before.” She shook her head again. “She’s bearing up so well. In fact, I’m told she spends all her time with him. I hear she thinks of him as a victim, like herself. She never once considered him as her possible rapist.”
It was an extraordinary situation. How would it play out? Savich thought of Sherlock’s interview with Sylvie Vaughn, and the GPS tracker she’d put on Vaughn’s car, and all because of her gut. He’d trust Sherlock’s gut any day. “We may know more about what’s going on very soon. Doctor, tell me, what doesn’t make sense about the test results.”
Dr. Wordsworth took off her glasses, wiped them down on her white coat, set them on her nose again. “As you know, his CT scans and MRIs were normal. The initial abnormal blood tests I told you about yesterday—his liver function tests and blood cell counts—have improved, they’re very nearly in the normal range. My neurology consult tested him again this morning, says John Doe’s reflexes are improving. His coma is less deep, which means he might regain consciousness soon.”