“Avalon Apartments,” Mahoney said. “Nicholson came up on a tenant database. Guess he missed a payment or something.”
“A rental?” I said. “In the same town where he already lives?”
Mahoney nodded. “Lives with his wife,” he said, “who I’m betting is at least fifteen years older than whoever we find behind door number two. What do you say—twenty bucks?”
“No bet.”
Chapter 54
TONY NICHOLSON LEANED forward from the backseat, as far as the cuffs would allow. He could see that the lights on the second floor were on.
“We don’t need to be here,” he said. “She doesn’t know anything. I promise you.”
The one who had ruined Nicholson’s leg opened the passenger door. “Who knows?” he said. “Maybe you talk in your sleep.”
He got out and went to the front door. Then he used one of Nicholson’s keys to let himself in.
Nicholson was thinking that he still might be able to save himself, and maybe Mara. He had a surreal image of her beautiful face trapped inside a plastic bag.
The driver was tall and blond—like him—with pale eyes and a square forehead. He looked more intelligent than the spic. Maybe he was more reasonable too.
“Listen,” Nicholson said in a whisper. “I do know what you’re looking for. I can help you get it, but not without some kind of exit strategy for me.”
The man sat straight and still, staring out the windshield as if Nicholson hadn’t spoken.
“I’m willing to make a deal, is what I’m saying.”
Still nothing from the front seat.
“For the disk. Of Zeus. Do you hear me? I’ll tell you where it is.”
“Yeah,” the blond guy finally said. “You will.”
“So… why won’t you make a deal? Now? Here? Why the hell not?”
The driver’s fingers drummed lightly on the wheel. “Because we’re going to kill you anyway. You and the girlfriend.”
Nicholson felt a hollow beating in his chest, and he was finally feeling as if nothing mattered anymore. He laughed, a little desperately.
“Jesus, friend, I don’t mean to tell you your job, but then why the hell would I—”
All at once, the driver turned, reached down, and squeezed the soft parts of Nicholson’s mangled knee.
The pain was instant and stunning. His jaw dropped open even as his throat closed up. Nicholson couldn’t breathe, much less scream, and in the strange silence, his tormentor’s low voice was easy to hear.
“Because at some point, friend, you’re going to stop wanting to live and start wanting to die. Understand? And if you haven’t told us what we want to know by then—believe me, you will.”
Chapter 55
THE CAR DOOR opened and Mara slid in, thin hips first, with the other man’s hand cupping her blond head of hair. Nicholson saw him tuck a .45 into his waistband before he slammed shut the car door behind her.
His girlfriend looked understandably freaked out. Hell, she was only twenty-three years old. Her arms came together in front, with a sweater draped over them to hide the cuffs. He’d given her that sweater as a present. Cashmere. From the Polo store in Alexandria. Happier days.
“You okay?”
“Jesus, Tony, what’s going on? He told me he was the police. Showed me a badge. Is he?”
“Just don’t say anything,” Nicholson told her quietly. His injured leg felt as though it were going to explode. It was nearly impossible to focus, and Mara’s being here only made matters worse. A whole lot worse, actually. Nicholson loved her.
She was the complete opposite of Charlotte. For one thing, she knew too much. For another, she was New York Irish Italian. Keeping their mouths shut wasn’t exactly a strong suit for most New Yorkers.
“What do they want?” she pressed. “Where are they taking us? Tony, tell me.”
“That’s a bloody good question,” Nicholson said, and kicked the back of the seat with his good foot. He shouted at them. “Where the fuck do you think you’re taking us?”
That got him a backhand across the cheekbone with the .45. He felt the pain, but it was getting hard to care. In fact, pain could be considered a good thing—it meant he was still alive, didn’t it?
“Whatever this is, I don’t work for him anymore,” Mara was already telling the two men in front. “You have to believe me. I’ll tell you anything you want to know. I was the bookkeeper.”
“Shut up, Mara,” Nicholson said. “Won’t do any good anyway.”
“He’s been shaking people down. Important people. For money. Taping them and—”
He leaned into her, which was about all he could do. “Mara, I’m warning you.”
“Or what, Tony? It’s a little late for warnings, isn’t it? I shouldn’t even be here.”
Her dark brown eyes flashed fear and anger, the same things he was feeling, so it was hard to completely blame her. “I’m talking about big names,” she rattled on. “Rich guys. Politicians, Wall Street, lawyers, that kind of thing—”
“Yeah, yeah.” The driver cut her off. “Tell us something we don’t already know. Otherwise, like the man said—shut up, Mara.”
Chapter 56
MAHONEY CALLED IN our new position as we followed the GPS off the Beltway and onto Eisenhower Avenue. It was getting dark, but the roads were still crowded with commuters. I wondered vaguely when nine-to-five had become an anachronism.
A mile and a half up Eisenhower, we came to a row of identical four-story town houses fronting the street.
A break in the road marked the entrance with a sign welcoming visitors to Avalon at Cameron Court.
The GPS led us through the mini-maze of the compound inside. It was one of those upscale developments, “communities,” with their own everything. Rents here were as high as thirty-five hundred a month, according to Mahoney and his laptop.
“You know, my aunt lives in a place like this, down in Vero Beach, Florida. They have a two-pet maximum, but she’s got four identical little dogs. Just walks them two at a time.”
I sort of listened, until we came onto Nicholson’s block. “Hey, Ned. See that?” A dark blue sedan was just pulling out of a driveway about fifty yards ahead. “Is that Nicholson’s building?”
Mahoney sat up and closed the laptop. “Could be. Let’s find out.”
The other car started up the block, heading right toward us. It had DC plates. Two men in front, two passengers in back who were harder to see.
As we passed, I looked in, and for just a second I locked eyes with Tony Nicholson.
Chapter 57
AS SOON AS my siren came on, the dark blue sedan took off up the block and then spun around the corner. I had no idea who these guys were—mob, guns for hire, or what—but the way they tore out of there told me Nicholson and his girlfriend were in some serious trouble.
Ned was already on the phone. “This is Mahoney. I have command of the target, Nicholson. We’re in pursuit of a blue Pontiac G6, DC plates.”
We came around another corner, and I saw them stopped at the compound’s exit.
“One for the good guys!” Ned said, and pumped a fist. There was a solid stream of traffic on Eisenhower blocking them in, and for maybe a second, I thought we might get through this cleanly.
Then the Pontiac’s doors opened on both sides and two men came out—firing!
A bullet pierced my windshield with a dull popping sound before Ned or I could get out. I threw open my door and rolled onto the street. Mahoney also got out the driver’s side and stayed low.
From where I was, in a gully, I could only see the sedan’s driver. He looked military to me, tall, with a blond buzz cut—and still firing. I didn’t shoot back, didn’t dare.
The problem was the traffic stopped behind him. There wasn’t a safe shot I could take. He seemed to figure that out, and broke for the nearest building.
As he passed the large Avalon sign fronting the complex, I fired off a fast, controlled double tap. Two s
hells kicked over my shoulder. The blond man went down with the second one.
But we weren’t out of this yet, not by a long shot. Mahoney was up and firing. I could see the other man now, down in the street. He had a wet hole in the leg of his pants, but he got up again.
“Drop your weapon!” Mahoney shouted, as the man began to hobble away.
I came around to cover from a second angle, just as the guy raised a .45 at Mahoney.
Both our shots got off before his. He spasmed twice when they hit, and still managed to pull the trigger one more time. His shot nearly clipped Ned, who dropped and fired back. The last bullet caught the guy in the shoulder.
The shooter was alive when we got to him, wide-eyed and tremoring, his finger still on the trigger. Ned stepped on his wrist and pulled the .45 out of his hand.
“Hang in there,” I told him. “Ambulance is on its way.”
He was in bad shape, though. A wound in his stomach was pumping blood, too much and too fast. While Mahoney ran to Nicholson and the woman, I pulled off my jacket and pressed it to the wound.
“Who do you work for?” I asked.
I wasn’t sure if he could hear me. He didn’t look scared, but his eyes were like saucers. When he tried to swallow, foamy blood came through his lips. My jacket was already soaked.
“Tell me!” I finally shouted at him. “Who sent you here?”
The gunman’s breath hitched, and his grip went tight on my arm—just before everything went lax. He died without saying a word that might help us understand, well, anything about what was happening.
Chapter 58
OUR TWO DEAD soon became three, when Charlotte Nicholson, her face blue, the body still warm, turned up in the Pontiac’s trunk.
Tony Nicholson and his presumed girlfriend, Mara Kelly, were both mute except to say that they hadn’t done anything wrong and they had no idea who the dead men were. That’s as much as we got before the FBI took them into custody.
By now, the response team had swelled to three Bureau cars, Alexandria police, EMTs, and the local sheriff’s department. As soon as I could, I called Bree to check in.
That’s when I realized that my phone had been off for hours—ever since the sweep at the private club out in Culpeper. When I turned it on, there were three voice mails waiting—all from Bree.
Right away I got nervous.
I listened to the first message. “Hey, it’s me. Listen, the doctors are concerned about Nana’s kidney function. They say her fluid levels aren’t what they should be. There’s no prognosis yet, but you should give me a call. Love you.”
I turned toward my car now and started walking, not at all sure I wanted to hear the second message.
“Alex, it’s Bree. I tried the Bureau, but nobody seems to know where you are. I don’t have Ned’s cell. I’m not sure what else to do. Nana isn’t good. I hope you get this soon.”
I was running, but the third message nearly stopped me cold on the spot.
“Alex, where are you? I hate to leave this on your phone, but… Nana’s gone into a coma. I’m going back in now, so you won’t be able to reach me anymore. Get here as soon as you can.”
Chapter 59
THE FUNCTION BEING held at One Observatory Circle tonight was relatively informal, a Maryland crab boil for several midlevel staffers and their families. That meant jackets with no ties—until the vice president went to shirtsleeves just before dinner and his male guests followed suit.
Agent Cormorant, however, kept his jacket on. It was specially tailored to conceal a .357 SIG Sauer pistol holstered under his right arm, and though the event was distinctly low-threat, it was not in Cormorant’s professional DNA to take anything for granted, especially not these days.
Secret Service had been covering the sprawling Victorian residence since 1972. The Rockefellers had never moved in, but the Mondales, Bushes, Quayles, Gores, and Cheneys had all lived here before the Tillmans. Every corner of the place was well documented, literally. Cormorant knew the house better than his own two-bedroom condo on M.
So when he needed a private word with the vice president, it was second nature to access the library through a back sitting room, to avoid being seen coming or going by any of the guests.
Tillman poured himself a scotch rocks and waited by the mantel while Cormorant closed and latched doors at both ends of the room.
“What is it that can’t wait, Dan?” Tillman asked.
“I should tell you right now, sir, that I’m about to step way out of line here,” Cormorant said.
Tillman sipped his drink. “That’s something new. The warning, I mean.”
The two men were friends, as much as men in their positions could be. Someday they’d share fishing trips and holidays, but for now, it was Mr. Vice President and Agent Cormorant—protectee and protector.
“Sir, I think it’s time you brought the president in on Zeus. Specifically the fact that someone connected to the White House or the Cabinet might be a killer.”
Tillman’s expression hardened instantly and he set his drink down. “The president knows that much. I took care of it. We still need facts. We need a name.” Tillman had already been briefed about the FBI raid in Virginia, but not on the latest developments. Cormorant quickly brought him up to speed, including the cameras found at the sex club.
“No one’s talking specifically about Zeus yet, but if any recordings happen to be found, it won’t matter what he calls himself.”
“When did this come out?” Tillman asked. He seemed visibly shaken now.
“Today. This afternoon.”
“And how do you know about it already?”
Cormorant maintained eye contact with the VP, and also what he hoped was a discernibly respectful silence.
“Right,” Tillman said. “Never mind. Go on, please. Sorry I interrupted you.”
“It’s actually the attorney general who might be able to do something about this. If there were any manageable pretense for sidelining the investigation or even slowing it down—”
Suddenly Tillman seemed angry, but it was always hard to tell with him.
“Hang on right there. You want the president to lean on the AG? Do you even know what you’re suggesting? A Cabinet member could be involved.”
“It’s not about what I want, sir. This has always been about protecting President Vance and this administration.”
A burst of laughter came from just beyond the foyer-side door. Cormorant didn’t waver, except to lower his voice a notch.
“I’m not suggesting we try to bury this scandal. I just need a little space to see if we can find out who Zeus is. If I can do that, then the White House will be in a better position to control the information when it comes out—and it is going to come out, sir, one way or another, sooner or later.”
“What does Reese have to say about this?” Tillman asked. “You ask him? Does he know about the cameras?”
“I briefed the chief of staff this afternoon, but nothing was said about bringing everything to the president. I wanted to speak with you first.”
“Don’t play me against him, Dan. And don’t play me against President Vance. The president has my complete loyalty.”
“I’m not trying to, sir—”
“No. All right. Here’s what you’re going to do.” Tillman had a way of shifting from inquiry to decision without warning, and it had just happened. “Talk to Gabe about this, and speak your mind with him. If he wants to bring it back to me, we’ll go from there. Otherwise, you and I never had this conversation.”
The vice president was already halfway to the door when Cormorant’s voice rose for the first time.
“Walter!” It was the kind of protocol breach that could send an agent down the ranks fast, under most circumstances, anyway. “I can find him. Zeus. Just give me the time to do it.”
Tillman stopped, but he didn’t turn around. “Talk to Gabe” was all he would say, and when he continued out of the room, Agent Cormorant had no choice but to f
ollow.
The conversation was over, and the crab was getting cold in the other room.
Chapter 60
I RAN MY siren all the way across the Potomac and into the city until I was parked in the lot outside St. Anthony’s Hospital. My mind hadn’t stopped racing since I’d heard Bree’s voice mails. How could this have happened? Just this morning, Nana had been sitting up; she’d been talking to us; she’d been getting better.
When I got off the elevator on six, the first familiar face I saw was Jannie’s. She was parked on the edge of one of the molded plastic chairs just outside the ICU. When she saw me, she ran into my arms and held me tight.
“Nana’s in a coma, Daddy. They don’t know if she’s going to wake up or not.”
“Shhh. I know, I know. I’m here now.” I felt her go from stiff to limp as the tears started. Jannie was so strong and so fragile at the same time. Just like Nana, I couldn’t help thinking as I held her. “Have you seen her?” I asked.
She nodded against my chest. “Only for a minute or so. The nurse told me I had to wait out here.”
“Come on,” I said, taking her hand. “I think I need you for this.”
We found Bree sitting next to Nana’s bed, in the same chair I’d slept in the night before. She got up and put her arms around both of us.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” she whispered.
“What happened?” I whispered back. In case Nana could hear, I suppose.
“Her kidney function just spiraled, Alex. They have her on dialysis now, and she’s back on the hydralazine, the beta blockers…”
I could barely hear Bree’s words, or sort out their meaning. My legs were weak, my head spinning in fast little circles.
Nothing could have prepared me for how much worse Nana looked.
She was on the ventilator again, this time with a tracheostomy right into her throat. There was a feeding tube in her nose now, and the dialysis too. But the worst by far was Nana’s face—all pinched and drawn down, like she was in pain. I had thought she would just look asleep, but it was much worse than that.