Force of Fire (The Kane Legacy) (10 page)

Isabel set her glass down on
the side of Albert's desk, and ran her fingers across the ink-stained green
blotter. Somehow, in this room, she could feel him. All at once it was as if he
had never left, as if at any second he would walk through that door and banish
her from his chair...

Isabel clung to the fantasy as
she shut her eyes against the warm intrusion of tears.

When Mark arrived at his office
straight from the airport, Scott Denton was waiting in his brown leather chair,
the watchful eye of the secretary on his back. Cathy was purposeful, blonde and
slated for promotion at the end of the month. She was only twenty-four, but had
learned the ropes quickly. Mark sometimes wondered if she even had a personal
life.

Denton spun nonchalantly from
his late-day perusal of city monuments. The young man's bearded, moon-shaped
face was gentle, non-threatening, his eyes a dusky green. His loosely cut hair
played in awkward, sandy waves about his brown flannel collar. Even when
seated, Mark could tell Denton at least matched his height of just over six
feet. But he seemed slighter somehow, perhaps narrower around the shoulders,
Mark noted with an inherent touch of competition.

Denton opened his pouty mouth
to speak. 'You wanted to see me?'

'Yes, and I'd ask you to have a
seat, but it looks like you've already taken mine,' Mark said, trying not to
let his irritation show.

Cathy straightened the jacket
of her conservative cashmere suit and backed out of the room.

'Oh yeah, hey, sorry.'

He got up and moved to the drab
olive sofa facing Mark's desk.

Mark made himself comfortable
in his chair, reminding himself to remain distanced. This was professional
protocol and whatever Denton had said in that letter was, theoretically,
unrelated.

'What can you tell me about Ana
Kane?' he said, unfolding Ana's dossier.

Denton seemed unnerved by the
sight of the folder. 'What is it exactly you think I know?'

'What I think is beside the
point.'

The word bastard was written
all over Denton’s face, but he didn’t say it.

Mark gave him a steely look.
Ana, the letter began. No 'dear,' just Ana. I know this won’t be easy...

'All right,
all right.
Give me a break. It's not like I had anything to do with her
disappearance. We were an item, okay? For maybe ten years, counting the time in
Spain. And then it got stale like things sometimes do. She was pushy, I guess.'

Mark looked at him, trying to
discern what
Ana
had seen. 'A woman who knows what she
wants.'

'You could look at it that
way,' Scott said, being noncommittal.

'And you're not it.'

Denton flushed a purplish-red.

'Suffice it to say, you and
Miss Kane wanted different things out of life.'

'Very.'

'What about her family?'

'Mother's from Spain, but lives
in Delaware where Ana grew up. Classy lady, but tough.'

'Like mother, like daughter?'

'I guess.'


'Father?'

'Never met him. Old man had a
heart attack. She never did get over it.'

'That's a tough one, losing
your father.'


Denton looked distant for a
moment. 'Yeah well, you know what they say, shit happens. Sometimes you've just
got to deal with it and move on.'

'Like you dealt with your
relationship by moving on to Guatemala?'

He flushed red again. It was
becoming a habit
.

'What exactly do you want me
to say? That I fucked up?'

'No one's casting any stones.'

'Bullshit. You've been pelting
me ever since you walked in.'

Mark changed his tack, looking
for something a little more productive. 'What were you doing in Spain?'

'Oh, so we're on to me now, are
we?'

'Just answer the question.'
There were some odd gaps in Denton’s file.

'Studying. What the hell do you
think? I was on an exchange program.'

'For two
years?
That was some exchange.'

'So I liked it enough to go the
extra year. Big deal.'


Mark wondered
.

'Ever
talk to anyone at the Embassy?'

Scott wriggled like a fish on a
line. 'No.'


'Ever get approached by a
member of the U.S. Government?'

'What do you mean by that?'
Denton asked, looking every bit as if he knew
.


'You were a normal kid.
Right?'


'Whatever that means.'


'That means you were normal,
hung out with the crowd, got around.'

'Sure, I got around.'

'Got to know people
–'


'Yeah, I got to know people.
Last time I checked, knowing people's not a crime. Not even in Spain.'

'–
and
some of the people you knew liked to party.'


'Yeah, Neal, party hardy.
College kids doing college stuff.
No biggie.'

'Hmm.'

'Can I go now?' He rose to his
feet, his bony knees cracking.

'Not so fast.'

'Look, you brought me here to
ask about Ana right? So I told you. I see you've got her file. Hell, you
probably learned more about her in three days than I did in nine years.'

Mark would bet on it. He would
also bet his hunch was right on. Denton had been doing more than studying that
second year. He had been a paid informant for the Drug Enforcement
Administration.
Someone eager to turn a buck.
Someone with nowhere better to go.
Someone
naive enough to be pressed into deadly service.
He’d been one of the
nameless, faceless student narcs whose vital information had landed on Mark's
desk when, as a new DEA Narcotics Analyst, he’d been assigned to track drug
trafficking patterns in Spain over nine years ago.

Mark stood and looked him
squarely in the eye. 'Does the term confidential informant mean anything to
you?'

Denton tightened his bottom lip
and said nothing.

'Bet you about a million
pesetas it does,' Mark said, tucking Ana's file under his arm and motioning to
Cathy to resume her post as he exited the room.

Mark entered Cromwell's office,
his temperature and intonation rising. 'Sir, you and I have a thing or two to
discuss.'

'Two things, I'd
say.'
Cromwell pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his glasses.

'Why didn't you tell me Denton
informed for the DEA?'


'Tell you, Mark? Of all people,
I reasoned you'd figure it out.' Cromwell huffed onto his lenses. He seemed to
be having trouble getting them clean
.


'Sir, I don't see how Denton
can be of much use to us here.'

'Agreed.'


'He doesn't seem to know much
more about Ana than we do. Besides, the guy's got an attitude.'


'About Ana?'


'About life.
I say we ship him back to the Peace Corps where he belongs. The man must have
some salvageable skills.'

Cromwell smiled that old,
familiar omnipotent grin
.

'True. And gleaning
information from Spanish nationals is quite an asset.'


'Hold on a second. You're not
for a minute consider–'


'This is my call. Denton has
experience as a covert informant – in Iberia, son. He also has a personal
stake.'


'I don't mean to question your
judgement
–'


'Then don't.'

Mark rubbed his temples. There
had to be a way out. 'Is there no one else from DOS?'

'Mark, you're the sharpest man
I've got. You can think on your feet. You'll keep the other two flying
straight.'

'McFadden's a loose
cannon.'


'That's just what he wants you
to think.'

'He does a damn good job.'

'He's a damn good operator.'

Mark's day just kept getting
better. It was all starting to make sense. McFadden's assignment to the
Embassy, seemingly out of nowhere, but conveniently at his Uncle's behest.
McFadden's combative demeanor and disparaging remarks about DOD.

Cromwell read his face. 'Yes,
Mark. McFadden's our company man in Costa
Negra
.'

'CIA, sir?
CIA? He's such a wild card!'

'Great cover.
None of this low-profile stuff.
Completely threw the
rebels off guard.'

There was a light rapping at
Cromwell's door.

Joe McFadden swaggered in, a
nasty grin above the reddish beard that was now coming in strong.

Mark lunged and grabbed him by
his denim collar.

'You piss-poor excuse for an
agent,' he said, muscling McFadden back into the wall. 'Damn near got her
killed –'

Joe shook himself free. 'Look,
Neal, I damn near got my own ass killed trying to stand in the way of her
bullets. Do you think for a minute that I wanted it to happen? What's gotten
into you?'

Cromwell had not moved from his
chair.

'Joe, why
don't you let me finish up with Mark.
Have Cathy buzz Pete. He can show
you around.'

Joe shrugged and backed out of
the room, never taking a wary eye off of Mark.

'And shut the door!' Mark
shouted after him, but a little too late.

Cromwell finally gave up on his
glasses and put them down. 'You're going to have to check that killer instinct
at the airport.'

'I apologize for the outburst,
sir. It's just that McFadden was the one assigned to prevent all this.' Christ,
and Mooney said their CIA placement had been recalled to Washington.

'Don't be too hard on McFadden.
From what I hear, Miss Kane is the kind who was going to do what she was going
to do. I don't think a whole platoon could have stopped her from making that
trip.'

'What's the Ambassador's role
in this?'

'It's legitimate, but not just
familial.'

'Sir?'

'Mooney’s one of the old boys.'


Mark sat down on one of
Cromwell's office chairs, head in hands, elbows resting on his knees. He shook
his head, slowly feeling his wind return. Mooney was original DOS. No wonder he
seemed uncomfortable when Mark had supposed his liaison with Cromwell.

'So the company's letting
McFadden
go
?' Mark asked.

'If he's half the bastard you
think he is, maybe they're happy to let him go.'

'Very funny,
chief.
What's the angle?'

'Well, obviously, this has
become quite personal for McFadden. He did, in effect, let Miss Kane slip
through his fingers, and, in spite of what he says, very much holds himself
accountable.'

'Okay, fine.
So McFadden has the background and the personal stake. And he's got the
language, sir. That makes Denton excess baggage.'

'Denton's got connections.'

'We're professionals, sir.
McFadden and I will make them.'

'Making takes time. A commodity
we may not have.'


'But, sir, Denton's contacts
are sure to be stale by now. They're almost ten years old.'

'Times change, people don't.
Especially in Spain.
He'll reconnect, I assure you. He's got
the knack, fits in. You and Joe, if you'll pardon me saying so, are going to
stick out like sore thumbs.'

'Okay, maybe you're right.
Maybe we could use him. I’ll take McFadden with me if that’s how it’s got to be.

'We’ll anchor Denton in the
south where he can tap those old channels and feed us information.'

'No can do.'

'Sir?'
'Keep talking. You
just want Denton out of sight and out of your operational mind set. It will
never work. He is only valuable if he stays with you. What if he learns
something and your communications are cut? What if he picks up some innuendo in
the language Joe would miss because his Spanish training was in Latin America?'

'What if he takes a bullet?'

'That's a chance we'll have to
take.'

'Denton's expendable?'

'If it comes to that.'


Mark considered the set-up.
Every operation needs a guinea pig, that front line man.
But
why Denton?
Mark studied Cromwell a long while trying to pick up a whiff
of an answer. But the old man was stoic.

'How long will it take to get
Denton cleared?'

'Clearances are in, new
identities in place. You'll all be carrying the
proforma
paperwork. Cathy has the passports and sheets. Be sure Denton studies his bios
before you go.'

'Bios?'

'I'm sending you each with an
extra set of papers, just in case.
Carnova's
men are
sharp. Depending on how long it takes, you may need the second set.'

'I don't want to beleaguer a
point, but I'm a good sole operator.'

'I know you are, Mark. But
there's a danger in that. You know as well as I do a one-man show's too easy to
knock off its feet.' Cromwell looked pensive for a moment. Then in a fit of fury
grabbed his glasses off the desk and twisted their metal frames. Mark was
startled by his sudden shift in composure and the creeping anger in his voice.

'And, if you stumble, Mark,
they'll cut your legs so damn short you'll never dance again.'

Mark walked the corridor back
to his office lost in thought. Who will cut your legs so damn short you'll
never dance again? For some reason Mark suspected it was the DOS and not the
LPP. And for another reason that wasn't quite clear, Mark had a hunch Cromwell
believed himself to be the one locked out of the show.

But how could he think that
when he was the one calling the shots?
The implausibly
lunatic shots?
What had gotten into him? Nothing about this case was by
the book. Cromwell had said his interest in Ana's safety was personal, but how?
This was the tip of the iceberg. Somehow, there was more.
If
Mark could only unlock it.

Pete Jarvis led Joe through the
inner sanctum of the DOS operations center. The commotion assaulted them the
moment they passed through the reinforced, soundproof doors. Against the far
wall, large-screened monitors braided with lime green coordinates sat in a neat
array beneath an impressive continuum of topographical maps. Analysts sat
furiously punching keypads, some of them wearing headphones with mikes
attached. Sound bites ripped out of
radios,
irregular
electronic bleeps punctuating the air. The large octagonal table in the center
of the room was littered with operations orders for their current mission, an
exercise in the Arizona desert featuring a simulated chemical weapons attack.