Power Play (An FBI Thriller) (19 page)

Criminal Apprehension Unit

Friday morning

S
herlock was working with Dane Carver on four bizarre strangulation murders in Omaha, Nebraska, when Savich stuck his head out of the office and called to her.

She knew immediately something was very wrong. She was inside his office in a flash. “What happened?”

Savich drew in a deep breath. “It’s all right. That was Gabriella. I’d showed her Blessed’s photo, told her to be on the lookout. Before she took Sean to school, she checked out the front window and saw an older man slip from behind a tree and move behind another. She recognized Blessed. She locked the doors and called the cops, without Sean ever knowing anything was wrong. Then she managed to sneak in a call to me. I kept her on the line until I heard the knock on the door and knew the police had arrived. Gabriella put an Officer Blevins on the line, and I told him about Blessed. They’re out looking for him right now.”

He drew a deep breath. “I told Gabriella to take Sean to school with a police escort. She’s going to pick him up later, after she’s packed for both of them. Then she’ll drive him to his
grandmother’s house. I’m going to call Mom, tell her Gabriella and Sean will be there this afternoon.”

Sherlock was as pale as her white shirt. He pulled her against him. He said against her temple, “Sean’s okay. Blessed won’t get anywhere near him. Blessed has no clue where Sean’s school is, and he doesn’t have the skills to find out. I asked Gabriella to have the principal keep an eye on him. Everything’s handled. It’s all done.” He held her, slowly rubbed her back.

She said against his neck, “I’m going to kill him myself, Dillon, and do a happy dance on his grave. And then I’m going to smack you. Why didn’t you tell me about Gabriella’s first call?”

He told her the truth. “I didn’t want both of us scared at the same time.” He kissed her temple. “I hope it won’t come down to your murdering Blessed. Oh, yes, I got a call from Ethan. He, pregnant Joanna, and Autumn are spring skiing in Colorado. If Blessed does head to Titusville with thoughts of nabbing Autumn, he’s out of luck. He’s out of luck here, too, Sherlock.”

She said again, “But if he gets to Sean—”

“He won’t. You know he won’t.”

She leaned back, aware every agent in the unit was staring at them. She gave Dillon a pat on the shoulder and a smile, and stepped back. “You know what I think? We’re going about this the wrong way. I think it’s time we hunted him down, don’t you?”

Natalie Black’s house

Friday morning

N
atalie said, “Never would I have imagined Carlos Acosta breaking into Perry’s condo last night.”

Davis said, “He was so scared I was afraid he was going to throw up on Perry’s very nice Persian carpet. In any case, now he’s out at the Jefferson Dormitory at Quantico. Savich wants to keep him close and safe, see if there’s something his subconscious picked up about the phone calls Carlos didn’t recall right away. They’ll be talking with Isabel this morning, too.”

“That note he was going to deliver, it scares me, Davis. Perry’s a part of this, now more than ever. And I don’t understand why.
Run away, Black—You’re not safe
. Why are these people after Perry? Does she know anything about this she hasn’t told me? Are they pressuring me to resign by threatening her?”

Davis said, “We’ll find out why, Natalie. Perry’s got a shadow on her, so no one’s going to get close. She’ll keep sharp.” Even though she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before; he knew fear had a way of goosing the brain. “I called her right before I
knocked on your door. She’s fine, at the
Post
, and she’s working. She says she has a story to write.”

Natalie gave him a dutiful grin, sighed. “I feel sorry for Carlos, and for Isabel.”

“He’s lucky to be alive,” Davis said. “Whoever put him up to this was shrewd—it was undoubtedly an untraceable phone. We’re left with very little to go on. He knew her alarm code, which means the person who gave it to him had access to it. And that makes me think this is all closer to home than it seems. Tell me, Natalie, is your half-brother, Milton, still in Washington?”

“Yes, he’s still at The Willard. He claims it’s the only civilized hotel in Washington.”

“I think it’s time to go see him.”

Davis rose. “I’ve already spoken to Mr. Sallivar, told him they’d be picking up Isabel to question her. I had to tell him why. Mr. Sallivar is going to see to it she spends the next few days with a relative, out of town, instead of protective custody. He was grateful. Then he asked me point blank where Carlos had been hiding, and so I told him. Isabel is in for a major scolding.” He added without thinking, “I didn’t tell him about the condom.”

“Condom? What condom?”

“Yeah, well, no worries, Perry took it.”

That got him a smack on the shoulder. Davis was explaining when his cell belted out Social Distortion’s “Ball and Chain.”

Davis watched her pace up and down the breakfast room, her strides as long as her daughter’s. He listened, asked the occasional question. And soon he was smiling.
Finally,
she thought, something good must have happened.

Davis punched off his cell.

“Well? What was that all about?” She planted herself in front of him, hands on her hips.

“Hamish Penderley called the CAU—remember, he’s the head of the Operational Command Unit at Scotland Yard.”

Natalie looked ready to leap at him, pull the words right out of his mouth.

“Penderley said they’ve matched the paint chips to your Jaguar, Natalie, so we have confirmation they’ve found the car that tried to run you off the road near Canterbury.”

He thought she would start dancing. “That’s great. Who was the driver?”

“They’ve got the owner in custody, a man by the name of Graham Suddsby. He’s a retired chauffeur who spends most of his time in his local pub now; that’s where they found him. He claims someone must have sideswiped the car when it was parked on the street, that he found it that way. A lie, of course. Now it’s a matter of the Brits convincing him he’s better off telling the truth.”

“Now that they’ve got him, Mrs. Black,” Hooley said from the doorway, “it won’t be long before they know everything. The coppers in England, they’re tough and hard, no nonsense, if they want to get something out of you.”

Connie said from behind him, “How do you know that?”

“I was married to one of them a while back,” Hooley said matter-of-factly, “and she damned near killed me.”

Davis stared after Hooley as he walked toward the front of the house to keep watch, whistling. He looked back at Connie, realized she was smiling after him. Really, Connie and Hooley?

“Davis, since you’re going to be talking with my brother, Milt, I should tell you something. He was here to see me this morning.”

The Willard
Washington, D.C.

Friday, noon

P
erry stepped onto the empty elevator ahead of Davis and pushed the button. “Come on, stop sulking, Davis, I know it was hard for you to call me and admit you need me for anything, but it was the smart thing to do. And you’re right, Uncle Milton will be more open to talking since I’m with you. By yourself, you’d scare him to death.”

“Uncle Milt scared of me? I doubt it, since he knows me. I met him at the party Tuesday night.”

“Yes, he knows you as my mother’s hot boy toy. It will be a shock for him to meet you as the big FBI agent here to question him.”

An eyebrow went up. “I look hot?”

She rolled her eyes. “Come on, Davis, it’s time to get serious.” She added with a good deal of satisfaction, “Now that they’ve found the car that tried to run Mom off the road in England, it shouldn’t be long before all the malicious rumors die down. I mean, if they find out why, I can see this making the front page.”

Davis said, “So far the only thing they can prove is that
someone fled the scene of an automobile accident, and that’s never been disputed. I don’t know the English press, but in the U.S., the wheels leading toward corrections in print turn very slowly, if they ever turn at all. No one’s ever been in a hurry to dismiss a juicy scandal with something as inconvenient as the truth.”

Perry hated it, but he was right. She stepped up, knocked on the suite door.

Inside, Barnaby Eagan stood by the window, rubbing his temples. He had a headache. He didn’t want to answer the knock to Mr. Holmes’s suite. What he wanted was quiet, a shot of single malt, and his bed for an hour, but it wasn’t to be. He looked out to see a big man in a leather jacket who wasn’t smiling, and, of all things, Perry Black, Mr. Holmes’s niece, standing beside him. He still couldn’t get over her writing about professional football, a weird thing for a woman to do, he’d always thought, but the senator’s parents raved about her. As for the senator, he’d mumble under his breath, things like the damned girl was unnatural, but what did you expect, given who her father was? He opened the door. “Ms. Black? What are you doing here? And who is this?”

“Hi, Barnaby,” Perry said. “We’re here to see my uncle.”

“Well, he’s resting now, and I think it would be better if—”

Davis held up his FBI creds.

“Oh.” He glanced at Perry. “Why are you here with the FBI, Perry?”

“I’m helping him.” She gave him a fat smile, then introduced the two men, adding, “Barnaby’s been with Uncle Milt for nearly five years now, isn’t that right, Barnaby?”

“Two months short of five years,” Barnaby said, “but who’s counting?” Davis heard a slight lisp that sounded charming.

“Please ask him to come out, Mr. Eagan,” Davis said. “I need to speak to him.”

Barnaby sighed. “He’s very upset, Perry.”

“Well, so are we all, and that’s why Agent Sullivan is here.”

Barnaby opened his mouth, then closed it, and Perry realized it wasn’t his sister Uncle Milt was upset about. She searched Barnaby’s ascetic face for a clue, didn’t see any. On the other hand, Barnaby rarely gave anything away.

“Please fetch him, Mr. Eagan,” Davis said again.

Davis and Perry were left to admire the lovely Lincoln Suite living room, all blue and gold, with beautiful striped wallpaper on one wall, and blue draperies open to the courtyard below. Davis wondered how much Milton dropped per night on this awesome place to lay his head.

“Perry.”

They turned to see Uncle Milton standing in the doorway, looking like a proper Boston Brahmin. His brilliant red hair with threads of white was elegantly styled. He was wearing sharp black trousers, a crisp white shirt, and black leather loafers on his long, narrow feet. He didn’t look at all like he’d been having a nice lie-down. He looked, Davis thought, like he’d made up his mind about something, like a man to lead a mission. Or was this all a part of his professional politician’s bag of tricks?

“Uncle Milton. This is Davis Sullivan. He’s—”

Uncle Milt nodded to the man at his side. “Barnaby said he was an FBI agent, but this is the man who was hanging all over your mother at Arliss’s party Tuesday night, dancing with her like they were lovers. I thought they were outrageous—”

“Actually, sir, I was protecting Ambassador Black.”

That gave Milton pause, but for only a moment. He shrugged.
“I see. Surprising the FBI would condone such behavior, but be that as it may—and I’m sorry to say this, Perry—it would have been more dignified of Natalie to identify him as such at the party rather than give everyone the impression he was something else entirely. But then Natalie loves to take center court.”

Davis said, “So you don’t believe your sister’s life is in danger, Mr. Holmes?”

“I don’t think she’s lying precisely about what happened to her in England, no, but I think she might well be exaggerating it. She was very upset about George McCallum’s suicide, of course, and she was being blamed for it. It’s likely she misinterpreted the accident as an attempt on her life, don’t you think? I’m not surprised the press didn’t believe her. At any rate, this has all been very upsetting. To Natalie, to me, to my parents—” By the end of this extraordinary monologue, his Boston accent was flying high.

Perry interrupted him, her voice sharp, “Of course you’re right, Uncle Milton, my grandparents are very upset because they’re afraid for my mother. They believe her, Uncle Milton. What I don’t understand is why you don’t.”

Milton ignored this, waved a vague hand around him. “Arliss called me this morning, asked me to convince your mother to resign her post. That is hardly a surprise. Hard as this is for all of us, I do have my own future to think of.” As if realizing how self-serving that sounded, he cleared his throat, backed up, tried for a deprecating smile. “Look, I’m up for reelection, and this sort of scandal—well, it could bury me. It’s best that Natalie resign, Perry, as soon as possible, best for all of us who have supported her. It will give the voters time to forget about all that happened in England before the fall elections.”

Perry said, “So she should move to Florida, wear sunglasses so
the tourists don’t recognize her? Maybe paint caricatures on the beach, or take up windsurfing?”

There was no humor in Milton Holmes’s eyes as he looked at her. Perry’s sarcasm floated unappreciated and unanswered in the room. She’d brought Milton to a dead stop. So this, Davis thought, was what it was like for a politician to have his guns spiked.

He said, “Since you mentioned your future in politics, sir, you should know that Scotland Yard has identified the car used to attack Ambassador Black in England. They have the owner in custody. Your voters may soon be seeing your sister as a victim when that crime is solved. So it may be advantageous to you to make a show of acting as the loyal brother supporting his sister through all her travails, always brave and stalwart, always at her back, rather than being seen as the jealous half-brother throwing his half-sister under the bus to protect his own hide.”

Milton couldn’t seem to take this in. He looked over at Barnaby, who was blinking rapidly, his eyes going from Davis back to his boss. Davis saw the instant Uncle Milt was ready to put him in his place. He drew himself up, pretty impressive, really. “Who cares what the police are doing in England? About what they’re saying, about what they’re now claiming? We’re here, and this mess is here since Natalie brought it all back with her.”

“I thought the issue was whether she was making it up,” Davis said.

Barnaby cleared his throat. His head was pounding now. All he wanted was these people gone and a nice dark corner for himself, but that wasn’t going to happen. His primary duty was to protect the senator, and so he did. “Agent Sullivan, Senator Holmes never said that precisely. He’s upset, as we all are, and now you’re telling us that what happened in England, it’s all true? There’s no doubt?”

Davis saw this interview shortly flying off the rails. He said quickly, “Let’s sit down and talk this out, shall we, Mr. Holmes?”

“It’s Senator Holmes,” Barnaby said. He exchanged glances with his employer and said, “Please, come and sit here.” He pointed to a blue-and-gold sofa. “Would either of you like coffee?”

Davis shook his head. Uncle Milton sat in one of the lovely Federal-style chairs, crossed one leg over the other, and assumed the ultimate defensive position—arms crossed over his chest. He was trying to regain control, but Davis saw the wariness in him, and what was this? Perhaps fear? He hoped so. Now it was time to focus that fear. Davis said, “Concerning your reasons for being in Washington since Monday, Senator Holmes. Our office has looked into your finances, the entire family’s finances, as a matter of fact, including all your expenses here in Washington.” He paused to let that fact sink in. “We know you are carrying quite a bit of personal debt. I understand your campaign is in need of money as well, and that you’ve asked your sister for a sizable contribution to your campaign.”

Davis saw the outrage on Holmes’s face at having his finances laid bare. But he managed to control himself. He said, his voice credibly calm, “Politicians ask many divergent people for money, Agent Sullivan. It is a fact of our political lives.” He shrugged, tried for another depreciating smile. “Unfortunately, my sister doesn’t like my politics, so I had little reason to think she would give me any money.”

“Perhaps she would because you’re her brother?”

“No, that has never moved her; nothing moves Natalie when she’s made up her mind.”

Perry sat forward. “If you’re not here to beg money off Mom, Uncle Milton, then why are you here in Washington right now?”