Targets of Deception (8 page)

Jordan glanced down at his glass. He said “I’m fine for now,” and the man trudged off to get Beth her wine.

“I don’t know what happened,” Jordan told her. “I don’t even know if it’s related to yesterday.”

“That’s nonsense and you know it. There are no such things as coincidences, isn’t that what you taught me?”

“Did I say that?”

“Why would they be after you, though?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“I thought the problem upstate was just  . . . ”

“Bad timing? An ill wind? Wrong place at the wrong time?”

She shook her head. “I wish you weren’t so amused.”

Jordan took a swallow of the caramel-colored liquor. “I’m not amused,” he said, “believe me. You should see my living room.”

Beth searched his dark brown eyes for some sign of fear, but there was none. There was only that look of fascination that had always infuriated her so. “What did the police say?” she asked.

“I haven’t called the police yet.”

“Why?”

“I will, but not yet. There are some things I want to find out first.”

“Jordan, you’ve got to call the authorities.”

“The authorities? Kind of vague advice there, Beth. Maybe I should call the Company and have them traipsing around my life again.”

“Maybe you should.”

Jordan shrugged. “What’s the difference when I call? My couch will still be a goner when I get home tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?”

“I thought going back there today might be a bad idea.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, then paused. “You can stay at my place. If you’d like.”

“Thanks.” He lifted his glass again, but didn’t drink. “I wouldn’t want to interfere with any of your plans.”

“Give me a break, Jordan.”

He smiled at the sudden flash of anger. “Thanks, really, but I should go upstate today and see Danny, check out what they’ve found so far. I’m not sure what I’ll be doing after that. Maybe I should call an interior decorator.”

She shook her head again in that disapproving way he found both charming and annoying. “You know, Jordan, I’d feel a lot better if you seemed less entertained and a little more concerned.”

The waiter returned with her wine, which provided Jordan momentary escape from her critical gaze.

“Believe me,” he said as the waiter ambled away, “I’m concerned. For starters, I got shot at yesterday. My friend actually
was
shot. And now my apartment looks like a bomb hit it.” He held up his glass and said, “Here’s to safe roads ahead,” then waited her out until she gave up staring at him and took up her wine. They touched glasses and he drank off a fair sized gulp of his Jack Daniels. “Hey, come on. It’s bad luck if you don’t drink after a toast.”

She sipped some of the Chardonnay, then replaced the glass on the small, wooden cocktail table. “You’re not a field agent any more, Jordan. You’re not an agent at all. You’re flying solo on this, unless you come in.”

“That’s not happening.”

“All right. So tell me the truth. What were they looking for in your apartment? You?”

“I don’t think they were searching for me when they slashed my mattress open.”

She frowned. “What, then?”

“I really don’t know. Papers or something, that’s my guess. Something I don’t actually have, if you want to know.”

“Papers having to do with what?”

“That’s what I need to figure out.”

“Why not let me take this in? Let us figure it out. Stay with me for a few days, let our people do what they can do.”

“I’m not ready for that yet. And you’ve got to consider that whoever broke in will eventually come looking for me. How safe would it be for you if I led them to your door?”

“Well then you need protection. This isn’t your fight anymore, Jordan.”

“You may be right,” he said. Then he leaned forward and took her hand in both of his, softly kissing her open palm. “With everything that’s happened, I’m just glad to see you.”

She took her hand back slowly. “Sure. So let’s get down to it. You didn’t keep our lunch date today, with everything that’s happened, just to tell me how much you’ve missed me. What do you want?”

“Want? I wanted to see you.”

Beth sighed. “All right, now you’ve seen me. What else?”

Jordan sat back and looked at her. “Well, you might get me some information.”

Tafallai had been waiting for the call. The team that was tracking Sandor told him they had picked him up again when he got in the cab on Columbus Avenue, followed him to 44th Street, and saw him enter the Algonquin.

Tafallai arrived and made eye contact with his spotter, dismissing him, and then quickly surveyed the area. There was no sense making an attempt on Sandor in a crowded hotel. Instead, he entered a small poster shop directly across the street from the hotel, pretending to browse through photos of old movie stars. From there he kept an eye on the entrance to the Algonquin and awaited his next opportunity.

Jordan and Beth agreed it was best to skip their lunch, once he promised to go directly to the police before returning upstate. It was a lie, of course, and he suspected that she knew it. All the same, she agreed to find out what she could about James McHugh. Jordan promised to call her as they said goodbye in front of the Algonquin. Beth closed her coat for the short walk back to her office. Then he gave her a kiss and sent her on her way before turning east toward Fifth Avenue.

The autumn afternoon carried a damp, gray chill, so he turned up his collar and hunched his shoulders as he walked along 44th Street. It was wonderful, he mused, how a couple of drinks and the cool air had him believing that he would figure something out before it was too late. Now he needed to clear his head for more serious considerations, pleased to be taking the short walk.

Beth disappeared around the corner at the Avenue of the Americas. But before Jordan had gotten fifty yards from the hotel, a black sedan pulled up to the curb beside him. A beefy man in a dark suit stepped out and blocked his path.

The car was so obviously a standard US government-issue vehicle that it didn’t even occur to Jordan to reach for his automatic. He simply watched as the man held up an identification card and badge.

“Mr. Sandor,” he said, “you need to come with us.”

Tafallai had watched Jordan and Beth part company on the street. He waited a few moments then left the shop. He had just begun to follow Jordan when he saw the black sedan pull up to the curb and a man, obviously some sort of government agent, intercept Jordan. Without hesitation, he reversed direction and went after Beth.

TWELVE

Sandor stood there, staring at the man without speaking.

“Mr. Sandor, I’m Agent Springs. FBI.” The man was about five feet ten and sturdily built with short hair, dull features, and an even duller affect. He was still holding up his identification when he repeated, “You need to come with us.”

“Is this about the parking ticket?” Jordan asked.

Agent Springs responded with a frown. As Sandor knew only too well, unlike the sedan, a sense of humor is most definitely not standard US government issue. “We need to speak with you, sir. Immediately.”  

Jordan told him he would just as soon speak with him another time, but neither Springs nor the second agent, still seated at the wheel of the car, were budging.

“Please get in.”

Sandor nodded. “Right. Why don’t you make an appointment with my secretary, and I’ll be happy to meet with you. Say, next Thursday.”

“We prefer you come with us now, sir.”

“Prefer, as in, ‘you’re under arrest’?”

Springs’ demeanor was as insipid as his eyes. “You’re not being arrested.”

“Well, good. Then you won’t mind if I make a quick call and change my plans. I’ll only be a minute.” Without waiting for a reply, Jordan smiled and turned away, stepping towards the front of the Harvard Club. He pulled his cell phone out of his leather bag, powered it up and dialed Captain Reynolds. When the call was answered on the third ring, he said, “Jordan Sandor here. Looking for Captain Reynolds. It’s urgent.”

“Mr. Sandor? Yes, hold on,” the trooper told him.

This time, the captain picked up the call at once. “Sandor? I’ve been trying to reach you.”

“I figured that. The feds have arrived, right?”

“Yes, but that’s not why I’ve been trying you. I’m sorry to tell you, I’ve got some bad news.”

“I’m listening.”

Reynolds paused. “Mr. Peters is dead.”

He felt all the air leave his chest in one sudden rush. Then he steadied himself and tried to keep his voice quiet. He stole a quick look at Agent Springs, who remained standing there, not moving. “How the hell can he be dead?”

“Doctors don’t know what happened yet. They’re going to do an autopsy. It appears he had a massive coronary.”

“What?”

“A doctor was spotted coming out of his room this morning, someone the nurse on duty had never seen before.”

“Did they catch him?”

“No. Whoever he was, he got away.”

“Drugs?”

“Guy in forensics says his IV might’ve been injected with something. We should have an answer by tomorrow morning. Maybe even tonight.”

“Look. I can’t come up now. I was going to but the feds are here to take me in.”

“You’ll be better off,” Reynolds said. “They’re all over us too.”

“Why? What are they telling you makes this federal?”

“Off the record?”

“As agreed. You’re telling me my friend is dead. I need to know.”

“Maybe two friends, right?”

“No,” Jordan said. “I told you the truth about Ryan or McHugh or whoever he was. I never met him.”

“Right. Well, all they’ll say is that it has something to do with national security. That’s the way they’re playing it, anyway.”

Sandor nodded to himself, but did not respond.

“They told me I’m not supposed to discuss the case with you. Not even about Peters.”

“Perfect. And I bet you just love being pushed aside by a lot of DC suits.”

“My poker face is probably off a little. One of my boys gets shot in the neck, a local guy is murdered and now they say another has a suspicious heart attack.”

“Suspicious? You’re kidding, right?’

“I don’t need you rubbing my nose in it too.”

Jordan gave no answer, which was apology enough for Reynolds.

“They threw us aside like we’re the Hardy Boys, just a bunch of hicks getting in their way.”

“And now they’re here for me.”

“I’m not surprised. Are you?”

“No.”

“You and your friend, you were on your way to see McHugh, am I right?”

“That’s what they said?”

“That’s what I think.”

“Okay, off the record, as you like to say. We were.”

“And whoever these people are, they took out Peters, then came after you in New York.”

“Looks that way.”

“Why? Not because you and Peters were witnesses. Collins was a witness too.”

“Collins is under guard.”

“Peters would have been under guard too, if you had leveled with me.”

Sandor felt the slap of his accusation. “That’s unless you believe Danny had a heart attack.”

“Crap,” Reynolds said.

“That airline ticket you told me about. It was round trip, right?”

“It was.”

“In the name of McHugh?”

“Right.”

“What airline?”

“Air France. They confiscated it along with everything else we had on the case.”

FBI Agent Springs cleared his throat. Jordan turned to him and held up his forefinger. “I better go,” he told Reynolds.

“I’ve got one tidbit might interest you.”

“I’m listening.”

“Did you know McHugh had a sister?”

“How would I know that?”

“Just asking. She arrived this morning, after we talked. Drove up to the house, met two of my men protecting the crime scene. Got here before the FBI took over.”

“A visit from his sister a day after he’s shot?”

“That’s all I know. Feds took her away for questioning as soon as they got into town.”

Jordan nodded. “Thanks.”

“Remember, Sandor, you didn’t hear any of this from me.”

“You and I are fine, Captain, believe me.”

“Good, cause now I gotta advise you to go with them.”

“Trust me, at the moment I don’t have any choice.”

“And we didn’t have a conversation about any of this, just so we’re clear.”

“Crystal.” Jordan thought about the leather bag he was carrying, with the automatic zipped into the inside pocket, together with his cash and passports. He wondered how long it would be before the FBI searched him and everything he had with him. “What about Danny’s autopsy?”

“I’ll let you know.”

“You’re a good man, Captain.”

“I think you are too. Hope I’m not wrong.”

“That’s it then?”

“That’s all I got. Maybe the boys in the button-down shirts can tell you more.”

Jordan signed off, then made a show of dropping his cell phone so he could bend over and take the Walther automatic from his belt and slide it inside the bag.

Dan Peters was dead
, he told himself, barely able to believe it.
Probably took him out the same time they came for me.

He did the best he could to collect himself, then turned and walked back to the waiting car. “So,” he said to Agent Springs, “want me to drive?”

THIRTEEN

Mahmoud Rahmad was seated behind a large, polished rosewood desk in the opulent Park Avenue office he used while in New York. He was glaring at his two aides.

“Perhaps you are correct, sir,” said his younger associate, “but Tafallai believes it is only a temporary delay.”

Rahmad shook his head. “There are no delays in such matters. There is only failure.” His ebony eyes flashed with anger. “I want to know who has taken Sandor into custody. And where they are holding him.”

“Yes sir.”

After a moment of silence, Rahmad asked, “Why are you still here?”

The aides exchange a glance and the younger of the two says, “Tafallai believes we will be able to find him.”

Rahmad responded with a bitter smile, his young aide reacting by shifting uneasily in his seat. “And how can that be, my friend? Tafallai has twice failed at his assignment, and now what? He wants to conduct a personal manhunt, is that it? I assure you it will be at his expense, in every sense.”