Girl of Vengeance (9 page)

“Yeah. He’s in the Bellingham jail. I know how to take care of that.”

“Then the woman and her daughter.”

“Yeah?” Marky asked.

“Yes. They’re in a hospital in Abbotsford. Once you’ve taken care of Larsden, then I’ll get you more details.”

“I’m on it, sir.”

Oz hung up without another word. Seconds later, the Bluetooth switched back over and the death metal came back on the radio, once again causing the rearview mirror to pulse. Marky started the car and backed out of his parking space. It was a four-hour drive to Bellingham.

When Bear stepped off the elevator on the 20
^th
floor, he immediately saw two armed and uniformed security guards standing in the hall. A third was at the opposite end. All three wore tactical vests and carried both pistols and rifles.

The occupants of the other three penthouses must be overjoyed.

Bear walked down the hallway toward Carrie Sherman’s condo and one of the guards immediately approached him. The other stood back, hand on his hip, while the first said, “You’re here to see Mrs. Sherman? Identification, please?”

He took out his Diplomatic Security Services identification and badge and showed it to the guard. He approved of their thoroughness. The guards wore the logo of Pinkerton Security Services, a firm that had been doing security and private investigation since before the Civil War. Julia Wilson, who was undoubtedly paying for this, didn’t kid around.

A moment later they cleared him to head into the condo.

Bear’s first impression was utter chaos. He’d last been here on Friday night, a few hours after the attack. The forensic team had been through over the weekend, searching the entire condominium, and they’d left behind a tremendous mess. They hadn’t made any attempt to clean up the fan of blood stains on the wall near the front door, where Dylan Paris had cut off the hand of one attacker with a meat cleaver, then stabbed the other in the back during a short and extremely violent melee.

He continued inside.

Carrie Sherman was standing in the middle of the chaos. Papers everywhere. The coffee table turned over. Bookshelves emptied, the books scattered in a pile on the floor. Knick-knacks taken from the mantle and left—somewhere? Carrie’s face was strained, angry.

Across the room from her, Anthony Walker was gathering up a pile of papers and stacking items. He could hear the others—Sarah and Alexandra, he supposed—talking in another room.

When Carrie spied him, she said, “Was it your people who did this?”

Bear shook his head. “FBI forensics. Normally they straighten up after themselves. This was—excessive.”

“Well, you can help straighten up.”

Bear grunted. “Sure. I need to ask you guys some questions, and have a talk with Walker here. What brought you out here anyway?”

Anthony shrugged. “I had questions too, but when I walked in the door, Carrie put me to work.”

Bear chuckled.

Carrie was staring at the mantle. She muttered, “The goddamned head is missing.”

“The
what
?”

“My father brought back this stupid head from Indonesia or someplace. It’s been on this mantle for thirty years or more. It’s gone.”

“The forensics team should give you a list of anything they removed from the apartment,” Bear said.

Carrie muttered something under her breath and walked out of the room.

“She’s cranky,” Bear said.

“Wouldn’t you be?” Anthony replied.

Bear surveyed the ruin of the room again and frowned. “Yeah.”

Anthony stood and faced Bear. “So what’s this about?”

Bear said, “First, what I’m about to tell you isn’t official.”

“All right,” Anthony said.

“I’ve been temporarily suspended by the Secretary.” He made air quotes as he said the word
suspended
. “DSS is officially off the investigation.”

“Gotcha. But you’re doing some looking on your own?”

“Exactly. Something stinks in this investigation. I’m trying to find out what.”

“So what do you want from me?”

Bear shrugged. “I’ll help you, you help me.”

Anthony nodded. “Information.”

“That’s right,” Bear said.

“Agreed.”

“What do you say we sit down? I want to go over what we know. What you know, what I know. Who did what, and when.”

“Let’s move into the dining room,” Anthony said. “I want to lay this out.”

The formal dining room was twenty-five feet long and had a table capable of seating sixteen. Highly polished wide plank flooring and extensive crown molding gave an impression of luxury and wealth.

Bear said, “I’ve seen a picture of this room. The Thompsons used to host dinners here. There’s one in particular I keep getting stuck on.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow.

Bear said, “The guests were Prince George Phillip. Prince Roshan al Saud. Leslie Collins. Chuck Rainsley.”

“Are you serious? When was this?”

“February of ’84.”

Carrie, walking by in the hallway, stopped and stood in the door. Beside her, Julia touched her arm. Both of them were listening.

Anthony said, “February ’84 was not quite three months after the Wakhan massacre.”

“What does that have to do with us, though?” Julia said, interrupting. “Why did Dad have pictures and files about that?”

Bear stared at her, stunned. “He had pictures? Of Wakhan?”

“Yeah,” Anthony said, his voice grim. “It was unmistakable.”

Bear said, “Before Thompson’s personnel file was stolen, I read through it. It looks pretty clear that Thompson was stationed in Afghanistan in ’83. So was Leslie Collins. And—Prince Roshan was also in Afghanistan at the time.”

Anthony said, “I want to suggest an idea here.”

“Go,” Bear said.

“Okay, so … Richard Thompson goes to Afghanistan. Let’s say, just for speculation—that it wasn’t the Russians who gassed that village. We’ll speculate that
The Guardian
is correct, and it was Afghan militia, backed by Thompson. And not just him, but that Collins and Roshan were involved.”

“Okay? But what does that have to do with now?”

“I’m getting there,” Anthony said. “First—again, according to
T
he
Guardian
, and also some of my co-workers at the
Post
, Prince George-Phillip was responsible for the British investigation. Second—he is Andrea and Carrie’s father.”

Bear shook his head and said, “That’s confirmed now?”

Carrie nodded. “Andrea and Dylan turned up last night after Andrea jumped the wall into the British Embassy.”

Bear chuckled. “That girl has more balls than a basketball team.”

“I’ve received an invitation from the Prince to come to dinner this evening.”

“All right. So—he’s your father. Which means he and your mother had an affair—what—when?”

“Spring of 1984.”

Bear nodded. “Then at some point later on, they got back together. When? Where?”

Julia said, “In China. 1996.”

Bear said. “What I don’t get is this: who tried to kidnap Andrea? Why?”

Anthony said, “To … keep the affair secret? Who would want to do that? I assume George-Phillip.”

“Maybe. The Guardian says he suppressed the findings of the investigation. Why? Something to do with her? With Richard Thompson? Was someone else involved?”

“Maybe he was threatened somehow?” Julia said.

“Or
she
was,” Carrie replied.

“We know that he had
some
reason to suppress the findings,” Bear said. “We know your mother had a long-standing affair with Prince George-Phillip. And, based on the police report, your mother and father didn’t have much love lost between them.”

Carrie said, “He’s
not
my father.”

Julia closed her eyes and sighed. “He is mine. But the more I learn about him, the more disturbed I am. I’ve seen the police report you’re talking about. It raises a lot of questions. So does her diary.”

Bear said, “Her diary?”

Julia nodded. “Yes. It’s—in Spanish—difficult to read handwriting. But she makes it clear that she felt like she was a prisoner.”

Bear sat down in one of the embroidered dining chairs. “I don’t get it,” he said. “There’s something we’re missing. All right … who are our suspects?”

Anthony’s eyes darted to Carrie and Julia. Then he said, “I don’t think we can rule out Richard Thompson.”

Bear felt his stomach tense. “Yeah. Yeah, I don’t think we can either. Especially if he knew Carrie and Andrea weren’t his kids.”

Carrie sighed and sat down at the table. Julia walked up behind her, resting her hands on Carrie’s shoulders.

Carrie said, “He knew. He told me Chuck Rainsley was my father. But Rainsley said no, and now … well, you know.”

“Okay, so Thompson is one possibility. What’s his motive?”

“Revenge?” Anthony said. “He’s still pissed his wife had an affair. He was fine until Andrea came into the country.”

“Okay. Who else?” Bear asked.

“Leslie Collins,” Anthony said.

“Okay,” Carrie interjected. “Who is this Collins guy?”

“He’s Director of Operations at the CIA,” said Julia. “He’s basically the second-in-command. I remember him, sort of. He used to come over and meet with Dad. Mom always got weird when he was around.”

Carrie raised her eyebrows. “How long ago?”

Julia shrugged. “When I was in high school. Sometimes he’d come over and he and Dad would lock themselves in the office for hours. Mom and Dad had Collins and his wife over for dinner a few times. Can’t remember her name. Mary? Meredith? I think I may have met him before that, when I was really little. I’m not sure.”

Bear grunted. “Okay. So Richard Thompson and Leslie Collins are both suspects. Who else? Who would need to keep your parentage a secret?”

“Mom?” Julia asked.

Carrie shook her head. “No … but what about my father? My
real
father?”

Anthony nodded. “It would make for a ferocious scandal. George-Phillip isn’t that close to the throne, but he is a royal Prince. Plus, the head of the SIS. He’s got good reason to keep your parentage under wraps, Carrie. I’d be careful. Especially if you’re going to the Embassy for dinner.”

Carrie looked at Anthony thoughtfully. Then she nodded, once, slowly. “I will. My daughter needs me. I’ll be careful.”

Bear looked back and forth between Carrie and Anthony. She was still grieving, of course, though it had been close to a year since Ray Sherman died. But one day she would heal. And Anthony Walker could do a lot worse than Carrie Sherman. He kept looking at her kind of like a sad puppy dog. She was indifferent, or at least still too bludgeoned by pain to respond to any stimulus other than protecting her daughter. But something in Bear wanted to protect both of them.

Right now, though, he had more important things to think about. Like finding the son of a bitch who had shot his ex-wife.

“All right, all right. So we have three suspects. Anyone else? What about the attack on Friday night? Not to mention whoever shot at your mother on the border yesterday.”

Anthony said, “I think Richard Thompson could be a suspect in all three. If he wanted Andrea out of the way. But Carrie has the same father … and apparently he knows it.”

“Plus,” Bear said, “the drugs and money were planted by somebody. And they’ve been used by the special prosecutor as ammunition in his campaign against Thompson. Don’t forget the grand jury will be meeting soon.”

Anthony nodded. “So the drugs and money were planted by someone else. To smear Thompson?”

Carrie looked back and forth. “What if it was this Leslie Collins? He and Dad … I mean … whatever we call him … he and
Richard Thompson
were involved in the incident in Afghanistan. Now he wants to shut my dad up, smear him, whatever. So he sets up a scheme to discredit him.”

Julia nodded, rapidly. “That would explain the mysterious accounts in the Caymans I keep hearing about. Maybe.”

“So how do we figure out who it is?” Anthony asked.

Bear answered. “Well, we’ve got two prisoners. Joe Paretsky is in Federal lockup—he was one of the shooters in Bethesda last Tuesday, when you guys were going over to dinner. The one Dylan Paris took down. We’ve identified him, but not who he’s working for, and he’s not talking.”

“And the other prisoner?” Anthony asked.

“Nick Larsden. He’s in the Bellingham City Jail, and the feds are fighting for jurisdiction. They’ve got him for at least one murder in California, the owner of a campsite just out of Redwood City. He’s the guy who was shooting at Mrs. Thompson and Jessica when they tried to cross the border yesterday.”

Anthony’s eyebrows ran together. “I think that’s our guy. Plus, I know a guy in the Bellingham PD.”

“Yeah?” Bear said.

Anthony nodded. “Yeah—you know I went embedded as a reporter in Iraq. One of the guys in the platoon I went in with, he works for the corrections department there. Or he did.”

“Call him. I think I see a trip to the West Coast in my future.”