Eye of the Storm (21 page)

"You okay?" He slowed his pace, allowing Martin to catch up. Thoughts of Simone swirled in his head, threatening to overwhelm him. It was all so damn complicated.

"I'm fine," Martin answered. "You're the one who looks like the walking dead."

He forced a smile. "Being chased by a killer tends to do that to a guy. But you're the one who got shot."

"Really, it's okay," Martin said, touching his chest to demonstrate. "It's even starting to itch and Simone says that's a good sign."

His blind faith in Simone was either really stupid or really admirable.

Probably both.

He sighed, letting his anger go. It wasn't going to help their present situation if he was off his game. "There's a car pulling into the clearing."

Simone produced the Sig, and all four of them slowed their progress. "There's no reason to believe it's anyone but Marguerite. She'd said it would be a green sedan. A Cadillac."

"The CIA certainly pays well." The words were out before he could stop them, Simone and Tate both shooting him a look. "Sorry."

"Why don't you and Martin stay here." Tate's gaze met Simone's and she nodded. "Use those bushes for shelter. We'll signal when we're sure it's clear."

He started to argue, having just wrestled Simone into a plane because he'd let her take the lead, but closed his mouth. She'd made it, after all.

"We'll split up. You go left, I'll go right."

She nodded, already sprinting toward the tree line to the right.

Reece watched as they inched their way forward, cutting his eyes from side to side and then back to the green Cadillac. A figure had emerged from the car. The driver's side.

So far no reinforcements.

At least that he could see.

The figure waved. And Reece could see Simone break away from the trees, heading for the person by the car— presumably Marguerite.

The woman crossed the clearing toward Simone, and when they met they embraced briefly before Simone turned to signal all clear.

Martin and Reece emerged from behind the bushes, following Tate as they made their way over to Simone and Marguerite. He should have felt relief. There'd been no ambush. But instead he felt nothing, only a strange sense that they'd stepped off the edge of a very tall cliff—the euphoria only a precursor to hitting the ground.

"This is Marguerite." Simone motioned to the older woman standing beside her.

"And you must be Reece." Her smile was charming, the lilt in her accent decidedly French. "Simone has told me much about you."

Obviously not everything, or the woman wouldn't be smiling.

"This is my brother-in-law, Martin," Simone said. "And you know Tate."

It might have been his imagination, but he thought Marguerite's smile cooled a bit as she turned to face the man.

"Tate." She took his hand. "It's been a long time."

"Too long, Marguerite." Tate's words were genuine and the older woman smiled. Perhaps Reece had only telegraphed his own distrust onto the woman. "And I certainly wouldn't have picked this as the reason for our reunion."

"You're sure that they're all dead?" Marguerite asked.

"Yes," Simone said, her eyes full of pain. "I was there with Ed. And there was a picture in Mather's obituary."

"And Bea?"

"We don't have physical verification," Martin answered. Unlike Reece, his brother clearly had no problem feeling like a part of the team. "But we believe she was killed in Montana."

"And you think it's all related to Maurice's death?" Marguerite asked, the five of them walking toward the car.

"It seems logical." Reece joined the conversation, realizing that he was a part of things whether he was comfortable with the fact or not. "The timeline alone seems to support it."

Marguerite looked up at him quizzically.

"Maurice was murdered first, followed by Mather and then Bea. At that point there was an attempt on Simone."

"Several attempts, actually," Martin said, rubbing his shoulder with a grimace.

"And then he attacked us at the rendezvous, killing Ed," Reece concluded on a sigh.

"So Maurice's postcard worked against you." Marguerite's eyes narrowed.

"It wasn't his fault." Simone ran a hand through her hair as they stopped next to the Cadillac. "I'm the one who led the killer to the rendezvous."

"You didn't have a choice." Tate's words were meant to comfort, and for a moment Reece found himself almost liking the guy.

"No." Simone sighed. "I didn't. But I don't have to like it."

"Have you arranged for us to get into Langley?"

It was Marguerite's turn to sigh. "I couldn't do anything officially. As you can imagine there's a lot of disquiet over Maurice's death."

"Suits scrambling to cover their asses," Tate said.

"Well, there is that." Marguerite smiled, her face lighting with the gesture. She had clearly once been a beautiful woman, and she wore the remnants well. "But this is something more. Something coming from outside the Company. I'm not sure what."

"So we're screwed?" Martin asked, his tone mirroring their combined disappointment.

"Never count an old dog out, my boy." Marguerite's smile turned to a grin.

"Especially one as wily as you." Simone reached out to squeeze the older woman's shoulder.

"What have you got?" Tate asked, cutting through the banter.

"I have arranged a way for you to access Maurice's office. Unfortunately it will have to be in disguise, and you'll only have a small window. I wish I could have done more."

"I'm sure it'll be enough," Simone assured her friend.

Reece could only pray that she was right.

"HOW THE MIGHTY have fallen."

Simone glanced over at Tate, suppressing a smile. He was pushing a housekeeping cart as they walked down the hallway toward Maurice's office. "Hey, we've done worse."

"Yeah, but my old man was a janitor, and I swore I'd never follow in his footsteps."

In all the years she'd known him, it was the first time he'd mentioned anything at all about his past. As if he'd followed her train of thought, his face closed, all traces of humor disappearing.

"His office is still at the end of the hall, right?" she asked, working to change the subject. She, more than most, understood the need to keep the past buried.

"Yes. On the left."

So far Marguerite's prep had worked flawlessly. Their van and IDs had gotten them past security at both the front gates and the entrance to the building. Their uniforms were perfect down to the smallest details. Even her shoes were accurate, the white leather squeaking slightly as she moved forward.

A denture plate and glasses had altered her face, the hairnet and dirty-blond wig turning her into a woman who made her living cleaning up after others. Tate looked similarly changed in blue coveralls and baseball cap, the insignia the same as the company that held the cleaning contract for the building. His new nose marred his classic looks—that and the scruffy beard.

She smiled, thinking of all the different personas they had used and discarded over the years. There was something comfortingly familiar in the process, if not the actual appearance.

"We're almost there."

Simone stopped, pretending to dust a water fountain, her other hand on the butt of her gun. Tate moved forward as she watched the hallway behind them. As soon as she was convinced it was clear, she followed him, checking once again before she stepped into the office. Tate closed the blinds. Simone shut the door and then clicked on the light, the two of them working in tandem as if they had not been separated by the years.

"Where do we start?" Tate asked, moving to stand in front of Maurice's desk.

"You start with the files," she said. "Watch for false bottoms, locked drawers, that kind of thing. And I'll start to work on the computer."

She sat in Maurice's chair, the familiarity of his cologne filling her senses. In the beginning she'd hated Maurice. Hated him for pulling her off the streets. Hated him for making her a part of D-9. But with time she'd changed her mind. His gruff exterior had hidden a surprisingly gentle soul and she'd grown to care about him in a very real way, recognizing that in his own way he'd cared about her, too.

He'd been a dichotomy. Keeper and father figure— rolled into one. He'd forced them all into servitude of a sort. Playing on their weaknesses. But at the same time he'd made them better people. Saved them from themselves.

And now he was dead.

"You all right?" Tate looked up from the files he was rifling through.

"Fine. Just remembering" She shook her head, forced a smile and turned on the computer. It whirred to life, the CIA emblem filling the screen. Seconds later a box opened, a white line flashing for a passport entry.

"Fly fishing."

"What?" Simone looked up at Tate with a frown.

"Fly fishing," he repeated. "It's the password. What can I say?" He shrugged. "Maurice was looking forward to retirement."

She typed the password in and the computer buzzed a moment and then was silent, waiting for new instructions. The idea of Maurice in a lure-studded vest and waders seemed incongruous with the commanding-officer intensity that had marked his days heading D-9. "How'd you know what it was?"

"He told me."

The Maurice she knew wouldn't have told him anything.

"Look, I told you he was worried. The last time we met he gave me his password—just in case."

That actually made sense. At least a little. But she filed the thought away to examine again later. "Well, it worked. I'm in. You finding anything?"

"Nothing yet."

She opened a directory, searching the list of documents contained there. Most of them were pretty routine. None of them anything that seemed to be remotely connected to D-9 or the Ramirez junta. She clicked on a few of the documents just to be certain, scanning the contents and then closing them again.

"You were right. There's a false bottom here," Tate said, the surprise in his voice making her smile. He'd always underestimated her hunches.

"Can you open it?"

He was silent for a moment, then there was a pop. "Got it." He shot her a triumphant look and pried the metal bottom out of the drawer. "There are more files." He frowned down into the drawer. "D-9 files."

"Missions?" She stood up.

"No." Tate waved her back down, pulling the stack of files from the drawer. "Personnel."

"Us?"

Tate flipped through the files, his frown deepening. "Yup, everyone is here."

"Do the files have our new locations in them?"

He opened a file folder and scanned through the documents inside. Then did the same with two more. "Looks like pretty much everything's here. Our recruitment papers."

"Recruitment my ass, it was indentured servitude."

"Beats the hell out of a prison stint," he countered, and she nodded, giving him the point. "Anyway, it's all here. No operation details, but our psych evaluations are here." He flipped through a few more pages. "Staff notes. More evaluations from after Sangre de Cristo. There's even information about our lives after D-9. Looks like Maurice kept pretty close tabs on us. Did you know that Mather was gay?"

"What the hell does that have to do with anything?"

"Nothing. Sorry." He turned another page. "Shit."

"What?" Simone spun around to face him.

"The page with her relocation information is missing. I can see where it's been ripped off. The heading's still here."

He held it out and Simone took it, scanning the words still attached to the clip in the file. "Are the others the same?"

Tate thumbed through the other files, then nodded. "Looks like everyone's relocation information is missing. There's a little bit more of Ed's left. Part of a city name. San Be... I think."

"San Bernardino, maybe, it fits with what we know. But it doesn't matter, does it? The point is that someone's clearly been in the files."

"Someone interested in finding us." Tate scowled down at the papers in his hand.

"So you think he stole the papers when he killed Maurice?"

"Not possible," Tate answered, shaking his head. "Maurice was killed at his house. So unless it's an inside job, the killer would have to have been here first."

"Did you know that the files had been compromised?" She needed to ask the question.

Tate's face tightened in anger. "What are you asking me?"

"Nothing. I don't know." She rubbed the back of her neck. "It's all just happening so fast. And I can't help but wonder why it was Maurice called you back into the game. Why not me or Bea or even Ed?"

"I already said I think it was because I was closer. Or maybe it was because you had a new life. And I told you I didn't have anything like that."

"I'm sorry."

"It's fine. Besides, happily ever after is obviously not all it's cracked up to be."

It was meant as a throwaway comment, a way to relieve the tension between them, but instead Simone heard the truth in it. The fact that her one attempt at a normal life had ended in complete failure—last night notwithstanding.

"Let's take the files with us. Maybe there's something there that'll give us a clue as to what happened, who'd want Maurice dead."

Tate nodded and grabbed a manila envelope, sliding the files inside. "How about the computer?"

"So far nothing," she said, turning back to the computer. "But I've still got a couple of directories to look at. You finish with the file cabinets and I'll see what's here."

They went back to work, the silence between them no longer comfortable.

"Simone, did you love me?" He stared down at the papers he was going through, purposely not meeting her eyes. "I mean the way you loved Reece?" She could tell that he wasn't digging for compliments. He was trying to understand, so she honored him with the truth.

"Not like that."

"But you did love me."

"Yes. I did."

"Look, Simone." He sounded nervous now, and she kept her eyes on the computer screen, knowing he'd prefer that. "Whatever happens, I just want you to know that I care about you, too. At least as much as I can care about anyone," he qualified. "I probably shouldn't be saying stuff like this. But it's just that seeing you after all this time. It brought up things..."

"I know." She looked up then, a tiny smile playing at the corners of her mouth, the tension between them dissipating.

"Some things never change." He shrugged, going back to the file drawers, thankfully taking her cue to drop the subject.

She turned her attention back to the computer and Maurice's directories.

The second directory, like the first, came up empty, so she moved to the third one. The list of files seemed as innocuous as the others. There were budget reports and meeting memos. None of them dated over five years ago.

"This is pointless. There's nothing here that dates back to D-9."

"We're not looking for something that old. We're looking for something that happened recently. Something that will probably link back to D-9. Is there a calendar there?"

She felt stupid not to have thought of it herself. "There's one on the desk. I flipped through it, but there were no names or appointments listed that seemed out of the ordinary."

Tate closed a drawer and held out a hand. "Let me look at it. Maybe I'll see something you didn't."

She handed him the day-planner and turned back to the computer.

"Doesn't it strike you as odd that there are no appointments in here?" Tate asked. "Nothing at all except routine meetings and the occasional visit to the dentist?"

"What are you getting at?" The minute the words were out, the reality clicked into place. "He's got another calendar. This one's just a decoy."

Tate nodded. "He always was a cagey bastard. Is there anything on the computer that looks like a calendar?"

She opened his e-mail program, thinking that there might be something there. But the calendar there was also devoid of any personal appointments. She flipped the screen back to the directories, Tate moving to stand behind her shoulder.

"What about that one." He pointed to a file buried inside of two others. The label read "daze". "Seems sort of simple—but..."

"Hiding in plain sight is sometimes the most obvious choice."

She clicked to open the file, and another password box popped up.

"Looking kind of like we found it."

"Except we're locked out again. I don't suppose Maurice happened to give you another password."

"No such luck, I'm afraid." He frowned.

"Well, I'm betting it'll be something personal. Like fly fishing. Only problem being that I haven't a clue what he's been up to the past ten years. You met with him. Any idea what might have been important?"

"I got the feeling he was still living in the past. D-9 marked the zenith of his career. He kept his job after Sangre de Cristo, but he was never part of the inner circle again."

"All right then, so maybe it's something to do with D-9." Just for the hell of it she typed in Sangre de Cristo. Nothing happened.

"Maybe it's one of our names? We're the closest thing to family the old man ever had."

Simone typed in Tate's name. First, then last. Then both. Again nothing. She was typing in her own when the essence of Tate's words hit home. "Family."

"What?" he asked, his brows drawn together. "Maurice considered us family." She typed the word in and the little computer sang, the password box disappearing to bring up another list of files. The first was a series of memos Maurice had written to himself. There weren't many, but just skimming them, Simone knew they were worth pursuing. She hit Print, and moved on to a second file.

This one yielded the calendar. Divided into days, there were meeting notations on almost all of the pages. Some of them a mirror of the public one, others showing meetings with upper-level Company personnel as well as several high-ranking diplomats.

There was even the notation of his meeting with Tate. Much later than Tate had led them to believe.

"I thought you said your last meeting with Maurice was weeks ago. This is dated right before his death." She pointed to the calendar entry.

"I don't know how to explain it. But I wasn't there. Maybe he was going to call and set it up?"

Simone stared down at the computer screen, considering the idea. "You're thinking he was killed before he could contact you?"

"It's possible. Scroll back and see if there's not a listing that corresponds with the earlier date."

She obediently scrolled back and sure enough, Maurice had a notation of a meeting the week Tate had originally indicated. In addition, unlike the first entry there was a secondary note indicating that Tate had agreed to help. "Looks like maybe you're right."