Girl of Lies (11 page)

“I remember,” Bear said. Interesting that Thompson thought he needed to remind Bear about the protective detail. Was it some kind of subtle one-upmanship? Thompson pointing out that he was so important that he didn’t even remember who had been in charge of protecting his family?

Something was very wrong here.

“Mr. Thompson,” Bear began. Thompson didn’t respond, even though Bear deliberately violated protocol by not addressing him with his title. “Where were you last night? When your daughter was at the hospital?”

“I was on Capitol Hill all yesterday afternoon. My daughter Carrie went to pick up her sister because she could get there quicker than I could. And we agreed to meet back at the condo.”

“I see. And your wife? Why wasn’t she there?”

Thompson rolled his eyes. “You’re asking a lot of irrelevant questions, Mr. Wyden.”

“Wives are never irrelevant, sir, mine would have told you that, at least before she left me. Where is Mrs. Thompson?”

“If you must know, our daughter Jessica has been… problematic of late. My wife is in San Francisco with her.”

Bear sat back in his seat.
What?
That just didn’t make any sense. “Problematic how?”

Thompson coughed. Then muttered, “Drugs. Teenage issues. Nothing life threatening, but Adelina felt it necessary to take her on some… prayer retreat, some days ago. I really can’t tell you any more, except that she’s out of touch.”

“You have no way of getting in touch with her?”

“That’s correct.”

“Sir… that’s… don’t you think that’s a little odd?”

Thompson raised an eyebrow. “How so?”

Bear sat forward, finding himself unable to control the tone of his voice. “Sir, don’t you think it a little odd that your wife and one of your daughters is somewhere you don’t know and out of touch? Don’t you think it’s odd that your youngest daughter was
kidnapped
and you didn’t even bother to go to the hospital to check on her?”

Thompson glared at Bear. “How dare you? Are you here to investigate a crime or not?”

“Mr. Thompson, have you ever encountered Mr. Koury before?”

Thompson frowned.

Bear sat back in his seat. “You have, haven’t you?”

Thompson sighed. “It’s classified, unfortunately.”

What the hell is wrong with this man?
“Mr. Thompson, I have the clearance.”

Thompson sighed. “Well, then. You may or may not be aware that following my retirement I did a significant amount of consulting, including a diplomatic mission to Iraq in late 2002. It was a last minute attempt to get Iraq to back down and reveal their weapons of mass destruction to avert war. Mr. Koury was part of the security team for our mission in Iraq.”

Bear held his breath. “He was part of the security team?”

“Yes. I believe he was the second in command? Possibly.”

Bear thought through the implications of this. “Did you personally have dealings with Mr. Koury?”

“The mission was three weeks. Of course I had dealings with him.”

“What do you remember about him?”

Thompson’s lips curled unpleasantly. “He was an uncouth man. Barbaric really. Fond of pornography. He routinely used foul language.”

“Did you ever suspect any criminal activity?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it.”

Bear sighed. He’d been involved in investigations for many years. He’d dealt with criminals and terrorists. He’d dealt with distraught parents and panicky corrupt officials. But he’d never held an interview as frustrating as this one. He actually found himself wondering if Thompson was a sociopath. No one was this dispassionate about his daughter’s kidnapping. He knew Thompson was a cold fish, but no one was
this
cold. Thompson was hiding something.

“Mr. Thompson… when was the last time you had any contact with Tariq Koury?”

Thompson thought for a moment then said, “Koury held a contract for the coalition provisional authority in Iraq from 2003 to 2005. I dealt with him on a fairly routine basis then.”

“I wasn’t aware you were in government at the time, Mr. Thompson.”

“I was officially retired. But I took on occasional contracts.”

“And some of those contracts took you to Iraq?”

“Among other places.”

Bear nodded. “Were these places classified?”

“They were.”

So Koury knew Thompson. That was unexpected, and in some ways might change the direction of the investigation. But he didn’t really know how. Bear studied the man, eyebrows pressing together.

Thompson looked at his watch.

“I’m aware we’re running short of time, Mr. Secretary. But I have a few more questions.”

“Please proceed.”

“When did you learn Andrea would be coming to the United States?”

Thompson answered the softball question immediately. “Two nights ago. Right after Carrie made the call to Spain.”

“I see,” Bear said. “And… your wife is in California right now. How tall is she?”

Thompson’s eyes widened. At 5 feet 10 inches, he was the average height for a man. The anger on his face was unmistakable. “She is five foot three inches, Mr. Wyden.”

Carrie and Andrea were both taller than six feet. They looked very similar to each other… and significantly different from the rest of their sisters.

Bear could only come to one conclusion. He stared at the Secretary of Defense and said, “Sir… who is Carrie and Andrea’s father?”

S
IR…WHO IS Carrie and Andrea’s father?

Bear Wyden felt the temperature drop in the room when he asked the question. It was the sort of question that could infuriate people. The sort of question that could end careers. After all, he wasn’t asking some deadbeat in Chicago this question. He was asking the Secretary of Defense.

The second the words left Bear’s mouth, Secretary Thompson’s eyes narrowed and he stiffened in his seat. His face went slightly red and Bear thought Thompson was going to show his teeth. “How dare you?”

“Sir, where is your wife?”

“This interview is over.”

“Mr. Thompson, this is a federal investigation into your own daughter’s kidnapping, and you seem more concerned—”

“Mr. Wyden, you won’t be concerned with this investigation or any other for very much longer. Now get out of my office.”

Thompson stood and walked toward his desk. Wyden stood too, ignoring the feeling that he’d just stuck his bare hand into a wasps’ nest. “Mr. Thompson. Your daughter was kidnapped. I need answers to my questions.”

Richard Thompson wasn’t answering any further questions. He lifted a phone to his ear.

“Sir—”

“Colonel Richardson, please have armed guards remove this…
person
… from my office immediately.”

Bear leaned over the desk, right arm extended, index finger pointing at the photo of Thompson and his family. He knew he wasn’t acting rationally. He knew his behavior was neither professional nor was it really accomplishing anything. But when he thought about that girl, kidnapped and alone, and then when she got out of it neither one of her parents could be bothered to show up at the hospital? He didn’t give a shit if you were the President of the United States or a local janitor… you went to your kid in that kind of situation.

The thought of her all alone filled him with rage. “Is all that a sham, then? You don’t give a shit about her, do you? That’s why you weren’t at the hospital.”

“Mr. Wyden, I’ve asked you twice now to get out of my office.”

“And I’ve asked you, Mr. Secretary. Who is Andrea’s father?”

The office door opened. Two men stepped inside. Bear couldn’t tell if they were soldiers or not. Neither wore a standard uniform—instead, they wore black unlabeled fatigues, combat boots, and wore sidearms. Close cropped hair, tan skin, pistols at the ready. They could be military or police or private contractors. He had no way of knowing.

He did know that there were two of them, and they were armed.

Wyden threw his hands in the air. “Fine, then. I’m gone.”

One of them, a blonde haired, blue-eyed former football player who was probably from Texas, pushed forward while the other stood back to cover him. “Lay down on the floor!”

Two more black-dressed quasi soldiers came into the room as he shouted.

“I’m with Diplomatic Security,” Wyden said. “Can I reach in my left pocket for my credentials?”

“On the floor!” Blondie shouted.

Wyden rolled his eyes. “Look at my credentials, please.” He reached to open his jacket. Unfortunately, that brought attention to the 10mm Sig-Sauer in the shoulder holster on his right side.

The blonde quasi-soldier shouted, “Gun! He’s got a gun!”

That changed everything. In fifteen seconds, the four men had Bear on the floor, arms out to his side. Blondie knelt on his back, knee digging into Bear’s spine. He’d been disarmed.

In a disgusted tone, Thompson said, “When you’ve finished removing him, please have someone inform me. I’ll be in the JCS conference room.”

Once they removed the Sig Sauer from his jacket, Blondie reached around the front and took out the small folder from Bear’s breast pocket that contained his State Department ID and Diplomatic Security badge.

“DSS, huh?” Blondie said. “I dealt with enough of your pals before. Here’s the deal. We’re gonna get up nice and slow, and you’re going to cooperate, and then with any luck you can leave today without handcuffs or any holes drilled through you. Got it?”

“Yeah. Play nice. Gotcha. Let me the fuck up, all right?”

Wary, sidearms still out, the four security guards let Bear to his feet, and then escorted him out of the office. Blondie kept a hand on his arm the entire time. Bear shook his head. Sometimes he regretted the fact that he still worked with his ex-wife. Once she got wind of this, he’d never hear the end of it.

2. Dylan. April 29

“Give me one of those.” Sarah was slumped back in a cast iron chair as she said the words, her injured leg tucked up in front of her.

“Hell, no,” Dylan said as he lit his cigarette, shielding the lighter from the wind. He took a long drag from the cigarette, the coal lighting up, the faint sound of the tobacco burning audibly in his ears.

“I’m eighteen now.”

He raised an eyebrow, glancing over at her. After the too intense discussion with Carrie, he’d stepped outside for a smoke, planning on a little solitude. Sarah had followed him out onto the balcony. Twenty stories up, he could see most of Bethesda and parts of northwest Washington, DC spread out below his feet.

“I don’t give a shit if you’re thirty,” Dylan said. “I’m not giving you a cigarette. If you want one that bad, buy your own.”

“You’re kidding, right? I don’t leave the house. I’m a cripple, didn’t you know that?”

He slumped into the seat across from her. “You’re no more a cripple than I am. Actually your injuries weren’t as bad as mine.”

She shrugged. “I’m not a soldier.”

“Better toughen up, then. What’s this about you being a cripple?”

She sneered. “It’s nothing. Mom and Dad basically laid down the rule I couldn’t ever leave without an escort.”

“Alex said you home schooled this year?”

“Tutors, mostly. I can’t imagine what it cost. But it’s changed everything.”

“How?”

She raised her eyebrows. “You went to high school. You know what I’m talking about.”

Dylan shrugged and took a drag off his cigarette. “I don’t really. My high schooling wasn’t exactly normal.”

Her eyes widened a little, then she said, “Oh, that’s right. I forgot. I remember the night Alexandra told Dad you’d dropped out of school. He was overjoyed.”

“I’m sure he was.”

Unexpectedly she leaned forward, tilting her head slightly to the right, a serious expression in her eyes.

“You’re drinking again, aren’t you?”

Dylan froze. For nearly fifteen seconds he didn’t move. Then his eyes darted to the sliding glass door.

“What makes you say that?” The question was unnecessary. He knew why she asked. Everything about his appearance made people wonder. Alex wondered. Everyone who knew him did.

“Common sense,” she replied. “You lost your two closest friends in two years. You’ve got no one to talk to. You’re up there in New York married to my uptight as hell sister and you’re all alone. You look like shit.”

“You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Sarah.”

She leaned forward, raising a knowing eyebrow. “I know
exactly
what I’m talking about, Dylan.”

“I’m not going to tell Alexandra,” she said. “That’s your deal. But you need to.”

Dylan grimaced. “It’s not drinking a
lot
, Sarah. But like you said, I lost my two closest friends. A drink every once in a while is okay.”

Sarah’s eyes dropped to the floor. “I was afraid of that,” she said.

Even though she wasn’t looking at him any more, Dylan still felt defensive. Sarah was Alex’s younger sister by several years, but she always seemed to see right through him. And somehow the experience of the accident last summer formed some kind of bond for her with Ray. It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t have to. But when she looked at him with sad, knowing eyes, Dylan felt like Ray was looking at him.