Girl of Vengeance (42 page)

“Yeah, I got you,” Anthony said. “I’ll clear anything I say with you guys unless it comes from somewhere else. Let’s move on, we’ve been over that.”

“All right. Next is—Mitch Filner. What happened to him?”

Emma said, “We know Filner worked for Collins in Southeast Asia, and lost his position with the CIA because of a rape accusation.”

“That’s ugly,” Anthony said.

“It’s fact, and at this point fairly widely known with the investigation team. You can go public with that. He lost his job and went to work for Brennan Holdings.”

“Collins again,” Schmidt said. “What if Collins was pissed off? Instead of a quiet kidnapping, a girl who just vanished, Collins ended up with a giant media fiasco and massive amounts of public scrutiny. Offing Filner was punishment.”

Bear said, “Yeah, but is there anything we can make stick?”

Emma said, “Probably not with Filner.”

Anthony continued to make notes. Carrie sat quietly next to him, listening, her eyes wide. This whole discussion must be a revelation for her. She’d been through the ringer—including dealing with media storm clouds. But this was an order of magnitude more difficult.

Bear said, “All right. What’s the word from Joe Paretsky?”

Anthony perked up. He started to say something, but Carrie beat him to it. “Who’s that?”

Bear said, “Your brother-in-law Dylan tackled him the other day. Paretsky shot a British guy named Charlie Frazier, who we are pretty sure is MI6. As in, he worked for your dad.” The last words were said as he looked pointedly at Carrie.

“Why? I don’t understand?” she said.

Leah interjected, “What I believe is that Prince George-Phillip assigned some agents to watch over you. They spied Paretsky and his now dead partner moving in on you and intervened. We didn’t understand what was going down at the time because we didn’t know the players. But my guess is, if Dylan hadn’t jumped in, one of you might have been hit.”

Carrie shivered.

Anthony shook his head. “If Collins didn’t want a media fiasco, why blow up the house in San Francisco? Why attack the condo?”

Emma said, “He didn’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“Collins almost certainly blew up the townhouse. But we believe we found out who Ralph Myers was working for.”

Bear sat up, his face intensely interested. “Who?”

“Saudi Arabia. Myers was badly in debt. College debt for his kid, then his wife got sick five years ago. Cancer. He was leveraged to the hilt. But about four years ago, his financial problems started getting better. Paid off his debts, got them under control, and everything’s been fine since.”

“Okay … he got recruited by somebody. Why do you believe it was Saudi Arabia?”

Schmidt replied, “EZ Pass records. Over the last four years, on eight different occasions Myers drove from his house in Arlington to Manassas. Each time, it was one day after Ahmed al-Saud made the same drive.”

“Roshan’s son,” Anthony said. “A dead-drop.”

“A what?” Carrie asked.

Bear grunted. “It’s spy talk. One person drops something—cash, or documents, or something else, in an inconspicuous place. The other party then picks it up at a different time. That way the two are never seen together.”

“But in this case, you’ve got the traffic records recording their movement.”

“It wouldn’t pass in court,” Bear said. “Not without photos or some other corroboration. But we know at least their vehicles made that trip.”

Anthony said, “That makes sense. Roshan probably got sick of seeing Collins screw everything up. So he decides to end the whole thing. Sends a team to kill the Thompson family—all of you—and another to take out George-Phillip. I wonder if he knows.”

Carrie said, “He knows. While you were on your way to Afghanistan, someone shot a surface to air missile at his plane. It crashed into the Potomac. Yesterday he flew to London for an emergency cabinet meeting. They took him by jet fighter.”

Schmidt said, “You know an awful lot about his movement.”

She smiled at him. “He’s my father. We’ve been communicating quite a bit since that revelation. He told me last night that the British government had arrested the man who had fired on his house and connected him somehow to Saudi Arabia.”

“So who the hell stole my files?” Bear asked.

Schmidt, for the first time, looked sheepish. He said, quietly, “That would be me. At that point in time, since one person in DSS turned out to be a traitor, we weren’t counting on trusting anyone. So we seized the records.” He reached into his briefcase and passed across a file.

“Mother fucker,” Bear said.

Schmidt merely smiled.

“So the last question,” Bear said. “Who is Oz?”

Anthony answered that. “We know who it is now. Oswald O’Leary. Prince George-Phillip’s assistant. What we don’t know is why.”

“Where is he now?” Schmidt asked.

Carrie said, “He got away. George-Phillip gave me photos and descriptive information to pass on to our security people. In case he shows up.”

Schmidt said, “So what next? Adelina Thompson and our other key witness are testifying on Monday morning for the grand jury.”

“I’m running my story Monday morning,” Anthony said. “We’ve got everything we need. I’d love it if I could get some quotes from you, even if they are anonymously attributes. But the story’s happening no matter what.”

Schmidt said, “We’ll give you some quotes. Thompson and Collins are guilty of mass murder, but you and I both know they may never go to jail.”

Anthony said in a calm voice, “I can still publicly hang them.”

“You’re all forgetting one thing,” Carrie said. “What about Dylan? He’s sitting in jail for killing a man who was attacking his family.”

Schmidt said, “Mrs. Sherman—just before you got here, we’d already determined to let Mr. Paris go and drop any charges.”

Carrie closed her eyes. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Dylan’s release from the federal lockup happened quickly and later he would remember little of it. What he did remember was when the guard escorted him to the front door, back in his street clothes. Alexandra was waiting outside, along with Bear Wyden.

She flew to him, a flash of brown hair and green eyes and then he was enveloped in her arms and Dylan knew that at least for that moment,
right now,
everything was going to be okay.

“God, I missed you,” he whispered, ignoring the people who walked past on the sidewalk, some of them less savory than others.

“Come on, kids. Time’s a wasting.” Bear’s tone was gentle as he said the words.

Dylan and Alex pulled away from each other, and Dylan said, “Do I owe you for getting me out?”

Bear shrugged. “Nah, I’m just the delivery boy. You can thank the IRS.”

“Oh, well that’s weird. Bear—thanks.”

Bear grinned. “Let’s get going.”

Five minutes later, they were driving on the Capitol Beltway back to Bethesda. In the car, Bear kept up a running patter about his opinion of DC cabbies (low), his opinion of the federal government owned car they were driving (even lower) and especially his opinion of the increasingly humid weather (lowest). Alex sat in the front passenger seat, and Dylan leaned forward in the seat behind her, keeping a hand on her shoulder.

When Bear came up for air, Dylan said, “So am I in the clear?”

Bear glanced over his shoulder at Dylan for just a second, and then his eyes were back on the road. “Yeah. You’re not going to face any charges. You did the right thing after all. What you did was heroic, and almost certainly saved Andrea’s life. Twice really, because when you took down that guy in Bethesda, he was almost certainly gunning for her or Carrie.”

Dylan said in a low voice, “Thanks.”

The ride was nearly thirty minutes. Dylan never took his hand off of Alex.

After a long period of quiet, Bear said, “You know, Alexandra—for what it’s worth—I’m sorry that things came down the way they did. That you had to learn the things you did about your father.”

Dylan felt Alex’s muscles tense as Bear spoke. Then, just like that, she sagged into her seat. “It’s okay,” she said. “I always knew something was wrong. Sending Andrea away never made any sense until this.”

Dylan squeezed her arm. Traffic was getting heavier as they approached the center of Bethesda. The sun was going down, the sky brilliant reds and oranges.

They came to a stop in the parking area at the base of the building Dylan had last seen when he was walking away, blood still on his hands and the bottom of his shoes. He stepped out of the car almost unconsciously, and reached for Alex’s hand when she got out. He tilted his head back, looking up the side of the building, at the balconies, all the way to the nineteenth floor. He didn’t want to go up there. He didn’t want to walk into the place where he’d killed two men.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said, “Let’s go.”

They rode up the elevator in silence, but it was a heavy silence. Dylan knew what he needed to do, but he was afraid. He was afraid to admit weakness. He was afraid to admit he’d lost control. He was afraid to admit to Alex that he’d failed again. But if there was anyone in the world who would understand and be there for him, it was Alex. He
knew
that.

He gripped her hand a little tighter and said, “What’s the plan tonight? Who is here?”

“Just us and Carrie and Rachel. Julia and Crank are flying down from Boston in the morning, and—Mother and the others will be here very late tonight. Why? What do you need?”

Dylan swallowed. Then he said, “I need to call my mom.”

“Yeah?” she said. Her voice cracked a little.

He nodded. “I’m gonna find out where to get to an AA meeting around here.”

Instantly, Alex’s eyes went red. She pulled Dylan close to her, and spoke in a broken voice. “Dylan. I’m so proud of you.”

After Anthony Walker handed the car keys to the valet at the entrance to the condominium, he turned around and stumbled face to face with Crank and Julia Wilson. She was dressed in a white A-line dress with deep red flowers splashed across it. He wore jeans and a black T-shirt with the words, “Bullet for my Valentine” written in gothic red letters.

Her eyes narrowed a little. Something was off with her expression. “I wasn’t expecting to find you here, Anthony. Don’t you think you could leave the story alone for Mother’s Day?”

He grinned. “I’m here by invitation, actually.” Then he followed her and Crank into the building, ignoring the flashes of cameras and the shouted questions of other reporters. The security guards at the door cleared the three of them in.

The elevator ride up was awkward. Anthony swallowed uncomfortably, pursed his lips, and looked at the ceiling.

Crank clapped him hard on the shoulder. “No need to be awkward, Anthony. If Carrie invited you, that’s all that matters.”

Anthony coughed and said, “I think she felt sorry for me. My mom passed away a few years ago so I didn’t have any plans this morning.”

“My condolences,” Crank said.

“Thanks.”

The elevator doors opened. Anthony waited until Julia and Crank stepped out then followed them. Their identification was checked again by another guard and then they walked down the hallway.

Julia knocked. Anthony heard a shout, and moments later the door was opened.

It was unmistakably Sarah Thompson who answered the door, right down to the dyed streak in her hair. But instead of the black and grey she normally wore, today she was in a bright yellow taffeta dress.

Julia and Crank both looked stunned. Sarah ignored their expression and simply grabbed Julia and hugged her, then did the same with Crank. She gave Anthony a look he was unable to interpret—almost like she was keeping some sort of secret, then turned and walked into the condominium.

“Come on in, there’s coffee and orange juice. Breakfast isn’t ready yet, but will be soon.”

The first impression Anthony had was of minor chaos. Jessica—still looking pale, but not as bad as she had when he met her in British Columbia a few days before—sat on the couch, with her feet up on a coffee table. Alexandra sat in another chair holding the baby, who giggled periodically but looked pale. Anthony was no expert on babies, but he’d seen enough to know that Rachel did not look well. Standing near Alexandra was a stocky man with broad shoulders, neatly shaven but with hair grown just over his collar. Anthony recognized Dylan Paris from the many photos he’d seen in the news. It would be a long time before Dylan would be anonymous again. Right now he nervously flipped a small white disk between his fingers.

Julia and Carrie immediately embraced. Carrie wore a turquoise dress that nearly matched Sarah’s. Anthony didn’t catch the words that passed between them, but Carrie almost immediately turned to Anthony and took his hand. “I’m glad you could make it,” she said. “Please don’t be too uncomfortable.”

Anthony shrugged. Of course he was uncomfortable—who wouldn’t be, attending someone else’s family’s Mother’s Day celebration. Especially when it was
this
family, with
this
mother.

There were two conspicuously missing women. Andrea. And her mother.