On The Rocks (48 page)

Another knock.

The agent opened the door. Closed it as soon
as the woman was inside.

“You made it.”

Sabine moved across the carpet slowly,
shoulders curled inward, her breathing shallow. “Barely. My chest
still hurts. Vest got shredded, but none the worse for wear.”

She eased into the seat by the puzzle. A
frown marring her brow, she craned her neck out, observing it in
its entirety.

Well, near entirety.

Sabine cocked her head. “You’re missing the
last piece. Poor little chameleon can’t see.”

“It’ll turn up.” Metis went to the small
refrigerator, swung open the door and pulled out a cold bottle of
water. Put it back. Grabbed another, this one with the label
ripped. Cracked open the lid and took a healthy swallow. “Want
one?”

“Yeah,” Sabine said. “Did you know
chameleons can see two different directions at once?”

Metis’s head bobbed. The agent selected the
first bottle again, nearly tossed it but remembered her injured
state. Twisted the lid off and walked it over to her.

“Thanks.” She took a gulp. Another. Wiped
the back of her hand across her mouth. “I lost the diamonds.”

Metis blinked. The diamonds belonged to the
Delegation. A necessary prop to prove Sabine’s worth to Abrahan
Galletti.

The trips to Rome to launder his money?
Intel drops with a Delegation contact there.

Her wedding to Abrahan? Presided over by a
member of the Delegation. About as real as a three dollar bill.

Her mother in Rome? Delegation member.

But the diamonds were real.

And the Delegation would want them back.

“Lost how?” Metis sat on the chair near the
table by the bed. Glanced at the clock.

“Lennox has them.” She looked away. “Don’t
know if he knows it. Bastard shot me and took off in the car. I had
to foot it two towns over with my chest throbbing.

“Anyhow, they were in my bag. Other than
that, everything went off without a hitch. Sanzio is dead—” more
water— “Duquesne got the NOC list like we wanted. Still think it
was far more complicated than it needed to be.”

Of course it was. That’s what happened when
dealing with
people
and not puzzle pieces. People did not
fit easily into place, did they? People did not behave as Metis
would like, or there would be no need for the elaborate
subterfuge!

“All that setup with the wife and the
jewelry and whatnot?” Sabine said. “Some days I didn’t think it
would come together. But Duquesne bit. Hook, line, and sinker.”

Yes, he had. And though Metis could not
anticipate Xander stealing the NOC list, the theft made it all the
easier for the Delegation to track him.

“Too easy and he would have been suspicious.
It takes work to outsmart a smart man.”

Sabine took another healthy chug. “God, I’m
starving. Wanna go eat?”

Metis nodded, motioned to the file folders.
“Ten minutes. Need to update the Delegation and clean this up.”

The agent selected two files from one pile—
the one for Kizzie Baldwin, and the one for Lennox Tate. Tate’s
file was set aside, a puzzle piece that would need to be
eradicated. Metis opened Baldwin’s file. Stared at her picture a
moment longer than appropriate. Placed it atop the other pile with
Xander Duquesne.

The sound of metal scraping on metal
sounded, and Metis turned to see Sabine pulling the curtains open.
The agent cringed against the onslaught of sunlight pouring through
the window.

“So dark in here.” Sabine coughed. “That’s
one thing… I think… I might miss…”

She coughed again, great hacking rounds of
it.

“You okay, agent?”

Nodding, she grabbed the water and swallowed
more down, finishing the bottle.

Metis closed the lid on the laptop on the
right. Removed the black thumb drive protruding from the USB port.
Slipped it into a pocket.

The coughing didn’t stop. Sabine stumbled
back against the window, wheezing, clutching her chest. Her
throat.

Her eyes widened.

Then rolled back in her skull.

She crashed to the floor, body rigid with
spasms, mouth foaming.

Metis turned to the laptop on the left, the
one with the white cursor still blinking, and updated the
Delegation:

Operation 3-19:

Suboperation Light Bearer: Developing

Suboperation Clean Sweep: Terminated —
Proposed conversion: Suboperation D…I…R…

Metis finished typing out the proposed name
and glanced back at Sabine’s body, stone-still on the floor.
Returned to the laptop:

Operation Eagle Scout: Mission
Accomplished

Metis paced over to the window. Stared out
at the trees. Clear skies for miles.

Then, somewhere in the world, the agent
known as Metis drew the curtains tight and left the room, the
puzzle on the table still unfinished.

EPILOGUE

August
23
^rd

McLean, Virginia

HEELS CLICKING URGENTLY, Rachel blew by the
wall of stars, over the CIA seal engraved in the entryway of the
lobby, and out the double doors. She hadn’t felt the sun in too
many days, and while the warmth in the air felt delicious on her
face, she couldn’t pause long enough to enjoy it.

“Rachel,” a voice called behind her.

She spun around to see Agent Atwater
trailing her out of the building. Forcing herself to stop, she grit
her teeth and swallowed the groan. The delay was more than a
nuisance today. The last contact from her field agents was five
days ago, and everything in her gut said the Galletti job had gone
tits up. She had Intel waiting that would either confirm or deny
her suspicions.

She needed to move.

He jogged to catch up.

She started walking, hoping he’d realize she
was in a hurry and go away.

“Hey,” he said, “You never let me know about
dinner.”

Wow. Rachel stared at him a long moment,
Bill’s warning about trusting no one echoing in her head. Atwater
was more than likely harmless, but he was annoying. And that was
reason alone to shoot him down.

Besides, she was still holding out hope for
Fletcher’s return.

“Dinner. No, thanks,” she said bluntly,
tired of the go along to get along. Firm decisions were necessary
in this job, and if he couldn’t handle the rejection she’d be happy
to return his little foam balls.

Actually, he could have those back
anyway.

“Are you—”

“Absolutely positive, Atwater. And stop
calling me Rachel. Agent or Hayford will do nicely. Have a good
day.”

Rachel made it to her car without further
incident, started it up and headed to her meeting.

The drive to downtown McLean seemed to take
hours instead of minutes. She caught every red light like she was
going for a world record, and when she finally reached her
destination, she circled the block several times looking for a
place to park. On the third lap, Rachel glanced in her
rearview.

A black SUV was right on her bumper. Just
like the one she’d seen the other day.

Coincidence, probably. So close to DC, she
could throw a penny and hit two black SUVs at once.

Then again, Bill would say coincidence is
the product of careful planning.

She studied the windshield, unable to see
the driver through the tint. Her breathing tripped and she forced
down air to keep her nerves calm.

A horn blared and she snapped her eyes on
the road ahead. The light was green, but instead of going through
it, she waited.

And waited.

Another
beep beep
.

She ignored it.

The black SUV whipped around her. She tried
to see through the windows as it went by but the dark tint and
speed made it nothing but a Stygian blur.

Rachel cut her wheel hard and darted across
two lanes to make a left. Then a right. Left again, and then one
more. Sure she wasn’t being followed, she came back to the parking
lot from the opposite entrance. Her destination was just over a
block away, and as she threw the car in PARK and hopped out, she
glanced at her watch.

Almost half an hour had elapsed since she’d
first gotten the call. A blink of an eye in the grand scheme of
things, but a critical waste of time given the gravity of the
situation.

She had to hurry.

Pumps clicking, thighs burning, she covered
the first block in record time, rounded the corner, and plowed
right into a woman coming out of a pet shop.

The woman’s hands dug into Rachel’s
shoulders as her knee buckled. At the same time, Rachel gripped the
woman’s upper arms to keep her from falling over, taking most of
her weight. “Goodness! Are you all right?”

“You’re in quite the hurry, aren’t you?” the
woman said.

A pair of fluffy white Bichon Frisés tugged
on the leashes in her hold. The dogs darted behind Rachel, yipping
and tangling the blue leads around her and their owner.

Rachel flicked her gaze away. At the end of
the block, a black SUV cruised by on the cross street. Her focus
came back to the woman she’d almost run over.

Sharp eyes studied her behind the weak tint
on a pair of Jackie-O-inspired sunglasses, the bottom edges resting
on cheeks smooth and pale as a porcelain doll.

The woman dropped the leashes, freeing
Rachel from the temporary bonds. The dogs sat back on their
haunches, like they knew better than to take off.

“You young people, always rushing through
life,” the woman said, her whiskeyed tone sprinkled with
disapproval. She patted Rachel’s shoulder, smoothed the collar of
her blazer. “Slow down a little, or you’ll miss what’s important.”
With a litheness that belied her years, she scooped up the leashes
and strutted away.

Rachel watched her a brief moment. She wore
a blue velour tracksuit with white sneakers. Had a sun visor on,
like she should be playing shuffleboard down in Florida instead of
goose-stepping through McLean. Her ash-colored locks were pulled
back into a low ponytail at the base of her head.

And she smelled of Chanel No. 5 and
nicotine.

The same scent that lingered in Rachel’s
office.

Rachel’s stomach dropped.

This
woman…

The woman was moving a little faster now,
the dogs practically sprinting ahead of her.

Rachel took two steps back in the direction
she’d come, the feeling in her gut pinging. Something was off about
that woman. Something—

The call.

Back on task, she hurried to the alleyway,
double-checked that no one was watching, and then slipped down the
narrow passage. The door where the stars were graffitied on the
wall stood ajar, and she went inside.

Agent Connolly sat in one of those metal
chairs watching a tablet computer propped up on the dusty little
table in front of him. Tinny sound came through the speakers,
barely carrying to Rachel’s ears.

Bill glanced up at her. “Hayford.”

“Sorry I’m late.” She refrained from
explaining further, just rounded the table to peek at the screen
over his shoulder.

In the graphic at the bottom
Breaking
News
clung to the screen, the bold white letters a violent
slash against a backdrop of emergency red. Above that, Congressman
Carl Wheaton stood behind a podium:

“…
as I look out in the crowd, I see in
your faces this country’s hope for the future. I see hardworking
Americans ready to get this country back on the right track. Are
you ready?”

Wheaton waited for the cheers to die down, a
huge smile on his face.

“
And so, it is with great pride that I
announce today my candidacy for the Presidency of the United States
of America!”

The cheers continued, crackling through the
speakers.

“And so it begins…” Bill sighed.

Rachel frowned. “I’m sorry?”

“The political race. The lobbying and
mudslinging.” He turned the volume down on his tablet and laid the
device flat. “Anyway, I’ve got something you need to see.”

With the help of his cane, Bill pushed to
his feet and dug in his pants pocket. As he pulled his hand free,
something small flitted to the ground.

They bent at the same time to retrieve it,
but Rachel was faster. She plucked the oddly shaped bit from the
floor, noting the freckled concrete shade on the back. Flipping the
chunk over revealed what looked like an eyeball surrounded by green
lids.

Finally, a peek beneath Agent Connolly’s
impenetrable facade.

Smiling, Rachel handed it over to him. “Been
looking for this one?”

Head bent, Bill studied the puzzle piece
against the flat of his palm. Cleared his throat. “For days now.
Couldn’t finish it without this…”

Something crossed over his face, an emotion
she couldn’t name. Sadness, maybe?

No. Regret.

“Everything okay?”

Brow drawn down, he motioned toward the
chair. “Have a seat, agent.”

Rachel’s gut flipped. He didn’t speak for a
long while, and she couldn’t wait another minute. Something was
wrong, she knew it. “Just tell me. It’s the Galletti op, isn’t it?
I didn’t hear back from Kiz—”

“Agent Tate is dead.”

Her hand flew to her mouth too late to cover
her gasp. “And… and Kizzie?”

“Agent Baldwin is AWOL. I believe…” Bill
shook his head. Sadness filled his rheumy gaze as he struggled to
get the words out. “Jesus, I never thought I’d say this, but I
believe she killed him.”

Rachel recoiled. “What?”

This didn’t sound right. Kizzie wouldn’t
have killed Tate… Would she?

Joked about it? Yes.

But actually done it?

No.

Not the agent she knew. Not Gracie.

But what did she know about Agent Baldwin,
really?

Nothing.