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Authors: Catherine Coulter

Power Play (An FBI Thriller)

BOOK: Power Play (An FBI Thriller)
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ALSO BY CATHERINE COULTER

THE FBI THRILLERS

Bombshell
(2013)

Backfire
(2012)

Split Second
(2011)

Twice Dead: Riptide
and
Hemlock Bay
(2011)

Whiplash
(2010)

KnockOut
(2009)

TailSpin
(2008)

Double Jeopardy: The Target
and
The Edge
(2008)

Double Take
(2007)

The Beginning: The Cove
and
The Maze
(2005)

Point Blank
(2005)

Blowout
(2004)

Blindside
(2003)

Eleventh Hour
(2002)

Hemlock Bay
(2001)

Riptide
(2000)

The Edge
(1999)

The Target
(1998)

The Maze
(1997)

The Cove
(1996)

A BRIT IN THE FBI THRILLERS (with J. T. Ellison)

The Final Cut
(2013)

G. P. Putnam’s Sons

Publishers since 1838

Published by the Penguin Group

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penguin.com

A Penguin Random House Company

Copyright © 2014 by Catherine Coulter

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Coulter, Catherine.

Power play / Catherine Coulter.

p. cm.

ISBN 978-0-698-16578-6

1. United States. Federal Bureau of Investigation—Fiction. 2. Sherlock, Lacey (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 3. Savich, Dillon (Fictitious character)—Fiction. 4. Suspense fiction. I. Title.

PS3553.O843P69 2014 2014015439

813'.54—dc23

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Version_1

 

To my amazing husband, who continues to pour his heart and soul into my books. Thank you.

—C
ATHERINE
C
OULTER

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
 

Power Play
was pure adventure to write. I would like to kiss the toes of the following people:

Kurt Crawford, Public Affairs Specialist and Media Rep for the FBI Training Division.
Thank you for painting a word picture for me of Nicholas Drummond’s graduation ceremony at Quantico. If I got anything wrong, I’ll try to blame you, but I doubt it’ll fly.

Angela Bell, Office of Public Affairs, Hoover Building, Washington, D.C.
My continued thanks to you for always being available for every off-the-wall question, always enthusiastic and laughing. My only wish is to meet you face to face.

Amy Brosey, Copy Editor.
My thanks to you for being as tenacious as a bulldog, never missing a thing and catching most of my brain hiccups. You are integral to making the FBI series fly high.

Karen Evans, Special Private Assistant to me.
Without you I would run right off the rails; indeed, I would be in sorry shape. Bless you for always being there to fix a gnarled-up computer, deal with technology, read and edit manuscripts, give great advice, and actually, to be perfectly honest here, handle everything that comes through the door.

Perry King, Fitness and Pilates Trainer,
who gave me her name. Thanks.

CONTENTS
 

Also by Catherine Coulter

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

Acknowledgments

 

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Chapter 66

Chapter 67

Chapter 68

Chapter 69

Chapter 70

Chapter 71

Chapter 72

Chapter 73

Chapter 74

Chapter 75

Chapter 76

Chapter 77

Chapter 78

Chapter 79

Chapter 80

Chapter 81

Chapter 82

Chapter 83

Chapter 84

Chapter 85

Epilogue

 

Special Preview of
The Lost Key

 

Buckner Park
Chevy Chase, Maryland

Middle of March
Saturday, late afternoon

S
he always ran at sunset. She rarely ran all-out, rather she maintained a smooth, steady pace because this was her thinking time. Thankfully, it wasn’t freezing cold on this early evening. The two-lane trail wound in and out of oak and maple trees, the terrain not too extreme. She loved how the light played through the still-naked tree branches, and how quiet it was with so few other people out in the park this time of day. Quite different from running along the Embankment in London—a challenge, since there were always people to watch out for. Here or in London, it was still her precious thinking time. Diplomatic protocols with endless snafus, relations with Her Majesty’s government, and now too often about people who wanted to blow up their neighbors, or London, still fighting out thousands of years of hatreds seemingly bred into their bones. Sometimes there were victories. Thankfully, she was good at her job, but there was
always something to work through, something to make her brain ache. But not today. Today she was trying to figure out what suddenly happened in her life that had brought her here. As she ran, a constant prayer looped through her brain that she’d left the danger back in England.

Her breathing was even, her muscles warm, and she relaxed into the repetitive movement. She focused on the quiet, even heard a blue jay, the sounds of small animals moving about in the underbrush near her, the slap of her running shoes on the trail, smooth and steady.

After another quarter-mile, the trail turned back toward Nickerson Road, with its two lanes and light traffic. She ran parallel to it for a hundred yards or so. George’s face flashed in her mind. He was eating spaghetti, of all things, and smiling at something she’d said, and she felt the familiar punch of grief, raw and deep.

And that was the question she always came back to. What had she done that would make someone want her to pay with her life? With George’s life? No matter how she turned it over in her mind, she simply couldn’t think of anyone who possibly hated her that much.

She heard a car approaching on Nickerson Road. In that stark moment she heard the engine revving, the car accelerating toward her. She twisted to look, stumbling on a clump of rocks at the edge of the trail and falling sideways, flailing her arms to keep her balance, but still she fell hard. The car was close now, nearly on her, and it was coming fast. She didn’t think, simply rolled into the bushes near several trees. She smelled the exhaust, felt the heat of that beast as it flew past her.

She heard the car brake hard, pictured the driver turning around to come after her again. She jumped to her feet and ran into the woods off the trail, the only sound in her ears the frantic beat of her heart. She plastered herself against the back of an oak tree and waited.

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