Saving Faith (11 page)

“I guess that would make sense,” Faith said.

“No, it doesn’t. I had the access code to the alarm system,” said Lee.

“So?”

“So I put in the code and disarmed the security system. So why have the trip device still operating? The way it was set up, even when the guy you were with disarmed the security system, he would still have engaged the cameras. Why would he want to record himself?”

Faith looked deeply confused. “I don’t know.”

“Hello, so they’d have you on film without you knowing it. Now the out-of-the-way place with the CIA-level security in place, the Feds, the cameras and taping equipment, all point to one thing.” Lee paused as he thought about exactly how he was going to phrase this. “They brought you there to interrogate you. But maybe they’re not sure of your level of cooperation, or they think somebody might try to pop you, so they film the interrogations just in case you turn up missing later on.”

Faith looked at him with a resigned smile. “Terribly prescient of them, don’t you think? The ‘turning up missing’ thing.”

Lee stood and stared out the window as he thought things through. Something very important had just occurred to him. Something that he should have thought about a lot sooner. And even though he didn’t know the woman, he was feeling kind of crappy about what he had to say. “I’ve got some bad news for you.”

Faith looked startled. “What do you mean?”

“You’re under interrogation by the FBI. Presumably you’re also in their protective custody. One of their guys gets popped protecting you and I probably wounded the guy who killed him. The Feds have my face on their tape.” He paused for a moment. “I’ve got to turn you in.”

Faith jumped up. “You can’t do that! You can’t! You said you’d help me.”

“If I don’t, then I’m looking at some serious time in a place where guys get way too friendly with other guys. At the very least I lose my PI license. I’m sure if I knew you better I’d feel even worse about doing this, but at the end of the day I’m not sure even my grandma would be worth that much trouble.” He slipped on his jacket. “Who’s your principal handler?”

“I don’t know his name,” Faith said coldly.

“Do you have a phone number?”

“It wouldn’t do any good. I doubt he’d be able to take the call now.”

Lee eyed her dubiously. “Are you telling me the dead guy back there is your only contact?”

“That’s it.” Faith told this lie with a completely straight face.

“The guy was your handler and he never bothered to tell you his name? That’s not exactly textbook FBI.”

“Sorry, that’s all I know.”

“Is that right? Well, let me tell you what I know. I saw you at that cottage three other times with a woman. A tall brunette. What, did you sit around calling her Agent X?” He leaned right into her face. “Bullshit Rule Number One: Make damn sure the person you’re lying to can’t prove same.” He hooked an arm around hers. “Let’s go.”

“You know, Mr. Adams,
you
have a problem you may not have thought about.”

“Is that right? Care to share it?”

“What exactly are you going to tell the FBI when you bring me in?”

“I don’t know, how about the truth?”

“Okay. Let’s look at the truth. You were following me because someone you don’t know and can’t identify instructed you to. Which means we only have your word for that. You were able to follow me even though the FBI assured me no one could. You were in that house tonight. Your face is on the tape. An FBI agent is dead. You fired your gun. You say you shot the other man, but you have no way to prove another man was even there. So the proven facts are we have you at the house and me at the house. You fired your gun and an FBI agent is dead.”

“The ammo that killed that guy is not something my pistol happens to chamber,” he said angrily, releasing her arm.

“So you threw the other gun away.”

“Why would I snatch you from the place, then? If I was the shooter, why wouldn’t I have killed you back there?”

“I’m not saying what
I
think, Mr. Adams. I’m just suggesting to you that the FBI might suspect you. I suppose if there’s nothing in your past to make them suspicious, the FBI might believe you.” She added offhandedly, “They’ll probably just investigate you for a year and then drop it if nothing turns up.”

Lee scowled at her. His recent past was squeaky clean. Going back a little further, the waters got a little murkier. When he was first starting out as a PI, he had done some things he would never even consider doing now. Not illegal, but still hard to explain to straightlaced federal agents.

And then there was the restraining order his ex had gotten right before Lucky Eddie had struck patent gold. Claimed Lee was stalking her, was perhaps violent. Lee would have become violent if he had gotten hold of the little shit. Every time Lee thought about the bruises on his daughter’s arms and cheek when he had made an unexpected visit to their rat-trap apartment he almost had a stroke. Trish claimed Renee had fallen down the stairs. Stood there and lied to his face, when Lee could see the imprint of what he knew was a knuckle against his daughter’s soft skin. He had taken a crowbar to Eddie’s car and would’ve taken one to Eddie if the guy hadn’t locked himself in the bathroom and called the cops.

So did he really want the FBI snooping around his life for the next twelve months? On the other hand, if he let the woman walk away and the Feds tracked him down, then where would he be? Everywhere he turned, he ran into a nest of snakes.

Faith spoke in a pleasant tone. “Do you want to drop me at the Washington Field Office? They’re at Fourth and F Streets.”

“Okay, okay, you’ve made your point,” Lee said hotly. “But I didn’t ask for this crap to be dropped in my lap.”

“And I didn’t ask for you to become involved in this either. But . . .”

“But what?”

“But if you weren’t there tonight, I wouldn’t be alive right now. I’m sorry I haven’t thanked you before. I’m thanking you now.”

Despite his suspicions, Lee felt his anger slowly receding. Either the woman was sincere or she was one of the slickest operators he’d come across. Or maybe it was a little slice of both. This was Washington, after all.

“Always glad to help a lady,” he said dryly. “Okay, supposing I decide not to turn you in. What do you have in mind to pass the night away?”

“I need to get away from here. I need some time to think things through.”

“The FBI is not going to just let you walk away. I’m assuming you’ve cut some sort of deal.”

“Not yet. And even if I had, don’t you think I have good grounds to declare them in default?”

“What about the people who tried to kill you?”

“Once I have some space, I can decide what to do. I’ll probably end up just going back to the FBI. But I don’t want to die. I don’t want anyone else associated with me to die.” She stared very deliberately at him.

“I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself. So where do you plan to run, and how do you plan to get there?”

Faith started to say something and then stopped. She looked down, suddenly wary.

“If you don’t trust me, Faith, none of this works,” Lee prodded gently. “If I let you walk, that means I’m going to bat for you big-time. But I haven’t made that decision yet. A lot depends on what you’re thinking. If the Feds need you to bring down some powerful people—and what I’ve seen so far clearly rules out this being shoplifting material—then I’m going to have to side with the Feds.”

“What if I agreed to come back so long as they could give guarantees as to my safety?”

“I guess that sounds reasonable. But what guarantee is there that you’ll come back at all?”

“What if you come with me?” she said quickly.

Lee stiffened so much that he accidentally kicked Max, who came out from under the table and looked at him pitifully.

Faith rushed on. “It’s probably only a matter of time before they identify you on the tape. The person you shot, what if he identifies you to whoever hired him? It’s obvious that you’re in danger too.”

“I’m not sure—”

“Lee,” Faith said excitedly, “did it ever occur to you that the person who hired you to follow me had you trailed as well? You could very well have been used to set up the shooting.”

“Well, if they could follow me, they could follow you,” he countered.

“But what if they wanted to frame you for all this somehow?”

Lee blew the air from his cheeks as the hopelessness of his situation set in. Sonofabitch, what a night. How the hell hadn’t he seen it coming? Anonymous client. Bag full of cash. Mystery target. Lonely cottage. Had he been in a frigging coma or what? “I’m listening.”

“I have a safe-deposit box in a bank in D.C. In that box I have cash, and some pieces of plastic with another name on them that’ll let us go about as far as we need to. The only problem is they might be watching my bank. I need your help.”

“
I
can’t access your safe-deposit box.”

“But you can help me scope the place out, see if anyone’s watching. You’re obviously better at that than I am. I go in, clean out the box and get out as fast as possible while you cover me. Anything looks suspicious, we run like hell.”

“It sounds like we’re planning to rob the place,” he said angrily.

“I swear to God all the things in that box are mine.”

Lee put a hand through his hair. “Okay, maybe that works. Then what?”

“Then we head south.”

“South where?”

“The Carolina shore. Outer Banks. I have a place there.”

“Are you listed as the owner? They can check that.”

“I bought it in the name of a corporation and signed the papers under my other name, as an officer. But what about you? You can’t travel under your own name.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’ve been more people in my life than Shirley MacLaine, and I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

“Then we’re all set.”

Lee looked down at Max, who had settled his big head in his lap. Lee gently stroked the dog’s nose.

“How long?”

Faith shook her head. “I don’t know. A week, maybe.”

Lee sighed. “I guess I can have the lady downstairs take care of Max.”

“Then you’ll do it?”

“Just so long as you understand that while I don’t mind helping somebody who needs it, I’m not playing the world’s greatest sucker either.”

“You don’t strike me as someone who would ever play that role.”

“If you really want a laugh, tell my ex-wife that.”

 

CHAPTER 11

Old town Alexandria was located in northern Virginia next to the Potomac River, about a fifteen-minute drive south of Washington, D.C. The waters were the primary reason the city had been established, and it had flourished as a seaport for a very long time. It was still an affluent and desirable place to live, although the river no longer played a prominent role in the town’s economic future.

It was a setting of both old wealth and freshly monied families nestled within the graceful brick, stone and wood-frame structures of late eighteenth and early nineteenth century architecture. A few of the streets were covered in the very same rolling cobblestone that had supported the treads of Washington and Jefferson. And of the young Robert E. Lee at his two boyhood homes, which were set across from each other on Oronoco Street, itself named after a particular brand of long-ago Virginia-grown tobacco. Many of the town’s sidewalks were brick and had buckled up around the numerous trees that had shaded the homes, streets and inhabitants for so long. A number of the wrought-iron fences that encircled the courtyards and gardens of the homes were painted the color of gold on their European-inspired spikes and finials.

At this early hour the streets of Old Town were quiet except for the drizzle of rain and the rush of wind among the branches of the aged, knobby trees whose shallow roots clutched at the hard Virginia clay. The street names reflected the colonial origins of the place. Driving through town, one would pass King, Queen, Duke and Prince Streets. Off-road parking was scarce here, so the narrow avenues were lined with virtually every make and model of vehicle. Placed against the two-hundred-year-old homes, the chrome, rubber and metal hulls seemed oddly out of place, as though a time warp had whisked the automobile back to the era of horse and buggy.

The narrow four-story brick townhouse that was wedged among a line of others along Duke Street was by no means the grandest in the area. There was a lone, tilting maple in the small front yard, its split trunk covered with leafy suckers. The wrought-iron fencing was in good but not superb condition. The home had a garden and courtyard out back, yet the plantings, dripping fountain and brickwork there were unremarkable when compared with others located but a few steps away.

Inside the home, the furnishings were far more elegant than the outside of the place would have led the observer to expect. There was a simple reason for this: The outside of the home was something Danny Buchanan could not hide from curious eyes.

The first traces of the pink dawn were just starting to nudge at the edges of the horizon as Buchanan sat, fully dressed, in the small oval-shaped library off the dining room. A car was waiting to take him to Reagan National Airport.

The senator he was meeting with was on the Appropriations Committee, arguably the Senate’s most important committee, since it (and its subcommittees) controlled the government’s purse strings. More importantly for Buchanan’s purposes, the man also chaired the Subcommittee on Foreign Operations, which determined where most foreign aid dollars went. The tall, distinguished senator with the smooth manners and confident tones was a longtime associate of Buchanan’s. The man had always enjoyed the power that came with his position and he had consistently lived beyond his means. The retirement package he had waiting from Buchanan would be almost impossible for a human being to exhaust.