Cold Light of Day (15 page)

They went up one floor in the elevator and took a left. Strode down the corridor until he reached a plain, brown door with the number thirty-two on it. He knocked gently and when there was no reply, he let them quietly inside. His mother was alone and lay asleep on a twin bed with an ornate wooden headboard. He’d decorated the room two years ago with the same floral paper she had in her home—a house he’d rented to a young family because selling it felt wrong. Various tubes were attached to his mom, and a heartbeat monitor, but apart from that, it looked like a normal old folks’ room.

She’d sacrificed everything for him when he was growing up, and he intended to make her as comfortable as possible for as long as she needed. His mom had already been abandoned by one asshole named Lazlo and he wasn’t about to let it happen again.

She lay on her back, although the nursing staff turned her regularly to prevent bedsores. Her hair was bright white, almost colorless. She was only in her late sixties, and so peaceful looking it was hard to believe she’d probably never wake up. He went over and kissed her cheek. It felt paper-thin. “Hey, Mom. Just came to say ‘Hi’.” He kissed her again and moved away, trying not to think about the futility of what was happening here.

Losing friends in combat
hurt
, but they’d chosen to fight and to sacrifice themselves for their country and their brothers. He respected that sacrifice. His mother hadn’t chosen this. But her indomitable spirit refused to let go.

Some days he wished she would and the thought made him feel guilty as hell. But human. All too human.

He wasn’t capable of caring for her on a day-to-day basis. Bringing her here, keeping her close was the best he could manage. The added guilt of leaving her with strangers sometimes kept him awake at night, but he knew it was the only way to keep his sanity. And it’s what she would have wanted.

He knew it. It hurt anyway.

Scarlett pursed her lips and looked distressed when she stared at the woman in the bed.

He stood in front of her and pressed his hands to her upper arms. “Don’t worry, we’re not staying long. Take a seat.” There was no reason to think the bad guys would follow them here. With the size of that explosion, they’d assume they were food for the fishes.

He took his mother’s phone and went into the bathroom. Scarlett followed him and closed the door after them. Damn. He’d wanted to do this without her listening in.

His cell was in his pocket, but he didn’t want to use it and give away the fact he was alive to anyone listening in. He pulled it out and checked the number for Frazer.

Before he could dial, Scarlett caught his wrist. “Who are you calling?”

“ASAC Frazer.”

Her eyes grew huge. “Call my cell instead.”

“You don’t trust my boss?”

She shook her head, “It isn’t that exactly, but…” He could see the doubt in her eyes. She still believed her father had been set up and someone in the FBI was responsible. “Okay, call Parker instead.”

Her eyes begged him to do as she asked.

“Fine.” He dialed Parker. It made sense in many ways, but Scarlett didn’t need to know that.

“And don’t use any names. Who knows what the NSA can flag these days.” She looked so serious he refrained from eye rolling.

Parker answered on the third ring.

“It’s me.”

“What’s up?” Parker didn’t ask why he was calling from an unknown number.

“Someone just blasted my boat to kingdom come.”

“Shit. The girl?”

Matt noticed he didn’t use her name either. Was he as paranoid as Scarlett? Maybe Matt was the naïve one. He looked at her standing beside him in his mother’s bathroom, and wondered how life had gone from normal to so fucking complicated in twelve short hours.

“Whoever planted the bomb probably thinks we’re both dead at the bottom of the marina.”

“You talk to Frazer yet?”

“You were my first call.”

“That must have been her idea.”

“How’d you figure that?” Matt asked.

“Because you’re a rule follower and would immediately call your boss. She’s smarter.”

“I respect the chain of command.”

“Rule follower. Linear thinker.”

Matt resented the fact he was right. “I’m hanging up and calling Frazer any second now.”

“Don’t. You made a good choice. No one can trace this call or listen in. I also put a lock on anyone trying to track the signal on Scarlett’s cell. Russians are definitely looking for her. Might be useful later.”

“How did they know she was with me? I wasn’t followed.”

“Assuming you weren’t targeted for your previous actions?”

“The same night as this shit is going down?” Being a former Navy SEAL was not something he advertised for obvious reasons. “How likely is that?”

“Not very,” Parker agreed. “I’m presuming the Russians had your identity from the party last night. When they lost Scarlett, they went looking for you instead. Can she hear this?”

“No.”

She was trying to eavesdrop, but Matt held himself away from her and Parker spoke softly so his voice didn’t carry.

“The LeMay girl is still missing and there’s been no ransom demand yet. I suspect they are holding her for barter. I have some programs running on the Russians from the embassy, but they haven’t popped anything as to where they might be keeping her. Yet. They will, but they need time, usually a few days.”

Scarlett held up a bottle of mouthwash with a questioning look on her face.

She wouldn’t use mouthwash without permission, but took it upon herself to bug foreign dignitaries?

He nodded. She unscrewed the cap and the sharp scent of mint flooded the air.

“Frazer wants us to start looking into Richard Stone’s case on the off-chance someone made a mistake. We’ve got to be subtle about it. Unfortunately there’s no way Rooney and I can skip Christmas with her family—much as I’d like to—which means I’ll be working on this from West Virginia.”

Matt felt a prickle of surprise run over his flesh. “He doesn’t actually believe there’s something in those old files, does he?”

Scarlett’s dark gaze swung to his and he saw a spark of hope shoot through her eyes.
Christ
.

“No. But he’s wondering why the Russians overreacted the way they did—that’s going to go double when he hears your boat was scuttled.”

Matt remembered the mass of fiery objects shooting through the air and figured
scuttled
didn’t quite cover it.

“We checked those surveillance tapes of Dorokhov’s office, but they only kept a few days’ worth—at least that’s what they told us. Nothing on them points to anything aside from the guy being an asshole.”

Matt laughed at the understatement. “Any idea why they were watching him?”

“Nope. I’m not in that need-to-know loop, and neither is Frazer.” And if Frazer didn’t know, it was going to be hard for any of them to figure out. “Can you stay where you are for a few hours?” Alex Parker asked him.

Matt thought about it. “No.” He needed to talk to Rhonda, who went off duty in about fifteen minutes. He had to tell her to forget she saw him today. But there were other people who worked here and knew his face. Wouldn’t take long for one of them to call the cops and tell them the FBI agent they were so worried was at the bottom of the ocean was actually hunkered down in his mom’s suite. No way was he luring bad guys here. They needed to leave ASAP.

“You have a few choices.” Parker thought fast on his feet—like the combat vet he was. “One is tell the world you’re alive while we stash Scarlett under guard somewhere. The other is you both go under the radar until we find proof linking the Russians to the attempted murder of a federal agent, which should be enough to at least expel Dorokhov regardless of his diplomatic status… Actually that’s pretty much it.”

So either he helped Scarlett avoid these assholes, or someone else did. Matt rubbed the back of his neck as he watched her. She was now trying to fix her hair in the mirror above the sink, looking frustrated that one side wanted to stick up.

“What?” she demanded when she caught him staring.

He said nothing.

It was Christmas.

It was a hell of a time to drag other federal agents or US Marshals away from their wives and families on indefinite assignment. After the goatfuck up in Minnesota where two US Marshals had been shot dead by a bunch of terrorists while protecting Vivi Vincent’s eight-year-old son, the organization was still reeling from loss. Matt had no plans for the holidays aside from taking a few days off to spend Christmas with his mom, but the gut-wrenching bottom-line was she wouldn’t care if he was here or not.

The other thing he’d learned in the teams was the job came first. A personal life happened when the smoke cleared. As much as he wanted his life back, he didn’t want to abandon Scarlett when he could protect her just as well as anyone else could. Better than most.

“The bastards blew up my boat,” Matt told Parker, which seemed to be answer enough.

“Can you access a computer? I’m going to send you the case files Frazer copied—should keep you occupied for a few hours.”

“Yup.” Matt kept a laptop in a locked desk here so that he could work and keep his mom company at the same time.

“Good. Don’t even turn it on until I get you a new email identity that can’t be tracked back. Then I’ll forward your email to that account. First, I need to organize some transportation and supplies for you. It’ll take time. An hour tops.”

For a cyber-security guru, the guy was savvy about what someone needed to disappear. The advantages of working clandestine ops for the CIA? “I appreciate it. Thanks.”

“Lazlo,” Parker said, his voice serious this time. “They think you’re both dead. My advice—keep it that way.”

A
ndrei Dorokhov’s head
pounded from the aftereffects of lack of sleep and the alcohol he’d used to drown his fury last night. The dull pain in his brain and gritty feel at the back of his eyes suited his mood. He got off the metro at Farragut North, rode the escalator up to 17th Street. Taking his time, he cut through the park, past the statue of “Damn the torpedoes” Admiral Farragut. The double chalk mark on the bench closest to him told him where to meet. A rush of satisfaction washed through him and he let out a long, slow breath. It had been a long time.

He didn’t pause or stare too long at the chalk, just walked on by, head up, black fedora pulled low. The streets of Washington DC had altered little in the time he’d been away, and the codes he’d used to communicate with his assets were etched in his brain.

It was old-fashioned tradecraft, but sometimes the old ways were the most effective against those who relied on electronics and biometrics. Still he didn’t take chances. The hat and glasses disguised most of his face. The cane he carried and his slight affected limp deceived the human eye. Dorokhov was confident in his ability to blend into an American landscape. Easy as apple pie.

He’d been a good handler, a top spymaster, but now, rather than enjoying the spoils of his success, he was worried he was going to get exposed. More than a decade after the fact. It was intolerable. All because a stupid little girl hadn’t understood that the game was over, and he’d won.

His lip curled.

He came to Lafayette Park and looked at all the Christmas lights decorating the nearby streets.

He usually enjoyed the American holidays. He wasn’t a religious man. He liked the glitter, the superficial sense of affinity for one’s fellow man regardless of religious or political ideology. Stone’s runt had ruined it for him, but she’d paid for her audacity. A nice little Christmas bonus for the disgraced former FBI agent who’d been the bane of his existence until he’d framed the bastard for the very crimes Stone had accused him of committing. It was his crowning moment in the SVR, but unfortunately the spy ring had fallen apart after that, and he’d eased into his diplomatic role, deflecting any attention he might have gained by becoming inactive. There was no benefit in burning his former sources—it gave the opposition too much information on what secrets might have leaked and you never knew when leverage might be useful. Russia played the long game with more patience and stealth than the Americans dreamt of.

Andrei forced himself to relax. The CIA and FBI hadn’t spotted anything fourteen years ago, no reason to believe they were any smarter now. And they’d have to tread very carefully before they accused him of anything untoward. He was the Russian Ambassador, not some low level attaché.

He kept walking through the bustling streets, people busy trying to get their work done so they could go home for the holidays. The politicians were done, of course, but their minions kept the hive buzzing with activity. He’d always liked minions.

A pain shot through his forehead, reminding him of his over-fondness for vodka and his current situation. Andrei had insurance—knowledge was power after all—but maybe it wasn’t enough. Perhaps a little extra-incentive was wise at this stage. His phone vibrated against his hip. He answered it. “Yes.”

“You blew up a fucking FBI Agent? One who just happened to be a decorated Navy SEAL? Are you out of your fucking mind?”