Authors: Gayle Lynds
Chapman looked away. “He tried once. For some reason he changed his mind at the last minute.”
Eli had not known that, but he could use it: “Now that he’s bloodied himself with the Padre, whatever internal censor stopped him from doing you is gone. You’re as good as dead.”
The mogul asked stonily, “Where have you looked for him?”
“I sent people to his row house on Capitol Hill. His mother’s estate in Chevy Chase. Eva Blake’s place in Silver Spring. They talked to neighbors, but nothing useful developed. I understand he was close to Tucker Andersen, the CIA man.” He was repeating the reports the Padre’s men had turned in to describe their search.
“There’s no way Ryder can get past my security.” There was a long moment of silence as Chapman looked away, seeming to collect himself. “When you arrived, you acted as if the Padre were still alive. Either you were lying then—or you’re lying now.”
Eli smiled. “I said what was necessary to get inside to meet you. Danny, what do you think?”
His broad back to them, Danny had reached above his head to caress the thick gold lettering on a book spine. Without looking back at them, he said, “Mr. Chapman doesn’t care whether you’re lying. He just wants to liquidate Ryder. He should pay us a lot because he’s so scared his spit is dry.”
Eli chuckled.
Chapman was expressionless. “Let’s be clear … you’ll eliminate Ryder in exchange for information about where he is?”
“Absolutely. And I keep the cuneiform pieces.”
“Done.” Chapman walked to his desk, his stride long and purposeful. He checked his Rolodex and dialed. “Senator Leggate, please. Martin Chapman calling.” The mogul tapped the toe of one of his boots on the parquet floor. “She’s not? Patch me through to her cell.” His tone grew cold as he continued, “Then as soon as she gets reception, tell her to call me.” Chapman hung up, his expression irritated. “She’s back in Colorado, meeting constituents in some remote mountain resort. She’s due to helicopter into Denver in a couple of hours. She knows to return my calls quickly. She’ll phone from the air.”
“Why Senator Leggate?”
“The answer is Tucker Andersen. If anyone knows how to find Judd, it’s usually Tucker. The two are close friends. Senator Leggate is on the Intelligence Committee. She doesn’t have to guess where the bodies are buried at Langley. She’ll have ways.”
“Why didn’t you contact her for the Padre when he was looking for Ryder?” Eli asked.
“How do you think he found out Ryder was in Iraq?”
Eli nodded. Contacts were everything, for both billionaires and assassins.
Williamsburg International Airport
Newport News, Virginia
As a cool afternoon wind whipped across the tarmac, Eva Blake followed Frank Smith up the staircase into a Dash 8 twin-engine plane. Holding about thirty passengers, it had a standard configuration of a central aisle lined with rows of two seats on either side. Frank and she were the only passengers.
Frank closed and secured the door. There was a sudden hush, and for a moment Eva felt as if she were in a time capsule, suspended, waiting for the unknown. Suddenly she was nervous. For what exactly did Tucker want her?
Frank hung their coats in the forward closet. With a courtly gesture, he indicated she should precede him down the aisle. She chose a seat above the wing, and he sat across from her. Dressed in charcoal-gray wool slacks, a gray-and-white herringbone jacket, and a pale blue button-down shirt, he looked every bit the professor.
“How long have you been CIA, Frank?” She peeled off her brown wig, and her red hair tumbled to her shoulders. She sighed with relief. A wig was like wearing a heating pad shaped like a skullcap.
“Too long, and not long enough,” Frank told her. “As a round figure, let’s say thirty years. One of the greatest tragedies I’ve witnessed is that Langley’s only famous spies seem to be the failures and the traitors. Pity, when so much crucial work is done by the vast majority who must remain unsung. Still, I’m not near my expiration date yet, so I hope to be in use long enough to see the public perception of Langley improve.”
Eva studied him, the large elegant nose, the good bone structure, the solid body. There was something familiar about him. She watched his gestures, listened to the timbre of his voice.
“Here’s a little insider intel.” He waved his hand grandly, taking in the aircraft. “This is a Dash turboprop, as you no doubt noticed. If you were in Afghanistan a few years ago, you would’ve seen her or one of her sisters bristling with unusual antennae. That’s because Langley was secretly using them for ‘special’ transportation. That’s just between you and me and the exit row, of course.”
She asked where he had been stationed and the operations on which he had worked. But no matter how she phrased her questions over the next few hours, she never got real answers from him. He seemed to be the ultimate spy—charming, anecdotal about irrelevant topics, and close-mouthed about what mattered. As they sat on the tarmac of the Williamsburg airport waiting for word from Tucker, the pilot served soft drinks and sandwiches. Frank worked on e-mail. She had no computer, but the pilot brought her newspapers and magazines. Thinking about what Tucker might have in mind for her, she scanned through them, noting that the bloody lead-up to the election of Iraq’s next prime minister dominated the news.
At last the cockpit door opened, and the pilot walked toward them, carrying a satellite phone.
“We have a message from Tucker?” she asked eagerly.
Nodding, he touched the button that activated the speakerphone.
The voice was a woman’s, and her tone was authoritative. “My name is Jane Squires. Tucker says you’re to fly to Merrittville Airport in Maryland and wait there for instructions.”
Frank Smith’s voice boomed, filling the aircraft. “What’s this all about?”
“Someone named Martin Chapman,” the woman said.
Eva felt a burst of adrenaline. “Is Chapman involved in something we can get him for?”
“Ask Tucker when you see him.” Squires hung up.
The pilot snapped his phone shut and announced, “We’ll take off as soon as I get clearance.” He walked back to the cockpit.
Frank focused on her. “You seem to know something about Martin Chapman.”
Eva’s chest was tight. She glanced down at her hands, saw they were clenched. She took a deep breath. “He set me up so it looked as if I killed my husband in a drunk driving accident. I spent three years in prison. Not jail,
prison.
” Without thinking, she was back in the Central California Women’s Facility, a harrowing world of steel bars, guards, and violence. She thought she would lose her life, then her mind. Instead it had hardened her, made it easier to tune out what she did not want, made it possible to give up what she thought she needed.
“Tucker got me out to help him with an operation,” she went on, “and that’s where Chapman came in again. He sent people to kill a colleague and me, and we were shot up rather badly. I don’t like it when a criminal doesn’t pay for his crimes, but most of the people who could’ve testified against Chapman died. Then, when the operation ended in Greece, Chapman’s lawyers brokered a deal between the Greek and U.S. governments. Chapman and his cronies paid off Greek officials, who agreed not to prosecute them, and the U.S. backed off because the CIA had been caught operating on Greek soil illegally.”
Frank frowned. “That’s terrible. Was the colleague you mentioned Judd Ryder? Before you ask, I naturally did my homework about you.”
“Yes.” In her mind she could see Judd’s face, feel the warmth of his smile … and she was back in Los Angeles four months ago. Her house had been sold, and her things were packed and on their way to Judd’s place on Capitol Hill, where they would live together. It was one of those perfect Southern California evenings. The sun was setting in a dramatic swath above the glittering lights of the city. Judd and she stood on the balcony of their room at the Chateau Marmont. He leaned close, his breath spicy. She lifted her lips, and he cradled her chin and kissed her. Heat spread into her belly and legs. She pushed him back into their room, and they hurried to their bed.
Afterward, they returned to the balcony, holding hands, their flesh moist, the aroma of good sex lingering around them. There are rare times when one is in the right place at the right time, doing the right thing with the right person, and that was how she felt. They were together. They were happy. The mood was right to tell him.
“Tucker phoned,” she said. “Langley has accepted me. I’m to start in two weeks, first at headquarters, then I go to the Farm.”
“You’re sure it’s what you want?”
“Yes, but I want you, too. We’re bigger than our differences over this.”
He gazed at her, his expression somber. “It’d ruin me, Eva.” He turned back into the room and walked through the shadows to the pile of clothes on the floor.
She followed him. “I don’t understand.”
He dressed. “The truth is, I was an assassin. A hit man, a closer, a clean-up man, a janitor, an executioner.” He said the words as if he were pounding nails. “With you in the business, it’d be a daily reminder of what I did. What I was. What I could easily slip back into again.”
“But you were working for the government. It was your job.”
He shook his head hard. “I came to like it.” And he was gone, the hotel room door closing softly.
Now she was sitting on an airplane, waiting to fly off to meet Tucker for a new mission. She closed her eyes and inhaled. She had never stopped missing Judd. She wished she could let him know Chapman had resurfaced, but Judd would not be back from Iraq until tomorrow.
It was twilight when the plane took off, heading north. For a long while Eva looked out her window, unseeing, then she slept. When she awoke, it was night, and they were flying over a vast expanse of snow-mantled hills and streams. The lights of a town sparkled ahead. By the size of it, perhaps fifteen thousand souls.
“Merrittville?” she asked Frank.
He nodded. “The airport is on the north side. A little terminal, a control tower, and just two runways. The runways are large enough to land a 737. They’ve become a low-hassle backup for planes that might’ve otherwise touched down at Dulles or National or even Baltimore. Discreet, too.”
She said nothing, understanding. Movie stars, political celebrities, and well-known scoundrels would find the airport useful when dodging the press, divorcing spouses, or even the law.
“Nap well?” he asked.
“I did. And you?”
“No rest for the wicked.” He lifted his head and smiled.
She admired his ability to appear serene while her insides were quivering.
The plane made a wide loop, and the landing strip appeared ahead. Touching down, the craft taxied to a fenced-off area marked for private planes. After the engines turned off, the pilot emerged again from the cockpit. He was carrying his phone again.
Eva straightened in her seat. “Has Tucker called?”
He shook his head and touched the speakerphone button.
“This is Jane Squires.” It was the same woman’s voice. “Tucker sends his apologies that he can’t personally talk to you. He has a message for you, Frank. He had me arrange a rental car for you. It’s waiting at Peebles Air and Land Transportation. You should be able to see the place from your plane. Your orders are to drive to Martin Chapman’s house.”
She related the address.
Frank wrote it down.
Puzzled why she was not included, Eva memorized it.
“Tucker will call while you’re en route to discuss exactly where you’re to go and what he wants you to do, Frank,” the voice continued. “As for you, Ms. Blake, Tucker sends his regrets. He says you’re to wait on the plane. He knows you have a personal interest in this matter, but as it turns out, he doesn’t need your special skills at this time.”
“But I—” Eva tried.
“He said you’d argue. Have you graduated from the Farm yet?” the woman demanded.
“Of course not, but—”
“That’s Tucker’s point. He’s ordering you to stay put. This could be more dangerous than he anticipated, and you’re not fully trained.”
Suddenly there was a vacuum of sound. Squires had hung up. Eva stared down at her knotted hands, wanting for a moment to strangle Tucker for getting her hopes up.
“Well, well.” Frank shot her a sympathetic look. “Sorry about that, Eva, but you know how Tucker is. The thing to do is to remember you’re at the beginning of your career. There are a lot of operations in your future, more than you’ll ever be able to remember. Take it from an antique like myself—missing this one will pale against the number you’ll be sent on.”
She gave a stoic nod. She felt raw with disappointment. She wanted Chapman.
She watched Frank put on his coat and hurry out the door and across the tarmac to the long metal building that housed Peebles Transportation. Soon he was out again and trotting past a row of what looked like rental cars to a Chevrolet sedan parked in a dark spot between overhead lights. He climbed inside. As he drove away, he passed beneath pole lights and she could see the car was black. Before the red taillights could disappear into the night, she memorized the license plate.
Merrittville, Maryland
Growing bored, Eva gazed out her window, watching the few taxiing planes and the occasional pilot, passenger, or airport staff person cross the tarmac. A Dassault Falcon 7X docked a distance away. It was the only trijet in the private section. That was as exciting as it got.
As she leaned back and closed her eyes, she heard in her mind,
You’re not fully trained
. She still was bothered by what was going on. It was not only that she had worked closely with Tucker in the past, but also that she had done so well, Tucker had personally recommended her to Langley. The more she thought about it, the more difficult it was to believe he would bring her this far then decide she did not have the chops for the job.
What was going on?
In surveillance training, the one mistake guaranteed to get you booted out of the Farm was missing a surveillance tail. Was she missing something here?
You’re not fully trained
… it was the word
trained
that was important
. Training.