Authors: Irene Hannon
Tags: #Mystery, #Romance, #Suspense, #Thriller, #Contemporary
Against All Odds (16 page)
“Until we sort this out, the safest place would probably be the field office.” Mark turned to address Coop as the vehicle backed out of Monica’s driveway under the watchful eye of the two on-duty agents.
“Agreed.”
“You want to call Les?”
“Your turn.”
Capitulating, Mark slid his BlackBerry out of its holster and began punching in numbers. “I hope the ERT can make some sense of this.”
“Whoever pulled it off managed to elude experienced agents. My guess is they didn’t leave any calling cards.”
A heavy silence hung in the vehicle as Mark waited for his call to go through.
“Les? Mark. We’ve had an incident.”
Coop listened to Mark’s brief, monosyllabic conversation. Judging by his partner’s tight-lipped expression, it was not going well.
Beside him, Monica shoved her hands into the pockets of her coat and snuggled deeper into its warmth. He could sense her almost tangible tension, and he felt as if someone had punched him in the gut. Earlier, she’d attributed her calmness during the speech to him and Mark. Her confident words echoed in his mind.
I trust you to keep me safe.
Judging by the fear and uncertainty now in her eyes, that trust and confidence had evaporated. She’d come to the conclusion that since they’d failed her once, she couldn’t count on them to keep her safe in the future, either. He wished there was something he could say or do to restore her faith in them. But he had the disheartening feeling it was a lost cause.
Mark ended the call, and Coop redirected his attention to his partner. “What’s the word?”
“He wants a full briefing on a secure line when we get to the office. In the meantime, he’s going to notify the State Department.”
“Okay.” A muscle twitched in Coop’s cheek.
“They weren’t trying to kill me, were they?”
At Monica’s soft question, he shot her a glance. And could tell she already knew the answer. All she wanted was confirmation. And he figured she had a right to know the truth.
“No.”
“But they could have.”
That comment gave Coop a bit more pause. “Yes.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She was cutting him more slack than he was willing to cut himself. His jaw settled into a hard line. “We were in charge. The responsibility rests with us.”
“The guy got through deadbolts and past federal agents, Coop. What more could you have done?”
He wished he knew. But that still didn’t exonerate them. They were the experts. They should have been able to prevent this.
“Besides, it’s really my fault.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You and Mark told me I should go to a safe house on Saturday. I should have listened to you. But I thought everyone was overreacting. Including my father.”
“Don’t blame yourself, Monica.”
“I’m sorry if this is going to cause you problems with your boss.”
He was more worried about the reaction of the White House. But he didn’t need to add that to her burden of guilt.
“We can handle it. Les has been in the field. He knows what we’re up against in a situation like this.” That didn’t mean he was going to show them any mercy, but Monica didn’t need to know that, either.
“I can talk to him if you want.”
A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth as he imagined her going head-to-head with the Bulldog. “I appreciate the offer, but it won’t be necessary.”
“Maybe my willingness to go to the safe house now will smooth things out.”
“That will help.”
“Where is this place?”
“I don’t know. Les will brief us at the field office.”
“Will the safe house be . . . safe?”
Her gaze pinned him, demanding an honest answer. He wanted to tell her there was no way anyone could get to her there, but there were no guarantees in this business . . . despite all the precautions they might take. Today proved that.
“As safe as we can make it.” It was the best he could offer.
A flicker of fear sparked in her eyes before she snuffed it out. “Okay. I know you’ll do your best.”
Coop appreciated the vote of confidence. It was more than they deserved after the episode at her house.
He just hoped they could live up to it.
“Who’s in the room?” Les Coplin’s voice boomed over the speaker phone on the secure line in the Richmond FBI field office.
“Mark and Dennis Powers.” Coop leaned back in his seat, bracing for the interrogation to come. Mark and the Richmond SAC looked as on edge as he felt.
“Okay. I promised Washington answers. Do you have any?”
“Not yet. When we got back from the speech, Mark did a sweep of the house and everything seemed to be fine. The deadbolts that were installed on Saturday were locked and there was no sign of forced entry.”
“The two agents on duty this morning are on their way back to debrief,” Dennis added. “We had one man in front and one in back while Ms. Callahan was gone. No one came anywhere near the house.”
“That they noticed.”
A flush surged on Dennis’s neck. “They’re two of my best agents. They wouldn’t miss anything suspicious.”
“Then how did someone get past them? Apparently with a key?”
“The ERT is en route to the house, along with a K-9 bomb sniffer. Until they have a chance to check it out, I can’t answer that question.”
“I want any information you get the second you get it.”
“Understood.”
“Where’s Ms. Callahan?”
“In a vacant office down the hall,” Mark chimed in.
“Is she doing all right?”
“She’s pretty shaken up,” Coop replied. “And she’s agreed to go to a safe house.”
“Good. Because at this point, that’s not even negotiable. If I had a choice, I’d hand her over to the Marines at Quantico. This is a hot potato.”
Les’s comment about the Marines didn’t exactly bolster Coop’s confidence, and Mark’s frown confirmed he felt the same way. But Coop couldn’t deny that a Marine base might be more secure than a safe house. And Monica’s safety had to come first.
“Do you think we should suggest that to her father?”
“No. He asked for the HRT, and he’s going to get the HRT. I expect you boys to make it work.”
The sound of shuffling papers came over the line, and Coop pictured Les squinting as he gummed his cigar from one side of his mouth to the other.
“We’ve got a gated house lined up ninety minutes outside of Washington, near Charlottesville. Belongs to a retired government official who’s in Florida for the winter. The owner is an old navy buddy of David Callahan’s. We’ve already had our people check it out and set up a command center on-site. Dennis, we’re going to need your people as backup on this too. We can’t pull in local law enforcement. This has to stay off the radar screen.”
“No problem. We’ll use agents from the Charlottesville, Lynchburg, and Fredericksburg offices.”
“When we hang up, I’ll fax you a layout of the house and directions. Coop and Mark, let me know once you have an ops plan in place. Dennis, get evidence from Ms. Callahan’s house to Quantico ASAP. It’s got top priority for analysis. Anything else we need to go over?”
“No,” Coop responded after a raised-brow query to the other two men.
“All right. I’ve deferred Washington for the moment. But they want answers about how this breach happened. And so do I.”
The line went dead.
“Not a happy camper.” Dennis rubbed a hand over his short-cropped, gray-flecked brown hair. “And I can’t say I blame him. Invisible enemies who go through locked doors make great sci-fi movie villains, but they don’t exist in real life.”
“Meaning we’re dealing with flesh-and-blood opponents who must have left us some clues about how they pulled this off.” Mark doodled on the pad of paper in front of him—a series of boxes with one side missing.
“If they did, the ERT will find it,” Dennis said. “In the meantime, Ms. Callahan should be secure at the safe house.”
Coop hoped Dennis was right.
But whoever these people were, they were good. Very good.
And the bad feeling he’d had Saturday about this assignment returned with a vengeance.
10
The ringing phone pulled David Callahan back from the fog of an exhausted sleep, and he groped for it on the Spartan nightstand in his embassy quarters, trying to jump-start his brain.
“Callahan.” He swung his legs to the floor and reached for his glasses, sparing a quick glance at the clock. Twelve-thirty. After delivering the backpack of cash, he’d stayed in his office until almost eleven, hoping the informer would follow through on his end of the bargain. But eventually he’d succumbed to fatigue—and common sense. Losing sleep wasn’t going to expedite the process. And the intelligence people would let him know if there were any developments.
Perhaps that’s what this call was about.
Anticipation gave way to shock as he listened, however. The news about the security breach at Monica’s house was not what he’d expected, and he struggled to rein in his burgeoning panic as the implications became clear.
When the call ended, he depressed the button on the phone, waited until he heard a dial tone, and punched in the number for the FBI.
“Can I interest you in some Chinese now?”
As the door to the vacant office opened, Monica looked up. Coop lifted an aromatic white bag in invitation while Mark grinned over his shoulder, waving a second bag. It was five in the afternoon, and lunchtime was long past, but she had no appetite. As the FBI had scurried to make plans for her safety, she’d had nothing to do but sit, brood, and try—with limited success—to erase the image of the blood in her lingerie drawer. Not an appetizing picture. Her only diversion had been when an agent fingerprinted her for a set of elimination prints to supply to the ERT scrutinizing her house. That hadn’t been very appetizing either.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m not very hungry.”
The two men came in anyway and set the food on the empty desk in front of her. Mark snagged two side chairs that were against the wall and pulled them up. It appeared they weren’t going to take no for an answer.
“You need to eat.” Coop’s comment confirmed her conclusion. Instead of taking one of the chairs, he settled a hip on the desk as Mark opened the food containers, blocking her view of his partner.
She could sense his scrutiny, but she stared at the center of his broad chest, focusing on one of the buttons on his white dress shirt. “I can’t forget the blood.”
He leaned close to hear her soft response. Close enough for her to see the gold flecks sparking in his deep brown irises when she looked up. And close enough for the kindness—and caring—in his eyes to tug at her heart.
“Images like that are hard to forget.” His tone was gentle, understanding. “But all you’ve had today is a piece of toast and a handful of M&Ms. Will you at least eat a few bites while we go over our plans?”
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