Hearts Under Siege (9 page)

The five-story office building in front of her looked totally nondescript, though she bet it had bulletproof glass and a security system so advanced it wasn’t available on the open market. She parked and walked to the front doors, kind of surprised not to see anyone else around. Wouldn’t some people be ending their workdays now? The parking lot was more than three quarters full. Maybe they used a typical seven-to-three, three-to-eleven, eleven-to-seven shift schedule. That would explain why there was no turnover right now. And of course they had to have support staff here around the clock.

She found herself absurdly excited as she approached the main entry and a huge black guy in an impeccable suit opened the door for her. She lifted her badge, he matched it to her face and nodded, and as she passed through into the lobby, she felt like a real spy.

Oh, sure, she’d been in SIEGE for several years. But her training facility fronted as a dojo—physical training in the main building, conduit training in a secret back room. She’d never been in any other company building. How deep underground did this structure go?
Alias
reruns flashed in her head.

She approached the reception desk, where a very young-looking man dressed as a regular security guard sat behind a bank of monitors.

“Sign in, please. Name?”

“Molly Byrnes.” When she finished signing the electronic pad, he pointed to a scanner like the ones health clubs had for key-tag membership cards. She waved her ID badge in front of it and he nodded, checking something on his computer.

“Fourth floor.” He tipped his chin toward the elevators. Molly swallowed her disappointment and decided that asking up or down would make her look like a dork.

Once she was on the elevator, she dropped her geek self. Time to be professional. She started thinking about what she’d say when she got upstairs. She didn’t know who she was meeting with—if they’d give her a PR person tasked with appeasing her with glib-speak and sending her on her way, or someone who actually had answers, even if they didn’t want to give them to her.

The elevator dinged, the doors opened, and a smiling fortyish woman with a dark ponytail that matched her suit and her eyeglass frames greeted her.

“Please come with me, Ms. Byrnes.” The woman turned without waiting for a response.

Molly gave a mental shrug and followed, looking around at nothing interesting as they went down a basic, light-gray walled, gray-carpeted hallway lined with closed doors sporting numbers or vague department descriptions rather than occupants’ names. The woman led her into a small conference room containing a narrow cherry conference table and gray fabric chairs on wheels. They matched the carpet but were comfortable, Molly found when she sat.

“Coffee?” the woman who had not introduced herself offered, gesturing to a cart in the back of the room.

“No, thank you.”

“Okay, then.” She sat and folded her hands on the table, a practiced smile on her face, the room’s light angling off her glasses so Molly couldn’t see her eyes clearly.

Okay, PR flack it was.

“How can we help you today, Ms. Byrnes?” the woman asked, as if she were an attorney representing a hospital that had cut out the wrong organ.

Molly dove in. “I want to know more about Christopher Fitzpatrick’s death.”

The woman’s expression didn’t flicker. “Under what aegis?”

Molly pressed her lips together to keep from gaping. Dixson had sent her to
this
? Never mind about that thank-you basket.

“Under the aegis of being a very close friend of the family, who happens to also be a SIEGE…member.” She’d almost said agent, but that would have been a bad move. Ms. Flack might not have the status to know Molly’s role in SIEGE, but if she did, she’d think Molly had pretensions to something grander, when she was just using the word that had flashed on the gate scanner. And if Flack
didn’t
have the status to know Molly’s role, then telling her she was a conduit was also foolish. Not because Flack couldn’t be trusted, but because it made Molly look careless.

“I’m sorry, Ms. Byrnes, we have no further information to share on the matter of Mr. Fitzpatrick’s demise. It was a regrettable situation and we understand the family’s grief…”

Blah, blah, blah.

It was what she’d expected, but frustration bubbled up, anyway. “Look, lose the plastic robot stuff, okay? I’m one of you. I
know
there’s more to Chris’s death, I
know
you can’t give me details. I just want to know
something
more than the pat lie you’ve given his widow.”

The change in the woman was instantaneous. “I told them this wouldn’t work.” She pulled off her glasses and tossed them on the table, dropping back against the chair so hard it rocked and rolled, and rubbed her eyes. “I don’t know why they bothered.”

Finally, something real. “Can I have your name, please?” So Molly could stop mentally calling her Flack. Sooner or later it would escape her mouth.

“Aldus. Ramona Aldus.”

“And you’re a facilitator,” Molly guessed, since a PR flack would never break the mask.

“Yes. I’m in charge of family communications during Agent Fitzpatrick’s settlement.” She crossed her legs, her hands laid loosely across her lap, her eyes visible without the glasses and their glare.

Molly relaxed. “Settlement?”

“Yes. You know what a SIEGE member is entitled to. It’s in your contract.”

Molly supposed it was, but she hadn’t given much thought to it. Not since she signed up, and not much even then, because she wasn’t going to be in the field. She considered the path she wanted her questions to take. She didn’t want to play games with Aldus, who now seemed ready at least to talk openly about Chris’s death, if not to share much. But there was always a smooth, natural way to lead from subtopic to subtopic.

“How long will the settlement take? All the details?”

“Well, first we must concentrate on disposition of the remains. That’s always the family’s first concern,” Aldus said.

Molly smiled a little. “Yeah, it’s at the top of my to-do list. When can we have his body?”

Aldus’s curved lips held a hint of sympathy. “Tomorrow. I’ll give you the location for transfer before you leave. You can have the funeral home handle pickup.”

Molly didn’t think so, but she kept that to herself. “And is there paperwork they’ll need to complete?”

“I’m afraid Mrs. Fitzpatrick—Agent Fitzpatrick’s wife, not mother—will have some life insurance forms to sign in order to receive the benefits. Everything else we can handle internally.”

“Will the family be able to have an open casket?” Molly knew what this answer would be, and Aldus looked appropriately mournful.

“I’m sorry, no. The damage was too extensive.”

“From the car that hit him.”

Aldus didn’t respond, which most would take as tacit agreement, but added to the puzzle Molly was trying to piece together. Great, now she had a vague idea that she
had
a puzzle, and one piece to put into it.

“Where was Chris when he died? I mean, why is it taking so long to get his body? It was almost a week ago.” Her professional demeanor cracked on the last two words, which came out wavery. She swallowed hard and kept her gaze focused on Aldus, who pretended not to notice.

“I’m sorry, we can’t divulge his location, as it was mission related.”

That confirmed one assumption, at least. “But he
was
out of the country. That’s why it’s taking so long to get his body back here.”

“I’m sure the family is anxious for closure,” was all the facilitator said.

Molly plugged away at her for another fifteen minutes, but couldn’t get anything else from the woman. Finally, Aldus leaned over the table, her expression earnest and open. “Molly, I know in our business it’s easy to see nefarious conspiracy everywhere, but trust me, there was nothing odd about Christopher’s death.” Her bright red fingernails clicked on the polished surface, punctuating every other word. “He was out on a job, there was an accident, and he was killed. It’s awful, and I’m sorry, but that’s all it is.”

A knot eased at Ramona’s words, floating up to swell Molly’s throat, but it was the familiar burn of tears, not the conviction that something was off and that she had to find out what it was. She didn’t want to croak, so merely nodded her thanks.

As Ramona escorted her to the elevator, Molly should have felt better. Nothing the woman had said or didn’t say had fed Molly’s sense of dissatisfaction. In fact, her sincerity had soothed it, if not banished it completely. There was nothing more Molly could do, anyway, which gave her permission to let it go.

She hesitated in the lobby, still deserted save for the baby-faced desk guard and the guy at the door. Dammit, she’d forgotten to hand over Brady’s intel. She crossed to the desk and smiled at Baby-Face when he looked up expectantly but obviously poised for action. No one was going to take this guy by surprise.

Thing was, anyone here could receive the packet she carried. But she didn’t want just anyone, and had to proceed carefully. After rapidly discarding a few opening phrases, she decided to pretend she knew what she was doing. “I was wondering” or “Is it possible” set up a “no” answer right off the bat. “I’d like to see Conrad Dixson if he’s available,” she said.

Baby-Face studied her for a few seconds, then said, “I’ll check. If you could stand over there, please?” He chin-pointed to a pillar several feet away, out of hearing range if he spoke softly.

Molly nodded and stepped away, pleased with herself, but a little annoyed at Dix. She hadn’t even known if he was in this building. He could be anywhere, since a handler did his or her job remotely—at least, in Molly’s experience. She’d never met the man in person. But since he
was
here, why hadn’t he met with her himself?

Her phone rang. She flinched and checked the guard, who ignored her.
Phew
. She hadn’t thought to look for a sign about cell phones. She pulled it from her pocket and checked the display.
Hmph
. She flipped it open. “Yeah.”

“What are you doing?” Dix sounded exasperated, but not angry or anything else negative.

“I have Brady’s intel.” She clenched her jaw, waiting for his response.

“Just give it to the desk guy, he’ll send it up.”

“I wanted to meet you. We never have. Is there a policy against it?”

He cleared his throat. “Not specifically, no.”

“Are you busy right now?”

“I’m always busy, but I could spare a few minutes.”

His tone was grudging, and it took Molly a moment to think of why. “I promise I won’t mention Christopher.”

“Then come on up to the eighth floor. I’ll meet—”

“Me at the elevator. Thank you, Dix. I’ll be right up.” She disconnected and waited for a signal from Baby-Face, who had probably been on hold while Dix talked to her. He nodded, and she went back to the elevator, excitement rising with the car. Dix was a friend. A good guy. Someone who had her back, who knew pretty much everything about her, and didn’t judge. How many people had one of those in their lives? She wondered what he looked like. She’d always pictured him kind of short, with a linebacker build and dark hair. But people rarely looked how they sounded.

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. Molly smoothed her palms down her jeans and stepped out, her head swiveling. No one was in the foyer, but a man strode quickly down the corridor from her left. Tall, blond, quarterback instead of linebacker. Big hands, bright smile, and sparkling eyes.
Yum
.

Blinking at her reaction, Molly couldn’t help but smile back as the man reached her, one of those big hands held out to shake, the other already reaching to brace her shoulder.

“Molly Byrnes. Awesome.”

She laughed. “Conrad Dixson. Finally.”

He looked a little sheepish. “Yeah, sorry. Come on down to my office.” He motioned with his head, and they walked together past more ambiguously marked office doors.

“So no cubicle farms here at Global Information Exchange, huh?”

“Nope. Too much secrecy.” He grinned. “This is the handler floor. About a third of the SIEGE handlers work here, and the individual offices keep us from overhearing each other, being distracted, and so on. Come on in, have a seat.” He settled next to her on a comfortable sofa at one side of the small office. Its cushions were plush and oddly lumpy—not uncomfortable, but an indication that Dix often slept in his office. The office was sparse for a place he had to spend most of his time. No personal photos or mementos, only one picture on the wall—a generic print of the Eiffel Tower at sunset—and a dusty potted plant on top of the filing cabinet behind his basic-black desk. There were no chairs in front of the desk. A low, small coffee table in front of the sofa and a large bookshelf next to the hall door were the only other pieces of furniture.

Molly turned to him. “So now I can picture you here when I talk to you.”

“If you want to.” Dix grimaced and stretched out an arm across the back of the sofa so that his light brown suit coat fell open. He had a coffee stain below the pocket of his white dress shirt. He smiled again, and Molly was charmed.

“Before I forget.”
Again
. She felt her face flush and looked down as she pulled the file envelope from her satchel. “The South America intel.” She handed it to Dix, who stretched to toss it onto his desk.

“Thanks. Good to have that final.”

“So.” Molly settled sideways against the back of the sofa. “How come we haven’t met before? More to the point,” she added, feeling like directness was going to have to be her default mode if she was going to handle all the secrets she had to keep around the Fitzpatricks. “Why did you arrange for me to meet with Aldus instead of you?”

All traces of pleasure slipped from his expression. “I thought it best, considering why you were here. And I have to admit…” The sheepish look was back. “I didn’t want to meet you.”

Molly tried to hide how much that hurt her feelings. “Why not?” Other questions crowded behind that one, about changing handlers, and if she’d done a bad job, or if he just didn’t like her. But she held them off, waiting for that first answer, hoping it was something innocuous so she could end the ache that had sprung up.