Katrina was toying with a slice of pizza and generously avoiding my eyes. “Do you think there was more to it?”
“I don’t know. She said the Agency had a source that tipped off his treason. I don’t know if she was telling the truth or not, and I’m having a little problem trusting her right now.”
Left unsaid was a great deal, but Katrina was a smart girl and could fill in the blanks. For instance, why did Mary beg me to take this case in the first place? Perhaps because she knew she had an emotional grip on me. Perhaps because I was the kind of sucker every schemer dreams of, the lovelorn loser who was so easily manipulated that he refused to see the forest for the trees.
Katrina was wisely not saying anything, so I finally broke the ice. “So, let’s consider Mary.”
“All right, let’s. One, nobody was in a better position to frame her husband. Yes, she was telling him everything she was doing, but he was telling her everything he was doing, too. Two, she could pass in and out of his office every day, steal documents, take whatever she wanted, and never have to worry about a security check. Three, Morrison’s deputy attache said she was involved in everything in the office. She had all kinds of weapons to use against him.”
“When I confronted Mary last night, as I mentioned, she admitted the phone tappers and the trackers were reporting everything back to her. She had her finger on every pulse. She knew exactly what buttons to push, exactly how to make it work.”
Katrina broke eye contact with me and began staring at the tabletop, like she was suddenly distracted.
I said, “What?”
“You met with her last night, right?”
“Right.”
“And she knew we were in Moscow, right?”
“Yeah. So?”
Katrina didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to say anything. She’d given me the hints and knew better than to draw the painful conclusions for me. They were, after all, inescapable, unavoidable, and emotionally crushing. Mary had arranged the hits against us. She certainly had the reach and resources. As the former station chief in Moscow she no doubt knew enough hoodlums she could hire to take us out. And as a resident of the D.C. area all her life, she wouldn’t have any trouble locating some street scum to kill us. Money sure as hell wasn’t a problem.
But why? What had I done that would cause her to want me dead? Was she worried I might expose Alexi? Or perhaps she sensed that Katrina and I were closing in on her? Or both?
Katrina was studying a paper napkin. “Well, what do you want to do next?”
“We’re in way over our heads. We have to tell the FBI.”
She nodded, and I added, “I know a guy. He used to be a JAG officer, got out, tried a big firm, never got picked up for partner, so he signed up with the Feds. Jimmy Belafonte… I haven’t seen him in seven years, but last I heard he’s working in the headquarters here. He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’ll do.”
I went to the pay phone and asked the operator for the number to FBI headquarters, then asked the Bureau’s operator to put me through to Belafonte. A secretary answered, “Money-laundering Division.”
“Sean Drummond for Jimmy Belafonte, please.”
I was immediately switched. “Special Agent Belafonte,” a voice answered.
“Jimmy, Sean Drummond. I don’t know if you remember me?”
“Sure. JAG School, right? And according to the news, you’re doing the Morrison case.”
“Same Drummond. I need to meet you-privately.”
“Catch up on old times, huh? Love to, buddy, only I’m busy the rest of this week. How about next Thursday?”
“How about in forty-five minutes somewhere outside your building? I killed three guys this morning and I need to talk about it.”
“Some reason we can’t meet here?” he asked, sounding suddenly alarmed.
“Yeah, I don’t want to get shot by a sniper walking in the front door of your building. I know that sounds paranoid, but believe me, I’ve got good reasons. I’m calling because I trust you, Jimmy.”
“There’s, uh, uh, there’s a Barnes amp; Noble with a coffee shop on M Street in Georgetown. How about there?” he asked, sounding tentative.
“Forty-five minutes. I’ll be there,” I said before he could back out on me.
Until this moment, I’d been stupid beyond words. I’d been playing in other people’s sandboxes, and I was the only guy too blind to recognize I was out of my depth. Everybody had warned me: my client, Mary, Alexi. My libido was too puffed up to hear them. I’d nearly gotten myself killed, and Katrina also.
Somebody was making a point of showing me my own limitations.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Jimmy was not an impressive-looking guy. Soft brown skin, average height, average build, average face, all of which added up to pretty honest advertising, since on Jimmy’s best day, he was just an average guy.
He was sipping from a big Starbucks coffee as he noodled through the history section when Katrina and I walked up behind him.
I tapped him on the shoulder. “Hi, Jimmy. This is my co-counsel, Katrina Mazorski.”
He spun around, nodded, and his face looked alarmed. He immediately whispered, “What’s this about three killings this morning? Tell me about that?”
“Between eight and ten this morning, somebody tried to arrange two murders. I was attacked by two thugs in the parking lot of my apartment, and some ersatz homeless guy tried to whack Katrina with a butcher knife while she was walking to her car.”
He studied my face to see if I was kidding and came to the obvious conclusion I wasn’t. “This isn’t my bailiwick, Sean. I’m a financial guy. I do money-laundering and bank fraud, not murder, or espionage.”
“Yeah, but I know you, so I trust you.”
“Any reason you don’t trust the rest of the Bureau?” he asked, appropriately suspicious.
“Working on my client’s defense, I’ve discovered there is probably a mole somewhere in our government. Somewhere very high up, a mole with extraordinary resources. I’m not saying Morrison wasn’t a traitor-I don’t know about that. I’m saying there’s another mole, and that’s why somebody tried to kill us.”
Jimmy was nodding his head. “And this mole is working for the Russians?”
“Right.”
“The attempt on your lives? What happened?”
“Mine was set up like a robbery that went wrong. Only the killers screwed up and gave themselves away, so I, uh, well, I killed them. The guy who tried to take out Katrina, he didn’t expect me to show up.”
“And you killed him, too?”
“I had to. He was swinging a butcher knife.”
He nodded, as suddenly six men and women came running at us from other nearby stacks. Before Katrina or I could do a thing, Jimmy was holding a pistol in his hand, and Katrina and I were getting our hands cuffed behind our backs, our rights read, our dignity trashed.
I was swearing at Jimmy, who was obviously wearing a wire, and he held up a hand. “Drummond, take it easy. I’m a federal agent. When you said you killed three guys this morning, I had to tell my boss. You gave me no choice.”
It obviously wasn’t supposed to work this way. In the movies, you see guys in desperate positions like mine, they call some old buddy and the old buddy cherishes the sacred bonds, protects their confidentiality, and takes care of everything. Either those movies are horsecrap or I’d overestimated my popularity.
Katrina and I responded like lawyers naturally do, keeping our mouths shut, although I’d already crossed the Rubicon, because Jimmy had me admitting on tape to killing three guys, and all hell was going to break loose.
Katrina and I were next led outside to two shiny Crown Victorias waiting beside the curb, as a crowd of gawkers and gapers gathered to watch a real-life arrest go down. This was a fresh and incredibly unwelcome experience for me, parading in front of folks like a common felon. Katrina was guided into the back of one car, and I
