Kealey’s head shot up. He raised his Beretta instinctively, but then he realized the voice was coming from upstairs. “Nick, what’s going on down there?”
Kealey was thinking as fast as he could. He couldn’t risk moving the agent; if Samantha Crane caught him in the act, she’d have the drop on him. At the same time, he didn’t relish the idea of climbing the stairs. It was too exposed; besides, she had the elevated position, and it would be too easy for her to duck out of view and get to her gun.
Still, there wasn’t much choice. The recliner was in the middle of the room, positioned next to an overstuffed couch. As he passed it, he shoved Mackie’s 9mm down between the cushions. Then, holding his Beretta in a modified Weaver stance, he approached the stairs in a crouch and looked up to the second floor, ready to fire.
The landing was empty. He moved up the stairs two at a time, painfully aware of the wood creaking beneath his feet. When he reached the last few steps, he paused. There was bare drywall to his right, the second-floor rooms beyond. Moving slightly to the left, he could see part of the room in front of him, but not the people inside.
There wasn’t much of a choice; he’d just have to risk it. Before he could move, though, he heard the sound of approaching feet. The sound sent a jolt of electricity running through his body, but he didn’t have time to react. Without warning, Crane appeared in the doorway in front of him. Her eyes opened wide, and there was a moment when everything froze. Then he advanced quickly, grabbed her by the shirt, and put the gun to her head.
“Don’t move. Who else is up here?”
She didn’t respond. He slammed her against the opposite wall and repeated the question. Her mouth was working silently. Finally, she managed to find her voice. “What are you doing here? What-”
“ Who else is up here? ”
“No one! Where’s Nick? What did you do to him?”
“He’s sleeping.” Kealey stepped back, but he kept the gun at arm’s length, aimed at her forehead. “Where’s your weapon?”
“My right hip.”
“Show it to me.”
She was wearing a black merino sweater over a white cotton blouse. Slowly, she lowered her right hand and lifted both layers. A Glock 10mm was tucked into her DeSantis holster.
“Take it out very slowly, and drop it.”
She did as he asked, her lips slightly parted, her eyes fixed on the muzzle in front of her face. When she dropped her weapon, it clattered away. Suddenly, Kealey sensed movement to his right and turned to look. Hakim Rudaki was standing in the doorway. The Iranian was of average height, with narrow, intelligent features. He was dressed in jeans and a Columbia University T-shirt, and appeared stunned by the scene unfolding before him.
“I thought you said no one was up here,” Kealey snapped. He grabbed her and turned her around roughly, jamming the muzzle of the Beretta into her lower back. Leaning down quickly, he picked up her gun and, using only his left hand, ejected the magazine. He positioned the upper receiver against his thigh and pushed forward, shucking out the remaining round. Then he dropped the useless weapon and pushed her into the room at the back of the house. Over her shoulder, he spoke to Rudaki. “You, get back in there. Hands where I can see them.”
A few seconds later, he had them sitting side by side on the bed. He could see that Rudaki’s mind was already working, trying to figure a way out of the situation. Crane, on the other hand, looked furious. Her face was flushed, her blond hair sticking out at crazy angles. “Kealey, I don’t know how the hell you found this place, but you’re going to-”
“Stop talking, Crane. There’s nothing you can say… I know what you did. Your only option now is to cooperate. If you do exactly what I tell you, I might even let you live. Until then, keep your mouth shut.” He turned the gun on Rudaki. “You’re the reason I’m here.”
The Iranian managed to look confused. “I don’t understand. What do you mean?”
“I know who you are, Hakim. I know what you’ve been telling the Bureau, and I know you’re full of shit. The Iranians were never part of this. Individual people, maybe, but not the regime in Tehran.”
Rudaki shook his head slowly. “Everything I’ve said is the truth.”
“No, it isn’t,” Kealey snarled. “The Bureau may have bought it, but I don’t.” He looked at Crane. “What’s he been telling you now? That Ahmadinejad is targeting the UN?”
Crane looked startled. “As a matter of fact, yes. But security is so tight that-”
“Save it, Samantha. Don’t try to play dumb. I know you have a part in this.”
She stood up, her fists balled by her side. “What are you talking about?” she shouted.
“ Sit down! ”
“No!” She planted her feet and glared at him. “You’d better explain yourself right now, Ryan, or-”
“The raid in Alexandria,” Kealey said, cutting her off. He stared at her intently. “You were so fucking quick to go in, weren’t you? Why? Was it just to shut Mason up?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“What happened after that? Hold on,” he said sarcastically. “Let me guess. You found out that we had Mason’s laptop, and you knew you had to get it back, because it had Thomas Ruhmann’s name on it. But that didn’t happen in time, did it? We got the name before you could act, so instead, you told Vanderveen where to find us.”
She didn’t rise to the bait, so Kealey raised his voice, trying to get through to her. “He nearly killed me and Naomi Kharmai in Berlin, Crane. It had to be you… Aside from you and Ford, no one else knew we were going to Germany.”
“I don’t know what you’re-”
“Stop.” She fell silent, and he shook his head in disgust. “The only question is, what are you getting out of it?” He looked at her hard, trying to see what was behind those angry brown eyes. “It’s money, isn’t it? How much did it take to buy you off, Sam?”
Rudaki was starting to look nervous, Kealey noticed, which wouldn’t mean much by itself, but combined with Crane’s expression, it was cause for concern. She looked furious, but also genuinely confused, and while he knew it could be an act, he had seen people try to act their way out of bad situations before. This looked real, and for the first time since he’d learned that Crane was running Rudaki, he felt a tremor of doubt.
“Vanderveen? Will Vanderveen?” She gave an incredulous laugh. “You think I’ve been passing him information?”
“I know you have,” he said through gritted teeth. His finger was tightening on the trigger, the muzzle level with Crane’s heart. “You can’t lie your way out of this. It had to be you. Don’t you get it? Even if you discount the other shit as coincidence, no one else knew about Berlin. ”
Crane scoffed. “What, I’m supposed to take your word on that? If anyone’s been feeding Vanderveen information, it’s probably someone at Langley.”
That’s not possible,” Kealey said, but he hesitated. Even through the blustering and the sarcasm, her innocence shone through like a beacon he couldn’t ignore. “Crane, I’m only going to ask you this one time. Did you tell anyone what Ford told you? Anyone at all?”
She shrugged, as if the question was meaningless. “I told my partner, of course, but I tell him-”
“Who’s your partner?”
“Matt Foster,” she reminded him. “From the warehouse in Alexandria, remember? He’s the one who shot Mason.”
“And what did you tell him?”
“Everything,” Crane replied, finishing her earlier sentence. She was starting to sound annoyed, and Kealey realized that, gun or no gun, her cooperation was coming to an end.
“He was on administrative leave while they investigated the shooting,” Crane continued. “But after they cleared him, he decided to stay in Washington instead of coming back here.” Her mouth twitched, a light coming on in her eyes, and Kealey had a sudden insight. It was subtle, but the look on her face suggested that her relationship with Foster went beyond a mere partnership. “I had drinks with my aunt a few nights ago, and when I got back to the hotel, I told him everything.”
“What night did you see your aunt?”
“Tuesday. Tuesday night at the Monocle.”
The night before he and Naomi had flown to Berlin. Kealey shook his head, trying to think it through. “So what
