authorities covering airports, train and bus terminals. She has no one to turn to and can't gain access to her trust accounts or use a credit card without us knowing it.” Herman rubbed his chin. “Ralph, what would you do?”
“Wait until she uses up her cash and resorts to a credit card.”
“She may have resources we aren't aware of. The question is where is she heading and how soon. My instincts tell me that she will be staying in Richmond for a time, not because of her limited resources but the natural instinct to hide, keep a low profile. She will use the credit cards only to misdirect, so I'll ignore that. She will eventually have to go for her trust account, but we can't afford to wait her out. Not with Fifteen making such a ruckus.”
Ralph's fork was frozen in midair as he listened. He knew very well who Fifteen was, but he had no idea what sort of ruckus his boss was referring to.
“I'll send a pair to Richmond. That way at least we will be in the area when we get our next fix on her.”
“Send me, sir. I won't miss her.”
“I have just the pair in mind. I don't want to tell Mr. Russo yet that she is alive. With luck, I won't have to. He's such an excitable fellow. For the present, we'll just let that sleeping dog lie.”
Ralph nodded absently. “I'd like to go.”
“I feel much safer with you here.”
“Lewis says that if we don't take Massey out, he could be trouble later on.”
“I won't be prodded into sanctioning a man who got lucky. And if Massey wasn't lucky, I don't want to risk another man. I'll just let Fifteen deal with the deputy and I'll concentrate on the woman.”
“Lewis is different now. I can't put my finger on it, but he's changed.”
“Time and circumstances can do that. How's the wine?”
“Needs sugar.”
“I doubt the vintner would agree, but go ahead.”
Herman watched Ralph put a half spoon of sugar in the vintage Bordeaux and stir.
Herman was fast approaching the end of the trail, but he had never felt more alive. This operation, perhaps the last he would ever oversee, had been complex from its very inception. It could have fallen apart at so many junctures, but it had proceeded perfectly until Massey got in the way. Herman had rarely come up against a single adversary he could admire. On many occasions, he had ordered sanctions that pitted one, or several, of his men against a target protected by a large security force. Any single man who could kill four of his boys, as Massey had, clearly deserved respect. He was a remarkable warrior, but the skills that made him that hardly translated into his becoming a threat now that he was off the field-the fighting near him was over.
Herman would not send men against Massey for merely having been a remarkable obstacle. This was just a game, and sportsmanship dictated that coaches didn't punish opposing players for scoring.
66
Concord, North Carolina
While Winter and Lydia were clearing the dinner dishes, his cell phone buzzed from the bedroom. He got to it on the third ring.
“Yeah?” Winter answered.
“I found them. Those four men were Special Forces. But they died long before you met them.”
“That's crazy,” Winter said. “I killed ghosts?”
“You're thinking inside the box. You know what a cutout is? Technically anybody who drops their real identity in favor of a new one for security reasons is a cutout. A protected witness would be considered a cutout, as would a CIA or FBI agent who is going undercover.”
“You're sure they're cutouts?”
“Yes. As for Ward Field, it started out as a training base for pilots during the second world war and continued operations through 1974 before it was classified as redundant by the Air Force and closed. But the land and the base, although decommissioned in 1974, remains restricted airspace. According to a series of reports in The Washington Post, Ward was listed as one of the CIA's launching pads for sensitive operations. Remember Iran- Contra, when the CIA flew guns south and, according to some, ferried cocaine on the return trips in order to sell it on the streets to purchase more guns? According to the articles, Ward Field was a secret base where cargo planes landed and took off. Isolated plus restricted equals perfect.”
“You're saying the CIA is behind the assaults?”
“Involved up to their eyeballs. Maybe the FBI doesn't have their prints. It's possible they were purged after they were dead and buried. I know the CIA missed the fact that the real prints are still on file at the Pentagon. You'd figure they would have purged those fingerprint records to cover their tracks.”
“Unless someone wants to know when one of them is fingerprinted,” Winter speculated.
“I'm paranoid enough to imagine there might be a trip wire set to alert the CIA, NSC, or maybe even military intelligence. Maybe I'll have some questions to answer about how I came to have those prints.”
“The UNSUBs' bodies will match your print cards,” Winter said. “That's mighty strong corroboration.”
“Don't count on it. Those guys will certainly erase their trail, if they haven't already. I checked for similar reports of deaths in the Special Forces over a ten-year period. Even figuring that most are legitimate accidental deaths, there could be a lot of dead men still serving their country.”
“Maybe you should take a vacation.”
Reed chortled. “My bags have been packed all afternoon.”
“Do you have hard copies?”
“I'm mailing a set to a friend who will know what to do with them.”
“I need a set,” Winter said.
“This is sensitive stuff. This might end up being the only record there is of this. I think I better send it to somebody they aren't watching. You don't want them to come to you looking for these, do you? They've demonstrated that they can play rough.”
“Nobody's watching me,” Winter protested.
“You sure?” Reed asked him. “This isn't amateur night at the Apollo.”
Winter felt a stab of paranoia after Reed hung up.
If the men on Ward Field and Rook Island were CIA assassins and the FBI knew, it would be devastating. If Winter had the evidence, perhaps Shapiro could use it and, if nothing else, make sure Greg's name wasn't dragged through the mud. One thing was for sure-no one would ever believe the CIA was involved in this without the proof Reed had. Winter could believe the FBI was in on keeping the CIA's involvement covered up. The question was why the CIA would have gone to such unbelievable extremes to kill Devlin?
Was it possible that the CIA was working to help Sam Manelli? What in God's name was going on when the government murdered its own soldiers and agents for a mobster's benefit? Winter wondered if Manelli's history of invulnerability to arrest and conviction was due to something the CIA was afraid he could let out of the bag? Or was it something that Devlin knew?
What was obvious to Winter was that-if they would kill so many people to silence one witness against Sam Manelli-the CIA surely wouldn't hesitate to kill a few more.
67
Norfolk, Virginia
Fletcher Reed closed his telephone and placed the heavy manila envelope that he had carried in his overcoat pocket into the mailbox's open slot.
United States Marshals Service
Richard Shapiro, Director
600 Army Navy Drive
