“Oh. A pebble, then.” She considered this for a moment, then began to compose.
Anya Rinki testifies against Dimitri Bardov. July 8, 2008. Enters the Witness Protection Program. New ID: Sasha Simka. Transferred to Akron, Ohio; employed as sales clerk at Monique’s Boutique.
Case assigned to Deputy U.S. Marshal Robyn Treacher. Case files accessed by William Cosgrove October 12 and 14, 2008—no log-in or official request for same on record.
Copy of e-mail from personal account of William Cosgrove to account of Igor Bardov, brother of Dimitri, sent October 15, 2008, attached.
$15,000 deposited in account for William Dwyer a/k/a William Cosgrove on October 16, 2008.
Anya Rinki, a/k/a Sasha Simka, found raped and murdered October 19, 2008.
This data will be e-mailed to Administrator Wayne Powell within forty-eight hours unless you agree to a payment of $50,000. Details on the remittance of same to be given in the next communication.
“I think that’s a nicely formed pebble,” she said, and turned the screen so Brooks could read it.
His smile spread slowly before he shifted his gaze from the screen to her face. “Good shape, good weight. You had all those dates in your head?”
“They’re accurate.”
“What’s the content of the e-mail you’re going to attach?”
“It said: ‘Sasha Simka, Akron, 539 Eastwood, Apartment 3-B.’”
The smile faded as Brooks eased back from the computer screen. “So Cosgrove killed her for fifteen thousand.”
“Yes, not personally beating her to death doesn’t make him any less responsible. I believe he’ll respond to this. I believe he’ll agree to pay. As soon as I know the surveillance is in place, I’ll send it.”
“What did they pay him for you?”
His tone, hard and cold, had her taking a moment to shut down her laptop. “He owed fifty thousand in gambling debts. Ilya bought—they’re called markers—he bought Cosgrove’s markers, then used the debt to threaten him.”
“And when you weren’t … eliminated?”
“They forgave half, and required him to work off the rest. The fee, even though I lived, was considerably more than the fee for Anya Rinki. You’d have to conclude Korotkii is worth more to Sergei Volkov than Dimitri Bardov.”
He spoke quietly now, and with absolute certainly. “They’ll pay, Abigail, for what they did to you, to Anya Rinki, to all the others. I swear it to you.”
“I don’t want you to make a vow over something you may not be able to control.”
His gaze never wavered from hers. “Whatever it takes, however long it takes.”
Because it touched her, and frightened her a little, she glanced out the window. “We’re starting our descent.”
“Nervous?”
“No.” She took a moment to be sure. “No, I’m not nervous about what happens next. It’s surprising, really, how completely I was convinced I could never do this. And now how completely I’m convinced I can, and must. And the difference is …” She took his hand, linked fingers. “This. Just this.”
“This”—he tightened his grip—“is pretty damn important.”
She checked in a full thirty minutes before Brooks, so by the time he knocked on her door she’d already positioned the cameras and mics in the sitting area of what the hotel called an executive suite. In his room—across the hall and two doors down—she set up the monitors, linked the equipment.
In just over an hour, she’d set, interfaced and tested the equipment.
“As soon as we make contact, the feds will put men on the hotel,” Brooks told her.
“I know. But the sooner the better.” Nothing more to do, she determined. No more precautions to take. “Let’s make the call.”
She had to wait alone, but found it comforting to know he could watch her. So she worked while she waited, and, when she had confirmation on the warrant on Cosgrove’s and Keegan’s electronics, programmed a time lag of two hours—long enough for the surveillance to be in place—to send her blackmail note.
A pebble in the river, she thought, and looked directly at the camera and smiled.
As she monitored activities, she knew exactly when the plane carrying Assistant Director Gregory Cabot and Special Agent Elyse Garrison cleared for takeoff to Dulles International.
“They’re on their way now,” she said clearly, “and should land at Dulles in about an hour and forty minutes.”
She checked her watch, calculated. “I’d estimate they’ll be in the hotel by ten. They may still opt to watch and wait until morning, but I think they’ll come to me tonight, as it puts control in their hands, or they’d believe it would.”
She rose, wished she could open the curtains. But with the right equipment, the right angle from a neighboring building, they could watch her in the room.
“I think I’ll order a meal. It would give them an opportunity to put an agent undercover as a room-service waiter, so they can get a visual of me and the room. The confirmation I’m here, alone, might be helpful.”
She ordered a salad, a large bottle of water, a pot of tea. Finding it oddly intimate, she continued a one- sided dialogue with Brooks as she switched the TV on, volume low, as she assumed someone alone in a hotel might do.
She checked her makeup, her wig—though she really wished she could remove both—and as an afterthought, rumpled the bed a little so it might look as if she’d stretched out with the television.
When the food arrived, she opened the door for the waiter, gestured toward the table in the sitting area.
He had dark hair, a compact build and what she thought of as quick eyes.
“Are you in town for business, miss?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I hope you have time for some fun while you’re here. Enjoy your dinner,” he added, when she signed the bill. “If you need anything, just pick up the phone.”
“I will. Thank you. In fact … perhaps you could arrange for more water, or coffee, if they prefer, when the assistant director and Special Agent Garrison arrive.”
“Excuse me?”
“Your shoes, your eyes and the weapon under the waiter’s jacket. I hope you’d communicate to the assistant director and agent that I’m ready to speak with them tonight if that suits them.”
And that, she thought, telegraphed clearly that the control remained in
“It can wait until tomorrow if they prefer keeping me under surveillance longer, but I don’t intend to go anywhere. It should save time to talk tonight. And thank you for bringing the meal. The salad looks very nice.”
He gave her a long look. “Ma’am,” he said, and left her alone.
“That wasn’t just impulse, and it wasn’t showing off. Exactly. I felt if they understood I understand, we might move more smoothly through this process. The pebble dropped into the river while I was speaking to the FBI waiter,” she added. “I think I’ll eat. The salad does look nice.”
In his room, munching on some minibar nuts, Brooks just shook his head.
What a woman he had.
When she’d finished, she set the tray outside the door. Plenty of fingerprints, she mused, sufficient DNA as well. They could run her prints and save yet more time.
She sat, drinking her tea, monitoring her computer for alerts and thinking how much she wished to be home with Brooks, her dog, her gardens. She knew now, really knew, how lovely it was to wish for home.
When the knock came, she switched off the computer, rose, walked to the door to look out through the security peep at the lanky man and the athletically built woman.
“Yes?”
