The Witness

transport you back to Chicago.”

“No.”

“Ms. Fitch, you’re a material witness, and a suspect.”

“Suspect is stretching credulity, and we all know it. If you put me in protective custody, you’re killing me. They will get to me, and through whoever you put in their way.”

“Elizabeth. Liz,” Garrison said, leaning forward. “You’ve trusted me with key information that’s led to arrests, to convictions. Trust me now. I’ll personally take the lead in your protection.”

“I won’t be responsible for your death, for your parents’ grief. I promise you, if I live long enough I’ll run again rather than testify. I’m good at hiding, and you’ll never have my testimony.”

“You have to believe we won’t let anything happen to you.”

“No, I don’t. Who else might you trust with my life? What about Agent Pickto?”

Garrison sat back. “What about Pickto?”

“Special Agent Anthony Pickto, age thirty-eight, assigned to Chicago Bureau. Divorced, no children. His weakness is women. He enjoys them more when they’re reluctant. He’s funneled information on investigations in exchange for access to women the Volkovs bring to the States from Russia, then force into prostitution. They pay him, too, but that’s secondary. He’s digging for the FBI contact—you, Agent Garrison. He’s getting closer. If he learns who’s receiving the data that’s led to these arrests, to these busts, you’ll be taken. Questioned, tortured, raped. They’ll threaten you with the torture and death of everyone you love, and perhaps will select one as an example to demonstrate how serious they are. When you’re of no further use, they’ll kill you. Agent Pickto reports to you, Assistant Director.”

“Yes,” Cabot confirmed, “he does. You’re making very serious accusations about an agent in good standing.”

“They’re not accusations, they’re facts. And only one of the reasons I won’t put my life in your hands. I’ll help you put these people away, help you break the Volkov organization, but I won’t tell you where I am. If you don’t know, you can’t divulge the information under duress.” She reached into her pocket, took out a flash drive. “Check the information I’ve correlated on Pickto, then ask yourself if, before reading it, checking it, you would have trusted my life, this agent’s life, others under your command, others in the Marshals Service, to this man.

“You would never have found me, but I came to you. I’ll give you everything you need, and all I’m asking is you let me live. Let Elizabeth Fitch live to help get justice for Julie and Terry and John. And when she’s done, let her die.”

“I can’t promise to do this your way. I have people to answer to.”

Impatience shimmered through. “Do you think I’d have come to you if I didn’t know you could authorize exactly what I’m asking? You have power, you have evidence, and considerable leverage. My way, and the Volkovs will be done in Chicago, in New York, New Jersey, Miami. You’ll weed out agents and other law enforcement and judiciary officials who have worked for them—by choice or out of fear.”

No longer able to sit, pretend a calm she didn’t feel, Abigail surged to her feet. “I was sixteen, and yes, I had poor judgment. I was reckless. One night of my life, I broke the rules. But I don’t deserve to die for it, any more than Julie did. If you take me in against my will, this will leak to the press. And they’ll talk of that young girl, of twelve years in exile, in coming forward to offer help at great risk.”

“Is that a threat?”

“Yes, it’s very much a threat. Your superiors wouldn’t be pleased with the bad press, especially at a time they’re working to break the Volkov bratva, especially when trusted FBI agents like Anthony Pickto are implicated. Perhaps explaining that to those you answer to will give you additional leverage.”

“Pause the recording, Agent Garrison.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m going to make a phone call.” With that, he strode out of the room.

Abigail sat again, folded her hands in her lap, cleared her throat. “Ah, should I order more coffee?”

“No, thanks. I’m good. You play hardball, Liz.”

“I’m playing for my life.”

“Yeah. Pickto. You’re sure?”

“I wouldn’t impute someone’s name, reputation and career otherwise.”

“Okay. He’s been asking some questions. Nothing that bumped my radar, nothing out of line, but I’ve heard he’s asked some questions about the last couple Volkov busts. And when I put those questions in this context, it bumps my radar, hard.

“I’d have trusted him,” Garrison admitted.

“Of course.”

“You know, if he’s ordered to bring you in, Cabot will have you locked down tight. I want you to know, if that happens, I will keep you safe.”

“If he takes me in, I’ll get away, however tight he locks me down. I’ll find a way. You’ll never see or hear from me again.”

“I believe you,” Garrison murmured.

“I can be very resourceful.”

It took twenty minutes for Cabot to come back. He sat. “I think we can work out a compromise.”

“Do you?”

“An elite two-man team, known only to me, to guard you in a location again known only by me.”

“And when they learn, and they will, you have the information, and they take your wife or one of your children, when they send you a hand or an ear, who will you save?”

Cabot’s fists balled on his knees. “You think very little of our security.”

“I have your address, I know where your children go to school, where your wife works, where she prefers to shop. Do you think they can’t access the same, won’t use any means to access it when their organization is threatened?

“I’ll cooperate. I’ll speak with the prosecutors, with your superiors. I’ll testify in court. But I won’t go into a safe house again, and I won’t go into witness protection once it’s done. That’s my price, and it’s very little for the value I’m offering.”

“And if we move on this, push forward on this, and you run again?”

She reached over, picked up the bag holding the bloodstained sweater. “Terry’s sweater, John’s blood. I’ve kept this for twelve years. Wherever I’ve gone, whoever I became, this was with me. I need to let it go, and at least some of the pain and guilt and grief. I can’t until I do what I need to do for Julie, for John, for Terry. I’ll keep in daily contact via computer. When it’s announced I’ve been found, and I’ll testify, they’ll do everything they can to find out who knows where I am, who’s protecting me. But they’ll find nothing, because there won’t be anything to find.

“And when I walk in the courtroom that day, it ends for them. It ends for all of us. That’s the deal.”

When they left her, finally left her, she lay down on the bed.

“Will he keep his word?” She closed her eyes, imagined Brooks there with her instead of just watching. “Will he? I’m so tired. I’m so glad you’re here. Right here,” she said, and, fisting a hand, laid it on her heart.

Brooks watched her drift off, and thought if Cabot didn’t keep his word there would be hell to pay. And he would exact the payment.

But for now he stood watch while she slept.

30

Brooks spotted the FBI shortly after he sat down for breakfast at the hotel’s morning buffet. He barely glanced toward where Abigail sat, reading the newspaper at her single table. Casually scanning the room, he pretended to make and receive calls on his cell phone, just another busy man in transition. With the phone still at his ear, he headed out with his overnight bag.