“But you don’t want me around the office for a while, do you? You don’t want our clients reminded of why Hauberk got started. Because of my fuck-up.”
Sam stood and leaned over the desk, planting his fists on either side of the blotter. “I suggested you get away because you’re more than my partner, you’re my friend, damn it. I suggested you get away because I hate to see you hounded by the press, enduring the crap they fling at you. You took the heat for me back then, at least let me take some heat for you now.”
“I deserved the heat. And those reporters?” He flung an arm toward the window. “They were right. If you and Jill had been available for another case, it would have freed up two other agents who might have freed up two other agents somewhere else who might have tumbled onto the 9/11 conspiracy.” He played his trump card. “Maybe Jill would still be alive.”
Sam’s expression went blank, and his voice lowered, a sure warning sign he was approaching meltdown. “That’s a low blow, even for you. Especially for you.”
“But it’s true, isn’t it? I’m the one who sent you two undercover without authorization. If you hadn’t been following my orders, Jill wouldn’t have been killed, and you wouldn’t have ended up flat on your back in hospital with a bullet a half inch from your heart.”
“Maybe Jill would still be alive, but Thalia-your own sister, damn it-would be dead. Butchered.” Sam folded his arms across his chest, a sure sign he was settling in for a fight he didn’t intend to lose. “Who knows how many others Vandeburg would have killed that night? Or gone on to kill another night if I hadn’t taken him out?”
Even hearing that man’s name was like having someone twist a knife in his guts. Goddamn the bastard. How many people-living and dead-had David Vandeburg destroyed? Was he still destroying?
“It was the MPDC’s responsibility to catch him.” He was relieved that his voice stayed level as he recited the mantra his superiors had chanted right before they’d taken his FBI badge and let the door hit his ass on the way out.
“We both know they were only doing drive-bys. They wouldn’t have caught him that way. You think I haven’t gone over your decision a million times? Wondered if maybe those headlines were right? You made a decision to catch a killer when everyone else turned their backs because of who he was killing. Because of you, we stopped a serial killer.”
“The point is I went against orders. I deserve the heat, Sam. Every fucking bit of it.” His voice was flat, betraying none of the rage that roiled in his chest. Thalia might not be dead, but she’d never walk again. He’d failed to protect her despite everything he’d done.
A knock on the door had them both turning around. The head of Hauberk’s International group, Troy McPherson, strolled in, looking grim, followed by another man Chad didn’t recognize. “Sam, Chad, I’d like you to meet Ed Weir. Ed’s got an employee who needs a safe house.”
“Nice to meet you, Ed.” Sam rose to shake Weir’s hand. “Why don’t you take a seat and we’ll work out the details.”
Weir sprawled on the couch instead of taking the leather visitor’s chair Sam pushed his way. He hitched one ankle onto his knee. “As McPherson said, I’ve got a business associate who needs to be kept somewhere safe until we can find the bugger who’s threatening her.”
Sam hitched his chair around and settled back into it. “Then you’ve come to the right place.”
Chad let Sam run with the company patter while he composed a note to his net wizard Dan to dig up everything he could on Weir. Once the email had been sent, he sat back and assessed their newest client. South African from his accent. Weir’s alert gray eyes behind wire-framed glasses assessed his surroundings with the attentiveness Chad expected from his agents. The gaze stopped briefly at the holster beneath Chad’s arm before rising to his face.
Interesting and commendable. Many of their clients couldn’t have told him what color suit he’d been wearing after talking with them for an hour.
Salt and pepper hair that had once been sandy brown had been clipped so it was no longer than an inch anywhere on his head. There was more gray in the neatly trimmed goatee. Forty perhaps, give or take a couple years. He’d been taller than Troy when they were standing in the doorway which pegged him at six foot two, give or take an inch. A hundred-and-eighty pounds, though that was probably generous.
“I own a few mining ventures back home.” Gold or diamonds? Chad wondered. No wedding ring, but a heavy gold link bracelet on his right wrist and a Rolex-one of the Oyster models without diamonds-confirmed Weir had a healthy bank account. Wouldn’t a diamond mine owner wear their own product? Gold then perhaps.
“A few months ago, I came to believe we had a mole in the company, someone who might be looking to steal a device we’ve been working on that should help us find new lodes. So I hired the woman I want you to guard to do some discreet investigation.”
“Let me guess-she kicked over some rocks and found a snake?” Sam leaned forward, planting his elbows on his knees.
“Yes. We know who the mole is-and they’ve been neutralized. Unfortunately the person the informant was selling the information to has taken it personally.”
Neutralized? Chad frowned. In his business that meant they’d been killed.
Sam didn’t seem as concerned about that line of thought. “You said there have been threats. What type?”
Weir toyed with the hem of his pants on the ankle he’d hitched over his knee. “Someone tossed a Molotov cocktail through her flat’s window last Tuesday night. She got out, a little singed but no worse for wear.” Chad figured that was an understatement but kept his peace as Weir continued. “My government recommended she return to the States while they investigated the attack. Since I had meetings here this week, I accompanied her.”
Troy, who had been leaning against the wall listening silently up to this point, grabbed the remaining vacant chair. “It didn’t work though, did it? There’s been another attempt. Here in the States.”
Weir splayed his fingers over his knees and examined them for a long second before he answered. “Yes. Someone broke into her room and left a tripwire that would have set off a bomb. Lucky for her she’s cautious and found it before she set it off.”
“Who’s your suspect?” Chad cut to the chase.
“The man’s name is Frank Harris.” Weir pulled out a sheet of paper from his jacket pocket and passed it to Sam, who glanced at it for a moment before handing it to Chad. “According to the investigating officer, Harris has links to a half dozen radical terrorist organizations ranging from Shining Path to Al Qaeda.”
All three of them-Sam, Troy and Chad-cursed.
“We can provide a safe location for her to stay-” Sam glanced at Chad, who nodded his agreement, “- complete with armed bodyguards, and a state-of-the-art security system with around the clock coverage. But you’re going to have to let us in on the investigation she was running.”
“Fair enough.” Weir nodded.
Chad left Sam to discuss the monetary details while he considered which safe house to use and who to assign as their principal’s guards. He discarded the house in Fredrick as unsuitable. It worked fine for partners seeking distance from a vengeful ex, but with this case, they were talking a more sophisticated threat. The estate in Texas Sam had bought and fitted out the previous year was a possibility, as were the penthouse in New York, the farm just outside Atlanta, or the compound in Vermont. They’d each been set up with a state-of-the-art alarm system, along with a panic room that would be secure even if someone hit it with a hundred pounds of C-4 explosive. For some reason he couldn’t name, he ruled out Arlington. New York was out too. It had seen enough terrorism, thanks very much. He checked with the Atlanta office only to discover their safe house was in use. Which left Vermont.
They’d need round-the-clock coverage and someone experienced in dealing with people willing to die to attain their target. He ran through his list of available operatives, weighing each on their merits. The former vice cop Walters? He’d be the best bet as a lead op. The newbie-Campbell-made the list because he hadn’t lost that wariness from his hitch in Afghanistan. Wariness was exactly what he wanted, what their client needed. He added and discarded a half-dozen more names. Once he had a plan set in his head, he rejoined the discussion.
Sam leaned back in his chair. “Who are you thinking for lead op?”
Before he could say anything, Troy leaned forward. “Can I recommend Scott Phillips? He’s got one of the best strategic minds of anyone at Hauberk.”
