here. Why don’t we continue this later today.”
She picked up a napkin as she slid off the stool. “Where are you going to crash?”
“In this sprawling place? Don’t worry about it. I’ll find somewhere comfortable. Forget the alarm clock and sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s news.”
“Thanks. Pleasant dreams, Sam.”
“It’s been an interesting day. Night, Darcy.”
Five
* * *
SEPTEMBER 10
Monday, 5:30 p.m.
McLean, Virginia
Darcy paced Marla’s home office as she read faxes, commenting as she read to her partner on the speakerphone. “It doesn’t make sense, Gabe. Why kill a man who specialized in investigating money transfers?” Twenty hours after the Sunday night attack provided enough confirmed information to outline the scope of what had happened. She was grateful to have a few hours of sleep before she saw this data. It was worse than expected. She bit into her second blueberry bagel as she flipped pages to keep reading.
Kevin Wallace had been killed by a grenade attack as he drove from his home in Stockholm to the U.S. embassy. He worked an overseas desk for the Agency and had good relations with Sweden’s bankers, but he’d been out of running agents in Russia for over a decade.
Benjamin Rice had been shot in the head by a sniper round when his car stopped at a streetlight in Munich. Ben’s expertise was in transportation and immigration issues as the European Union moved toward open borders. He too was a cold war veteran with experience across Europe.
They were both well-planned hits, not random crimes that sometimes took out an agent. They had happened within thirty minutes of each other. “What is the connection to me? They’re friends through our common interests in Europe, but I don’t remember you or me working directly with them on a case.”
“Neither do I.”
She stopped by the blown-up map of Europe on the east wall of the office and looked at the locations. She didn’t understand this.
“I see two options,” Gabriel said. “First: the obvious threat to you. Maybe Ramon Santigo’s family is moving operations into Europe—I can see expert investigators in money transfers and transportation both being threats to their smuggling operations. Sergey came to the U.S. to hit you in retirement. You weren’t a minor addition to this list of targets.”
“And the second option?”
“This is the opening salvo in something we don’t yet understand, something large enough that killing agents is considered worth the fallout. All three of you were seasoned investigators. You have a history working in the eastern bloc countries, and you’re familiar with the former intelligence officers of the KGB and the scientists who worked in their military labs. All of you had language skills.”
“We’re good utility players.”
“Exactly.”
“Are there any signs of a coming coup in one of the eastern bloc countries?”
“That’s what I was wondering. I’ve got people out on the streets getting a feel for the undercurrents of gossip and rumor.” They had both learned the practical value of street intelligence during the months before the Berlin Wall came down when Washington hadn’t believed what those in the countries were reporting back.
“Anything else on Sergey?” Darcy asked.
“Not much. Security tapes at the hotel, a lead on his car.”
“I forgot to ask earlier. Who do you have heading the search in Florida?”
“Neil Fortam.”
“He’s good.”
“You’re better. Come back to work full-time.”
She leaned against the desk and straightened the paper clips. “I’m not as good as I used to be. Retirement dulls the skills.”
“Hey, dahlin’, you’re alive. Our friends were on active duty and they aren’t.”
“I’ll think about it. I do want Sergey found.” She crossed over to the safe to store the faxes. “Have you had any sleep?”
“I crashed for a few hours on the couch. We’ve been getting another wave of threat warnings similar
She picked up a napkin as she slid off the stool. “Where are you going to crash?”
“In this sprawling place? Don’t worry about it. I’ll find somewhere comfortable. Forget the alarm clock and sleep. I’ll wake you if there’s news.”
“Thanks. Pleasant dreams, Sam.”
“It’s been an interesting day. Night, Darcy.”
Five
* * *
SEPTEMBER 10
Monday, 5:30 p.m.
McLean, Virginia
Darcy paced Marla’s home office as she read faxes, commenting as she read to her partner on the speakerphone. “It doesn’t make sense, Gabe. Why kill a man who specialized in investigating money transfers?” Twenty hours after the Sunday night attack provided enough confirmed information to outline the scope of what had happened. She was grateful to have a few hours of sleep before she saw this data. It was worse than expected. She bit into her second blueberry bagel as she flipped pages to keep reading.
Kevin Wallace had been killed by a grenade attack as he drove from his home in Stockholm to the U.S. embassy. He worked an overseas desk for the Agency and had good relations with Sweden’s bankers, but he’d been out of running agents in Russia for over a decade.
Benjamin Rice had been shot in the head by a sniper round when his car stopped at a streetlight in Munich. Ben’s expertise was in transportation and immigration issues as the European Union moved toward open borders. He too was a cold war veteran with experience across Europe.
They were both well-planned hits, not random crimes that sometimes took out an agent. They had happened within thirty minutes of each other. “What is the connection to me? They’re friends through our common interests in Europe, but I don’t remember you or me working directly with them on a case.”
“Neither do I.”
She stopped by the blown-up map of Europe on the east wall of the office and looked at the locations. She didn’t understand this.
“I see two options,” Gabriel said. “First: the obvious threat to you. Maybe Ramon Santigo’s family is moving operations into Europe—I can see expert investigators in money transfers and transportation both being threats to their smuggling operations. Sergey came to the U.S. to hit you in retirement. You weren’t a minor addition to this list of targets.”
“And the second option?”
“This is the opening salvo in something we don’t yet understand, something large enough that killing agents is considered worth the fallout. All three of you were seasoned investigators. You have a history working in the eastern bloc countries, and you’re familiar with the former intelligence officers of the KGB and the scientists who worked in their military labs. All of you had language skills.”
“We’re good utility players.”
“Exactly.”
“Are there any signs of a coming coup in one of the eastern bloc countries?”
“That’s what I was wondering. I’ve got people out on the streets getting a feel for the undercurrents of gossip and rumor.” They had both learned the practical value of street intelligence during the months before the Berlin Wall came down when Washington hadn’t believed what those in the countries were reporting back.
“Anything else on Sergey?” Darcy asked.
“Not much. Security tapes at the hotel, a lead on his car.”
“I forgot to ask earlier. Who do you have heading the search in Florida?”
“Neil Fortam.”
“He’s good.”
“You’re better. Come back to work full-time.”
She leaned against the desk and straightened the paper clips. “I’m not as good as I used to be. Retirement dulls the skills.”
“Hey, dahlin’, you’re alive. Our friends were on active duty and they aren’t.”
“I’ll think about it. I do want Sergey found.” She crossed over to the safe to store the faxes. “Have you had any sleep?”
“I crashed for a few hours on the couch. We’ve been getting another wave of threat warnings similar
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