No Way Out, page 15
After finishing her exam, the doctor slid her penlight back into her breast pocket. “Your friend’s in shock and she’s sustained some contusions to the face and head. But I’m not seeing evidence of a concussion. She’s fortunate that you came along when you did. We’ll infuse her with some fluids and let her rest for a bit. She should be well enough to leave in a couple of hours.”
DESANTOS HELPED VAIL back to the car and fastened her seatbelt. She was more lucid now, and her disoriented questions of “What happened?” and “Where am I?” transformed into more forceful demands to know why she was taken and how DeSantos knew where to find her.
“Where are we?”
“Just outside Oxford, about an hour and a half from London.”
“How’d I get here?”
When he didn’t answer, she turned to him, intensity in her eyes. She was clearly feeling better. And that meant the questions were going to get tougher, more pointed. Anger would set in shortly after that.
VAIL RUBBED AT HER TEMPLE. The headache was subsiding, but bits of memories of being confined in a dark area flashed through her thoughts.
“I was in a dungeon,” she said, staring at the dark road ahead. She hugged herself and shivered. “I was chained inside an iron cage.”
“Sure it’s not some kind of drug-induced dream?”
“No. Not a dream.” She looked at her wrists and saw abrasions from the iron restraints. “Arabs. They were speaking Arabic.” She turned to DeSantos. “What the hell? Does that make any sense to you?”
He blew some air through his lips. “Arabs. You sure you’re not mixing this up with some other case you had?”
Another image. “Bright lights. They were wearing black masks.”
“This is sounding more and more like a dream.”
That doesn’t make any sense. None of this is making sense. “It wasn’t a dream.”
DeSantos leaned forward to check an approaching road sign. “I don’t know what to tell you, Karen. Someone grabbed you up. That’s about all you know for sure. Everything else, well, sounds like a really intense nightmare.”
“Nightmare for sure.” She stared out at the dark roadway. The vivid, blue-tinged headlights of an approaching vehicle made her squint. Lights. “They were filming—there were movie lights. No, they were making a video. Of my death, my decapitation.”
She realized DeSantos was looking at her strangely.
“I’m not making this up.”
“Did I say you were?”
“That’s what you’re thinking.”
“Look, Karen. I have no doubt something traumatic happened to you. But Arabs threatening to decapitate you? Taking revenge on you for Uzi’s case?”
Vail looked down at her legs, pulled up her pant cuffs, and saw bloody scrapes all across her shins and knees. Definitely not a dream.
She turned to DeSantos. “Stop the car.”
DeSantos checked his mirrors. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Stop the goddamn car, Hector. Now!”
“We’re in the middle of the motorway.”
“Pull over.”
“Why? What’s got into you?”
She reached over and unlocked her door and then grabbed the handle.
“Okay, hold on.” He swung the car left onto the shoulder and stopped.
Vail popped open the door and walked around to the driver’s side, where DeSantos was getting out. The Peugeot’s headlights shone into the dew-heavy distance; the engine purred.
“You mind explaining what the—”
She grabbed hold of his collar. “Tell me what the fuck’s going on! No more bullshit.”
“What? Are you talking about our lunch the other day?”
“What the hell happened to me in that dungeon? Who was behind it, and why?”
“What makes you think—”
“All I said is that there were Arabs. You said they were taking revenge for Uzi’s case. But I never mentioned that.” She let go of his collar and slapped his face. “Goddamnit, Hector. I thought we could trust one another.”
DeSantos’s eyes narrowed, darkened. “I save your life and I get a slap in the face as thanks?”
Vail took a step back. “How do I know that you’re not responsible for putting me in that situation to begin with?”
DeSantos tensed his jaw. “Hold on right there. How dare you? Do you really think I’d do anything to hurt you? Anything? Ever since I met you I’ve tried to keep you out of trouble, to watch your back, to make sure no one hurt you.”
“Then what the hell is going on? You owe me an explanation—full disclosure.”
DeSantos leaned his buttocks against the car door. Finally he said, “Why don’t we get you a shower, grab some food somewhere, and talk this through.”
“No. I want to know now. No more deceptions, no more half-truths.”
He chewed on that a moment, then said, “Ever hear of Hussein Rudenko?”
Vail tilted her head. “Of course. Long and impressive résumé—if you’re a criminal bent on wreaking havoc in the world. We’re briefed on him once a year or so. I can’t tell you what he’s done, but I know he’s number three.”
“Number three?”
“FBI Ten Most Wanted list.”
“Brief rundown? He’s the world’s most prolific weapons dealer and money launderer. He’s sold deadly weapons systems to militias in the US, to the Taliban, the Northern Alliance, Hezbollah, and terrorists in Africa, the Congo, Sierra Leone. You get the point. But he made one mistake. He fucked with the wrong people: when he sold those surface-to-air missiles used against an Israeli passenger jet in 2002. Mossad’s been looking for him ever since. Problem is, he’s a tough guy to find. Interpol’s been searching for him for two decades. But it’s hard to find someone when no one knows what he looks like. And that’s why I’m here.”
“Here, as in England? I thought you were on a diplomatic mission.”
“I never said that. I mean, really. Me? A diplomat?”
Vail looked at him.
“Okay, fine. That’s my cover story. Repping the State Department and assisting the diplomatic attaché. That said, about three years ago, the CIA got intel that Rudenko was getting involved in planning and carrying out terror attacks. Some in The Agency felt he was trying to expand his business by stoking the embers, creating greater demand for his weapons. Others thought his sibling’s death set him off.
“Whatever it was, Mossad stayed on Rudenko’s trail. Two years ago they intercepted a shipment of chemical weapons that Hezbollah was transporting out of Syria, bankrolled by Iran and facilitated by Rudenko. But instead of confiscating it, they decided it’d be more valuable for them to see where it was going—because where it’d end up, there’d be a much larger cache. That was the Holy Grail. So to speak.
“They embedded electronic tracers and let the cargo go through. They were able to get actionable intel on the weapons depot in Libya, where it ended up. They weren’t sure they’d be able to go in without being detected, so they watched it for movement. But they were bumping up against a deadline—they were worried the power source on the electronic beacons would run down. The tracers had been sending back signals for two years and the desert heat and dust are killers for electronics. And if they were stored in some kind of hardened bunker, that requires more power to get the signal out. Mossad couldn’t risk losing track of the weapons.
“So they started prepping a mission to capture Gadhafi’s chemical weapons stash when his government was overthrown. The cache wasn’t being guarded, and munitions of all kinds were open to terror groups and weapons dealers. You name it—they had it. Bad shit when you’re talking about it falling into the hands of bad shitheads.
“A huge red flag went up when the Israelis tracked a large shipment of weaponized ricin to the UK. London, specifically. They alerted MI5 immediately.”
“And that’s why you’re here.”
“That,” DeSantos said, “is why I’m here.”
“But why would MI5 need your help? They’ve got their own agents and informants. They can execute a black op as well as we can.”
“They do have skilled operators. Or they did. Past tense. There was a cyber-attack during a mission six weeks ago and the identities of all of their operatives were potentially exposed. There hasn’t been enough time to sort it out and figure out who’s safe and who’s not. Two have already been assassinated.”
“How could something like that happen?”
“By exploiting the one and only weakness in the system. Someone figured out—or knew—which bank the Security Service and MI6 use to pay their operatives and they accessed its system. Hacked it, or got in through the normal portal, they don’t know yet. It looks like the system was not hacked, which would suggest someone on the inside. A mole. But they don’t know if that’s really the case or if it’s been made to appear that way.
“Point is, the identities of all their domestic and foreign agents are at risk. When Mossad sounded the alarm, the Brits had a huge problem. They couldn’t send in some junior agent in training. And until they figured out who did it—mole or not—they couldn’t risk using a compromised agent. He’d be killed—and the op would fail. Rudenko would take off, vanish into the wind. Again. And one of his compatriots would launch the attack. So they sent me here.”
“Because no one here knows who you really are.”
“Let’s hope not. The MI5 director general had the idea of using an American black operative who was unknown in London, who had no known affiliation with the security service or with the CIA.”
“And you fit their needs.”
“Apparently. Director General Aden Buck called Knox, his counterpart, and my boss signed off on it.”
“I thought you were in some kind of trouble.”
“There was that, too. I was happy to get back out in the field, prove myself. They didn’t need to ask twice. Actually,” he said with a chuckle, “they didn’t ask once.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this when we first met?”
“Because then I’d have to kill you.”
Vail smirked. “Now there’s the Hector DeSantos I know and despise.”
“Ow. That’s not fair. Without people like me doing what we do, lots of innocent people would be blown up by terrorists, racially cleansed by despots, raped and dismembered by warlords. You don’t want to know the entire list.”
Vail stabbed at the dirt with her left shoe. “I know that. I just have a hard time with killing in cold blood. Circumvents due process.” She held up a hand. “But I understand where you’re coming from. And I appreciate your putting your life on the line. So what’s this got to do with me? And why are you suddenly leveling with me? Or are you about to stick a knife between my ribs?”
“First of all, that’s not how I’d kill you. Too painful. And despite what you think, I’m fond of you, Karen.”
Vail tilted her head. “Thanks. I think. This conversation is not instilling a whole lot of comfort.”
“You wanted the truth.”
“Right. The truth. So what’s this got to do with me and my time locked away in a dungeon?”
“We believe that Gavin Paxton is Hussein Rudenko.”
Her mouth dropped open. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.”
“When did they zero in on Paxton?”
“In retrospect, it looks like he started using Turner Gallery as a ruse, a front, for his weapons deals about a year ago, when Turner’s former curator ‘died’ in a car accident.”
“They think Rudenko cleared the way—or created a need—for himself to get the new job opening.”
“Right. But MI5’s only got a skeleton crew digging into it, because until they figure out if they’ve got a mole, they don’t know who can be trusted. So what they know is not super useful—yet. It’s like the polls on election night. The early returns are interesting, but they may not mean a whole lot.”
“When Mossad’s tracking signal ended up at the gallery, they didn’t know who the recipient of the ‘package’ was. Turner and his family have a solid, long-standing history in England, very philanthropic. The gallery’s been around for ninety-eight years. Paxton’s history, however, was a lot more suspect.”
“So if they knew where the ricin ended up, they secured it.”
“They were preparing an op to search the place and replace the ricin with an inert substance, but it took time to plan because the gallery has video surveillance and they didn’t want to spook Paxton in case he was Rudenko. A few days before I got here, it looked like he had started moving the ricin stores when the beacon finally crapped out. So, no. It’s still out there. Somewhere.”
A chill wind blew, and she wrapped her arms around her body. “You should’ve leveled with me.”
“That’s what I’m doing now—I’m telling you the truth—because I need you to back off. Leave Paxton alone.”
“Back off? I’ve uncovered some things about him—”
“Exactly. Because there’s a high probability he’s a notorious weapons dealer, a cold-blooded killer, and the most prolific bankroller and enabler of war, mass atrocities, and terrorism in the post-Cold War era.”
Vail ground her molars. “Did you have anything to do with my kidnapping?”
“Of course not.”
She stood there observing him for a moment. “But you knew about it.”
“Only after the fact. They told me what they’d done, and why. And where to find you.” DeSantos turned away. “There’s a lot to this, Karen. A lot you don’t know about.”
“Damnit, Hector. They scared the crap out of me. I thought they were going to chop my head off!”
DeSantos shook his head. “I didn’t know. Honestly—I never would’ve allowed them to do that. I told you, I wouldn’t let anything happen to you.”
That’s a nice thing to say, but— “Who’s behind it?”
DeSantos shifted his weight. “You know how this shit works. Need to know. And all I apparently needed to know is that they were concerned you’d fuck everything up. Scare away Paxton. Once he’s gone, he’s gone. The stakes are very high. Obviously.”
“Are you being honest with me now?”
“Totally.”
“Are you telling me everything?”
“Not even close.”
Another breeze. Vail tightened her arms across her chest. “Go on.”
“I can’t tell you any more than I already have.”
“After all we’ve been through?” She studied his face, but it revealed nothing. “I’m a federal agent, Hector. I took the same oaths you did.”
“All due respect, Karen, you can’t equate the job you do with the job I do. They’re not only in different ballparks, they’re in different sports.”
“Trust is trust. You either trust me or you don’t. And apparently you don’t.”
“You’re taking this personally. It’s not. It’s the way I have to operate.”
She looked off into the darkness, then into DeSantos’s eyes, to get a good read. A moment later, she got back into the car.
“Are we okay?”
Vail buckled her seatbelt. “For now. We’ll see what tomorrow brings.”
23
When they arrived back in London, Vail showered in her hotel room while DeSantos ordered dinner for them in the restaurant. The staff was cleaning up and preparing to close, but he convinced them to serve their meal in the bar, which was open till 2:00 AM, another hour from now.
Vail arrived fifteen minutes later, explaining that she would’ve liked to stay in the shower another thirty minutes, then fall into bed. But she knew she needed to eat.
When she sat down on the barstool, the exhaustion showed in her drooping shoulders. “I look like shit.”
“You look great to me.”
“Normally, you’re a good liar.”
“And now?”
“Not so much. I’ve got abrasions all over my face and I think that episode with the Arabs took ten years off my life.”
“Don’t be so dramatic. Extreme stress only shaves off a few days.”
She looked at him.
“Sorry.” The waitress set the two plates in front of them.
“Burgers. Really? After what you put me through today?”
“You were expecting candlelight and caviar?”
“A girl can dream.”
“At this time of night, we’re lucky to get this. They were closing up. I had to grovel on hands and knees for these burgers.”
“I can’t imagine you groveling.”
“Fine. I asked nicely. The hostess was hot and I promised to repay the favor.”
“I’m losing my appetite.”
DeSantos gathered up the burger. “Not me.”
“Hector, we have to deal with the elephant in the room.”
DeSantos stopped chewing, then twisted his torso, taking in the entire bar. “I don’t see an elephant, Karen.”
“I’m entitled to some answers.”
He looked around again. No one was there, and the bartender was in the back restocking glasses.
“What do you want to know?” He held up an index finger. “Be reasonable.”
“Let’s start with Stonehenge.”
“I’m not a historian or anything, but from what I understand, it’s really old and there are these big rocks arranged in—”
“Hector. Don’t start with me. I’m not exaggerating when I say that I’ve had a shitty day.”
He set his burger on the plate. “Fine. It was staged. You were right.”
“Staged, yeah. Any profiler worth her salt would’ve seen that. But there was a real woman who was sliced and diced.”
“A prostitute found dead the night before from an overdose. Her body was…appropriated. No one was actually killed.”
“Why the charade?’
DeSantos spread his hands. “For you. C’mon, don’t tell me you didn’t figure this out.”
“I did figure it out. That’s apparently what got me in hot water.”
“Not exactly. But it didn’t help. What caused the problem is that you’re too freaking good. You were supposed to be occupied by the sick serial killer who left his victim at Stonehenge. But you saw right through it. A lot faster than they thought you would.”
