Murder In New York
Chapter 8
August 9
109th Street
Outside the Amboy Arms
1640 HoursSince the coffee shop was only a few blocks from the Amboy Arms and traffic, even this far away from the center of the city, was still packed and getting worse, the four decided to walk. AJ and Cassie took the lead, and Rabb and Perkins followed. Each filling the other in on what they had accomplished.
They were just crossing the street, the hotel in sight, when Cassie quickly pulled AJ around the corner. Rabb saw why Cassie had made the detour and, taking Perkins by the elbow, followed suit.
"Damn it!" Cassie said as they entered a storefront, the peeling, hand-painted sign proclaiming it to be a used CD store. The lone employee assessed the four and pushed back a curtain to the back room, muttering something about being back in a minute.
"What’s wrong?" AJ demanded as Cassie led him to a bin of CD’s by artists he had never even imagined could have existed.
Before she could answer, Rabb spoke up. "The two cops investigating Webb just entered the hotel, sir."
"They didn’t see us."
"No. But they know me," Rabb said
"And me," Perkins added. "At least Briscoe does. He and I had a little run in over jurisdiction about two months ago."
Cassie sighed. "And I suspect that both of them will remember us being on the elevator with them in the courthouse yesterday."
AJ thought and then looked from Cassie to Perkins. "You two knock off for now. Perkins, we’ll see you tomorrow. Cassie, could you go back to the hotel and wait for Gunny to bring Marcella and Francesca. I know you’ve never met them, but I would appreciate it if you were there."
"Sure AJ, but are you still going to the Amboy?"
AJ nodded. "Sure, we’re Palmer’s lawyers. Why wouldn’t we go there? I wonder how they found out. Who knows, maybe we’ll find out something from them."
"We’ll head down the street and go around the block just in case." Cassie said.
AJ and Harm watched them for a moment then turned back to the main street and headed for the hotel.
The lobby was strangely quiet. "I admit that I don’t frequent places like this, but shouldn’t there be people down here?" Rabb asked.
"Well I don’t know about that, but there should be a desk clerk." AJ leaned around the open door into the tiny little room containing a sagging, torn, overstuffed chair. An old board attached to the wall served as a makeshift counter/desk. Candy wrappers, an overflowing ashtray and an empty coffee cup were placed haphazardly on it. The only thing that interested him was the file box stuffed with forms that passed for compliance with state law regarding the registration of guests. Easing into the room, AJ peered past a door against the back wall and fought his gag reflex. The bathroom was empty but the pungent odor permeated everything. Turning around he hissed, "Watch out for the clerk." Quickly he thumbed through the receipts and found the one he was looking for. "Clark Palmer, July 17, $20.00 Room 317." The urge to pull the slip of paper was compelling but he left it alone and stepped outside just as they heard other cars pulling up.
"Sir! There’s three more cop cars. Something’s going down." Rabb whispered hoarsely.
"Let’s go upstairs. Maybe we can figure out what is going on without being found." AJ said with little conviction.
Once they entered the stairwell, they heard a commotion somewhere above them. One voice, AJ thought it was the older white detective, was clear. "Yeah L.T., the desk clerk identified him as Ivan Skolov. He was an enforcer for Sergi Karpov." Rabb was leaning as close as he dared to the center well; AJ wasn’t sure the banister would hold and reached out to grab his arm. Hearing the policemen below begin their assent, he pulled Rabb through the third floor door.
"Wonderful." Rabb growled. "We’ve stumbled onto a murder investigation."
"Doesn’t make sense." AJ peered down the dark hallway. Doors that had been cracked open were quickly slammed shut. "Homicide detectives aren’t the first cops on the scene normally. Where the hell were the other cars?"
"Coincidence?"
Even in the dim light Rabb could see the disdain on his CO’s face. Thundering footsteps hurried up the stairway but no one open the third floor fire door. "Come on. We’re here, I want to check his room." AJ pulled Harm toward the room where 317 was scrawled in dulling white paint. He knocked on the door and when it swung open, he was met by a blurry-eyed black man, dressed in tattered chinos and a sweat stained tee shirt.
"What the fuck do you want?" the deep baritone demanded.
"Ten minutes to check out this room and two questions." AJ held up two twenties.
"Shoot." The man reached for the money but didn’t press when AJ pulled them back.
"Questions first. How long have you lived here?"
"Sheeeeet. How the fuck should…lemme think. In this room or the hotel?"
"The hotel."
"Shitfuck. Four, five years."
"But not this room?"
"Fuck no. Had me a room upstairs, but it sprung a damn leak. Twenty bucks ain’t much, but hell, a man has a right to be dry."
"You remember the guy who stayed in this room around the middle of July. White guy."
"White guy? Down here? Now what fool of…"
AJ didn’t have time. Folding the bills, he turned to Rabb. "Come on, the man obviously doesn’t remember."
"Now hold on. Jeez man, you wanta know or not?"
"Listen to me. Cops are swarming over this building; someone is dead upstairs. They get to us before you tell me what you know and this money isn’t going to be in your pocket at all."
"That damned Russian! I knows it. There’s another dumb-fuck white guy for you. Sumbitch makes good money bustin’ bones for Karpov, and he lives in this dump. He’s dead? That other dumb-fuck white boy musta killed him after all. Beat the shit out of him with some kung-fu move liked I’d never done seen. Billy Reeves up in 643 seen it even better ‘n me. Li’l guy never said nothin’. But when O’ Ivan pulled a knife on him, just to make the point on who’s boss down here, the li’l guy ripped him a new one. Started screamin’ like a goddam crazy bastard. Ran out down them stairs. Passed right by me. Close as you is right now. Looked like Satan hisself were chasing him."
"You seen him since?"
Again the feral look returned, but this time it paid off because AJ sighed and another twenty joined the other two bills. "Yeah. Seen him around the neighborhood. Heard he was playin’ piano over at the Lucky Chance. Funny thing." He looked past Chegwidden as the door opened. Reaching out quickly he grabbed the money, but AJ didn’t let go. The two men glared at each other and the man quickly finished, "How come that boy still walkin’ around? Shitfuck, I knows mean muthafuckers what didn’t make it out that neighborhood that time of night."
AJ released his grip on the bills just as they heard, "Hey! You two." Quickly the man closed the door in AJ’s face.
The Admiral sighed and turned around and waited. Before the two detectives reached them the stairwell door opened again and a feminine voice called out. "Briscoe? Green?"
Rabb sighed deeply and waited for Southerlyn to recognize him.
"The coroner’s here, I’m heading…oh, for God’s sake. What are you doing here?" she snapped. She hadn’t planned on entering the dank smelly hallway, but now her sensible heels clacked against the decaying linoleum. "Mr. Rabb. We do keep meeting up in the strangest places. Not at all what I’m used to with defense attorneys."
Taking a deep breath and not waiting for his CO’s lead, Rabb plunged in. "We were just checking on Mr. Palmer’s most recent whereabouts."
"How recent?" Green asked.
"Excuse me?" Rabb silently groaned and knew that the Admiral would have played it differently.
"When was the last time your client was here, Mr. Rabb?" Lennie Briscoe asked, never taking his eyes off the lawyer’s bald companion.
Before Rabb could dig his hole any deeper, AJ stepped forward and extended his hand. "AJ Chegwidden, Miss Southerlyn, correct? You’ll be trying the case against my client, Mr. Palmer."
Serena looked up at the tall handsome man, dressed far more casually than most high priced corporate attorneys usually did. She felt the quiet commanding power behind the handshake. His palms were dry, and there was no false bravado in the grip. He held her hand for exactly the right amount of time before releasing it and turning his attention to the two detectives.
Lennie Briscoe was immediately reminded of his CO back in Nam. He rather suspected that this man had been there too; a lot of men their age had been. "Briscoe and Green," he said before he demanded, "And my partner asked you a question."
"Yes, he did." AJ agreed. "You’ll excuse us."
"Now wait a minute," Green started, but Serena, keeping her eyes on Rabb, put her hand on the detective’s arm. Green knew they wouldn’t get anything right now and from what the two old men had said, Skolov had been alive and well yesterday morning, right about the time Palmer was being transported to the courthouse.
"Mr. Chegwidden, I would like to talk to your client about the murder of a man he knew here," Serena asked softly.
AJ eyed her with respect. "Who?"
"Ivan Skolov."
"My client has never mentioned a Mr. Skolov."
Southerlyn’s smile was just a tad cold. She suspected she could hold her own against Rabb, but Chegwidden was a different matter. "Funny. Mr. Skolov called my office yesterday morning at 11:30 and said he had evidence about Mr. Palmer. Now we find him dead with one bullet to the head."
"Time of death," AJ snapped in a voice that Rabb would never question.
Southerlyn almost responded but Green smoothly interjected. "Now that would be for the coroner to determine, Mr. Chegwidden. We’ll need to check with the hospital and perhaps question Mr. Palmer about his whereabouts after he left the courthouse."
AJ nodded. "You do that, detective. Check security cameras and hospital records, but don’t even think about questioning Mr. Palmer without ME being there." No even glancing at Rabb, he moved between the two detectives. "Miss Southerlyn, detectives, you’ll excuse me. I have an appointment."
Rabb shrugged ruefully at Serena and quickly followed Chegwidden down the hall and down the stairs.
"Damn it!" AJ practically ripped the car door off its hinges. "We’ll have to be prepared for them wanting to talk to Webb. I don’t know how Dr. Greenwood is going to deal with it."
"You think it could be a setback, sir," Rabb asked, softy still embarrassed that he had given anything away.
"Hell if I know." AJ sighed, "Poor bastard. Greenwood and Mac have been drilling into him his name is Webb – now – well there’s little to be done about it. We’ll see what Greenwood says." He started the car and turned out into traffic. "Damn, we should go there and meet with him. I have to let Cassie know and have her check with the CIA about this Skolov and his boss Karpov."
"Sir, I can go and talk to Greenwood. Mac isn’t going to like it if we don’t fill her in. Galindez should be at the hotel with Francesca and Mrs. Paretti. You can tell Agent O’Brien then."
AJ drove in silence through the heavy evening traffic. Finally he agreed. "I might as well park the car at the hotel garage. You can cab it."
"Aye, sir."
: :
Holiday Inn
1930 HoursAfter walking out of the parking garage together, Rabb bid his CO good night. "I think I’ll walk. It’s only twenty blocks to the hospital, and the way traffic is, I’ll probably get there quicker."
"Thanks, Rabb. I’ll meet you back at the apartment later."
"No problem, sir."
AJ was surprised there wasn’t a doorman on duty. As he went through the revolving doors he saw why. He heard the loud oaths in Italian, and he was transported back twenty years to the last days of their marriage. He had no idea at whom Marcella was swearing, but he figured she would draw blood soon. Quickly he made his way to the tight knot of people.
As well as AJ spoke Italian even he couldn’t do more than make out a few words. The scene that greeted him as he pulled several hotel employees back had him so flabbergasted that he couldn’t even form words in English, let alone a foreign language.
The doorman, a burly man who looked like he had boxed at one time, was standing between Cassie, who just stood there, a shocked embarrassed look on her face,
and Marcella, who danced around him like a Chihuahua around a bull mastiff. Gunnery Sergeant Galindez and Francesca both tried, ineffectively, to hold Marcella back.
In a tone that had never worked in their six years of marriage, he bellowed. "Marcella!" Everyone, including Marcella, stopped and turned to look at him. What happened next surprised him even more. Marcella Paretti, the mother of his child, the woman who had knocked him out cold with a can opener, the woman who had buried a husband who had been killed by her daughter’s former lover, looked from him back to Cassie and burst into tears, falling to her knees.
AJ reached down and pulled her up. "Keys?" he snapped.
Gunny looked at the bags sitting off to one side and shrugged. Cassie, panting slightly, held up the thick envelope bearing the room number and the key cards. "Right here."
"Let’s go." As AJ dragged Marcella over to the elevator, Gunny picked up the two suitcases and quickly followed. Francesca glared at Cassie, who shook her head in bewilderment and started to reach out to give her the keys. "All of you!" AJ’s tone left no room for argument and the two women joined the other three on the elevator.
On the way up the only sounds were Marcella’s wheezing sobs. AJ just held her head to his chest and looked at Cassie who met his concerned stare with one of her own.
Once they were inside the large, comfortable room. AJ firmly took his ex-wife by the shoulders and demanded, "Marcella basta ! Smettila di piangere
immediatamente. Tell me what is the matter."Marcella looked like she was going to start in again, but AJ sternly snapped, "Marcella dico sul serio! I mean it! What is going on?" He looked form Gunny to Cassie. "In English, Marcella."
Marcella glared and sniffed dramatically. "Francesca portami un bicchiere d'acqua."
"Si, Mama." Francesca hurried into the bathroom and returned with a glass of water.
Marcella sipped the liquid, glared at AJ and then turned her stony continence on Cassie. "Tell me, Agent O’Brien, are you that unsure of his love that you would send your agents to question my friends; to check out my daughter’s friends? Did he not tell you enough about poor Vittorio’s business associates? You do this to get ahead at the FBI, no?"
Cassie stood there stunned. "Mrs. Paretti, I don’t know what you are talking about."
"Basta! Liar! You think I am without friends, now that I am just a widow? Oh, wait! Is that why you send them after me, because of Bertaldo?"
"Bertaldo!?" Father and daughter demanded in unison.
"Si. But never mind that now." Marcella returned her glare to the hapless O’Brien. "I know it was you. Who else could request such a thing? I -- how do you say AJ -- phoned in a favor of one of Vittorio’s old business associates."
"Called in."
Marcella shrugged. "Si. This business associate talked to another associate in Criminalpol and he said that British Intelligence had asked them to check us out on behalf of the FBI."
Cassie fell hard upon the bed. Her groan was heartfelt and then she began to mutter curses softly under her breath. Gunny, without much thought, put his arm around Francesca and pulled her out of the way to just stare at the scene before them.
Marcella, who was still gripping AJ’s shirtsleeve tightly, whispered haughtily, "See, Alberto, you see! It is as I said."
AJ pried his ex-wife’s hand from his shirt and went to crouch before Cassie, who now had her head buried in her hands. Her mutterings were still incoherent except for the occasional coarse word. "Cassie, damn it. We’ve got important things going down with Webb. What’s this about?"
Cassie sighed and looked up. He was shocked and worried to see bright tears form in her eyes. She took a deep breath, stood and looked down at him. "I’ll take care of it." Walking over to Marcella, she started to reach out to the older woman but stopped herself. "Signora Paretti, I suspect I know who is doing this and I promise you, I will not sleep tonight until I have stopped it. You will receive a formal apology." She turned and tried to run from the room, but she met the brick wall of AJ’s chest. "Please AJ."
"No, Cassie. Say it."
"AJ, please."
"Damn it to hell, Cassie! It’s…"
"Yes. Okay. You were right. Are you happy? You want to listen in on the phone call? Come on! You know the way to my room," she snarled and dodged around him.
AJ looked helplessly at Gunny.
"Don’t worry, sir. I’ll make sure everything is okay. Agent O’Brien got me a room down the hall."
AJ pulled out his wallet and took out his MasterCard. "Go to dinner. Wherever you want. Or order room service. I have to get to the bottom of this."
: :
Havenhurst
2000 HoursRabb stood outside the room staring through the small window in the door. There were only three people in the room: Clay at the piano, Mac sitting on the bench next to him and an orderly sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs, ostensibly reading a newspaper, though Harm noticed the man hadn’t turned a page. The man looked like he could stop Clark Palmer or a dozen cops from getting close to Webb.
"I don’t think it is a good idea for you to see him yet, Commander."
Rabb didn’t even look at Dr. Greenwood. "I know. How’s he doing?"
"She keeps him fairly calm – most of the time. The piano helps. But I’m beating the shit out of him – emotionally speaking." Harm could clearly hear the pain in the man’s voice.
"You know him?"
"Yes. He’s strong. He’ll need to be." His eyes shifted to Mac. "She’ll need to be."
"Don’t worry, doc, my partner is a strong woman."
Greenwood looked from the handsome lawyer to the pair at the piano. He suspected that the man standing next to him had made some concessions in the pair’s relationship. He wondered if it would be important. "What did you find out today that will help me help him?"
Rabb shrugged and finally faced Greenwood. "Not much. There was some bad news though."
Greenwood waited.
"We were checking out a lead – a very minor lead we thought – the first flop house Webb crashed. It’s the Amboy Arms just outside Harlem. Seems he stayed there one night and had a run in with an enforcer for Sergi Karpov."
"Shit. He’s former KGB!"
The two men turned at the new voice and Harm nodded his greeting. "Rice. How did you do today?"
Tim Rice still didn’t look his age, but at least he looked tired. Running his hand through pale yellow hair he sighed. "Not a damn thing to compare with what you found. Where is this enforcer? I want to talk to him."
"Only if you are into seances. He was killed sometime yesterday." Rabb filled in the doctor and the CIA man on what they had discovered.
Greenwood groaned. "I can’t let them get to him at this stage. He’s incapable of the deception needed to get through an interview. He will only get more confused and if he blurts out something along the lines of ‘these guys say my real name is Webb’ then we’ve got a real train wreck, don’t we."
"What can you do?" Rice demanded. "Do I need to call the director?"
"Call whomever you want, Mr. Rice. I’ll do what needs to be done." Greenwood snapped and Rabb realized that the doctor didn’t seem to like the CIA man very much.
Before Rice could continue, Rabb said, "Something you should know. Chegwidden flat out told the cops that they were welcome to check any security camera here and talk to any of the employees about Webb’s whereabouts from yesterday afternoon onward, but the police or district attorneys will NOT speak to ‘Palmer’ unless his LEAD lawyer is present. So I wouldn’t count on seeing the admiral anywhere near this place until we find out what happened."
"Good idea. I suppose I can always sedate him and tell them he’s in a fugue state. But damn it, I don’t want to have to do that."
"How’s he doing with the addiction?" Rabb returned his attention to his partner and his friend. Mac was lightly caressing Clay’s arm, and a sad kind of jealously washed over Harm. He remembered the conversation he and Webb had had in an Indian restaurant, over a year ago, before the whole world had changed. It certainly hadn’t been happily ever after for Clay and Mac. Hell, he wasn’t sure exactly how many times the two of them had even seen each other since September.
"That’s one of the funny things about his treatment." Greenwood glanced at Rabb and then Rice. "He should be having a tougher time of it. I saw the security video of Rice and Mrs. Webb’s meeting with him. I’m not sure now that he was addicted as badly as we thought."
"Addiction’s addiction, doc." Rice huffed.
"Not necessarily." Greenwood insisted. "Well, we’ll know tomorrow. Colonel MacKenzie is going to go and check something." He didn’t elaborate, and before either man could probe further he pushed opened the door and entered the small room. Rabb and Rice stood side by side and listened while Greenwood halted Webb’s selection. "It’s time you got some rest, Mr. Webb."
Webb’s fists crashed down on the keys. "Don’t call…"
"Please, Clay." Sarah whispered as she laid her head on his shoulder. "The music was so pretty, and you’re doing so well. Come on. I’ll walk you up to your room."
When she led him out into the corridor, only Tim Rice was waiting. "Clay, this is a friend of ours, Tim Rice. Do you remember him?"
"No. Should I?"
"Not really, Mr. Webb. We’ve only met once. But I do work for you." Rice didn’t attempt to come too close.
"I’m your boss?" Webb didn’t even try to fathom that ridiculous statement. Turning to Sarah, he said, "I’m tired. Can I go to bed now?"
"Sure, sweetheart. Come on." As she led him to the elevator she caught a glimpse of her partner, standing with his back to them, looking out a window. She didn’t miss a step but called out, "I’ll be back down in a little bit."
If this statement confused Webb, he didn’t show it. He just followed her onto the elevator. The door closed and Mac was surprised that Artie, the night orderly, hadn’t followed them on. Even though she knew Greenwood was doing what was best for Clay, an intense desire to flee with Clay to some quiet, secluded spot washed over her. For just a heartbeat her finger hovered over the "one" instead of the "four". Sighing she pushed the button marked "four".
"You’re so beautiful," Clay stately calmly.
"Thank you." She smiled shyly.
"No. You are. Why are you here? Do we really know each other?"
She wouldn’t get another chance and wondered if that was part of the grand plan, too. She knew that Artie would be waiting for them when the elevator door opened, so she quickly leaned in and gently ran her lips over his. Her hands grasped his shoulders and pulled him closer to her.
He was shocked and a little upset, but something stirred in his memory. This was right. This he had done before. This he liked very much. Almost of their own volition, his arms wrapped around her, and he began to participate in the kiss. Parting his lips, his tongue sought entrance to her mouth, and she had just started to flick her tongue against his when the door dinged.
Sure enough, Artie was there. But his back was turned to them. Clay tried to hold on to her for a little longer and groaned when she reluctantly pulled away from him.
"Come on, Clay, I’ll walk you to your door."
Chapter 9
August 9
Havenhurst
2030 hoursMac forced herself to turn away from Clay at the door of his room. She nodded good night to Artie. "Watch out for him." She whispered so softly she didn’t think the man had heard her.
"Sure thing, Colonel."
She rode the elevator back down and found Rabb pacing up and down the corridor. When he saw her he bit his upper lip. "So, how was today?"
She shrugged. She didn’t want to talk about it. It hurt too much. "Dr. Greenwood is doing the best he can. It’s hard. But hopefully…" She felt the tears rise and when Harm reached out and took her in his arms, she didn’t resist.
"Hey, Jarhead. Let it out."
She cried softly for a while then pushed away from him. Wiping her eyes she smiled tiredly. "Thanks, Flyboy. I know I can always count on you."
"You eat?"
"Yeah. You?"
"Not really."
"Well come on then. We’ll find somewhere. I can get a piece of pie and you can fill me in on the day you spent. Hey," she looked around. "Where’s Rice?"
"Said he had to go check in." Rabb led her to the staircase and they walked down the flight to the front desk. They checked out with the night nurse, and she suggested a little Italian place ten blocks away.
Mac had tiramisu and coffee and watched Rabb inhale a full order of fettuccini Alfredo. After he leaned back and the waiter brought him coffee, she demanded. "Tell me everything." When Rabb was done, he could see the muscles in her cheeks clinching. Standing, she looked down on her partner. "Come on." She didn’t give him a chance, so he threw thirty-five dollars down on the table and prayed it was enough. Quickly, he followed her out onto the busy street.
"Hey. Where are we going?"
"To find Ada." Mac’s glare told him not to make her remind him about Russia and all the other times she had followed him through hell.
"Oh, man. Mac." He sighed then announced, "Fine. But wait a minute, okay. I need to run back inside and use the head."
"You do that, Flyboy."
He pointed a finger at her. "Mac, so help me! Five minutes!"
"Go, damn it."
He hurried into the restaurant and instead of heading for the men’s room, stepped into the bar and pulled out his cell phone. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the gruff voice answer. "Sir, it’s me. Mac wants me to go with her up to Harlem to look for Ada. Sir! Admiral, I can’t stop her. You have to trust me on this." He listened closely and gulped. "Fine. I don’t know if it will work, but I will."
He put his phone away and pushed through the revolving doors, "See, Jar…Mac?" He turned around frantically looking for her, already knowing the answer. "Damn it!" He whipped his phone out again, dreading the tongue lashing to come.
: :
AJ glared. He glared at the phone. He glared at his reflection in the mirror and he finally glared at the one woman with whom he wanted desperately to spend the rest of his life. But damn, Lady Adair was one hell of an obstacle. Cassie had been on the phone for nearly an hour. She had methodically gathered her evidence, called in favors and spoken to people in at least four countries. He hadn’t known she could speak French and even some halting Italian. Finally, she had taken a deep breath, stared at the phone then at him and then back at the phone. Dialing a number she waited for a moment and then began to speak. "Hello, John, we have to talk."
AJ had never met Cassie’s stepfather. He knew Cassie liked and respected the very busy man. Not only had he managed, through careful work, to keep and increase his family fortune but he was also involved someway with MI-6. He listened as Cassie laid out the situation, and it hurt him when she choked. "You know I wouldn’t call you if I had any other choice, but she’s gone too far. If I talk to her we may never speak again…No John, I mean it. I want Sir Anthony and Mr. Fritzwilliams themselves to personally apologize to Senora Paretti. They should have gone to you personally. Maybe they will learn. Perhaps when she discovers that she has used your position immorally and unethically it will hit home. But I doubt it. I know John, she’s never gone this far before, and I don’t understand why she did this time. NO John! Forgive me my crudeness, but I don’t give a FUCK why she felt the need. Like I said, I can’t talk to her. Tell her not to call. Make her understand that if the apologies are not forthcoming, I will file a formal complaint and international incident be damned."
AJ stopped listening. He would have preferred a more direct confrontation, but he saw what the phone call was costing her. He just couldn’t listen to it any more. Without a word or a glance, he turned and left the room. They would talk later. He hurried down the hall to the elevator. Once he was outside, he hailed a cab. He was just opening the door when he saw Gunny leading his ex-wife and daughter up the street. Thinking it wouldn’t hurt, he told the driver to wait and went to meet the three.
Marcella glared at him, but Francesca stretched up and kissed her father’s cheek. "It will be all right, Papa. I don’t think that Cassie had anything to do with this."
"Thank you, baby. Will you do me a favor?"
"Anything."
"Take your mother upstairs. I need the Gunnery Sergeant."
She pouted and looked back at the very handsome Marine and sighed. "Si, papa. Goodnight Victor. Thank you very much for being there for me and for my mama today." Then in a move that made AJ’s eyes widen and Victor blush in the harsh glow from the street light she leaned in and kissed him, too. "Come, Mama. Let us see what is on late night television."
Marcella just sighed and followed her daughter into the hotel.
"Sir?"
"Come on, Gunnery Sergeant, we’ve got a Marine Colonel with a bug up her six and where she’s going, I’m not sure a Marine, a former SEAL and jet jockey will be enough."
Galindez just nodded and followed AJ into the cab. They had just started down the street when AJ’s phone rang again. "Chegwidden." He listened and grew very quiet. Galindez had heard AJ rant and rave before. He had even been on the receiving end of one of his dressings down. Never had he heard the cold, hard voice with which the Admiral answered. "You let her out of your sight?" AJ’s voice was low and deadly. "You thought she wouldn’t know where the hell you were going? So help me, Rabb, if anything happens to her…" He left the rest of it hanging. "Fine. We’ll meet you there."
"What happened, sir?"
AJ didn’t answer him for a long time. They were just pulling up to the apartment when he finally said, "It seems Colonel MacKenzie has finally gone around the bend. I’ll send her back to DC in chains if I have to."
"There’s Rabb, sir."
AJ got out paid the driver and just stood on the sidewalk staring at Rabb «I’d bust him down to Lieutenant JG if I could figure out how.» "Well? You think we’ll find a cab, Commander? Get the car."
"Aye-aye, sir." Rabb was furious. Furious with Mac for ditching him, furious for what the Admiral said to him, but mostly just out and out pissed off at himself for failing to realize just how upset Mac was.
: :
August 9
Havenhurst
2330 HoursMac wasn’t sure why she had ditched Harm. She knew what he was doing, whom he was calling when he went inside to ‘use the head.’ She had little doubt that AJ would try and talk her out of going up to Harlem this late at night. Maybe that’s why, as soon as Rabb was inside, she hailed a passing cab. She almost tried to talk the driver into taking her there directly. She had read the reports and she knew Ada’s address as well as the addresses of the bars that would need to be checked. However, when she looked down at her clothes she realized that she should change. She directed the cabbie to take her back to the hospital.
She fought the urge to go up and check on Clay. She didn’t have time. Instead she ran to her room and quickly changed into baggy cargo pants, a tank and an oxford shirt that she left unbuttoned. Two-inch heels were replaced with her tennis shoes. She found the old baseball cap she wore when jogging and slapped it on her head. Then she found the holster that had come with the .38 special and clipped it to her belt. Placing her ID, her keycard and some cash in one of the flapped pockets, she hurried downstairs. She nodded to the night nurse again and stepped out into the humid August night. Traffic was sparse down this small street, and she chewed her lip wondering which way to turn to hail a cab.
She had just made up her mind when the building behind her went dark.
: :
When the lights flickered out, Artie, who was watching his charge through the two-way mirror, waited patiently for the emergency backup to come on. When he realized that it wasn’t he picked up his gun from the table and stepped out into the hall to go to Webb. He never saw the man who killed him.
Upon returning to his room, Webb had prowled it like a cat, only shedding the suit coat and tie he had worn to dinner. He was thinking about Sarah, fighting the fear and nausea that always plagued him when he thought too hard. When the lights went out he just thought it was Dr. Greenwald’s way of telling him it was time to finish undressing and go to bed. He heard the door open and a light shine in. He tried to see who was behind the light, but it was too dark. He was used to the fear, so he thought nothing of his urge to run away. "What?" he demanded petulantly.
"Ada sent me. You have to leave right away." The voice was low and menacing.
Something deep within him tried to caution him. "But Sarah said…"
"You want Ada to be mad at you?" the man snapped.
Webb thought he recognized the voice but couldn’t place it. But if Ada wanted him then he would have to go, wouldn’t he? "No. No. I’m coming," he said with little conviction.
: :
Sarah’s immediate reaction was to run back inside, but a jumble of images, a feeling of another’s panic, almost brought her to her knees. She didn’t often get visions but this one was as intense as that day over six weeks ago now when she knew Clay was in danger. She forced herself to remain calm and scan the street and the area outside the building looking for anything. There were no cars parked in the street. She could hear people yelling to each other inside the building and she heard a siren kick in several blocks away. Suddenly, a movement at the north end of the building caused her to step behind a column and peer around it. Two men stepped out of the alley between the hospital and the building next door. One of the men was dragging the other. The streetlight at that end of the street was burned out so the men were in the shadows, but Mac knew one of them was Clay.
When the two men moved away from her, she quickly stepped out from her hiding spot and followed them.
She almost groaned when she realized she had brought her gun, money and ID, but her cell phone was sitting where she had placed it. «Damn it, girl. Focus. You’re better than that. You’re on your own, and he needs you.» The men turned and she hurried to follow them. «Please don’t let a car be waiting for them. Please God, let me see him…thank you.» She breathed a little easier when she spotted them moving among the people on the sidewalks. This street was a little busier, people milled around a 24-hour coffee shop. Most people were either hurrying home or visiting with friends. She kept her eyes on Clay’s head weaving around groups of people. She couldn’t make out the other man, but she felt she should know him. Shortening the distance a little, she began to scan the cars on the street. The man leading Clay didn’t seem to be looking left or right. Clay, on the other hand, was looking around wildly. No one on the street paid any of them any attention.
Finally the two men stopped and Mac stepped into the doorway of a closed business. She pulled her hat farther down on her head and peered out. She could finally see the other man’s features and she gasped. "What the hell? Rice?" Was this some CIA plan to get Clay out of NY? Mac didn’t think so. Why now? Why this way? "Damn, how could I have forgotten my cell phone?" She growled, only to have a man walking past her hiding place jump at the sound. "Sorry," she sighed.
: :
"Listen to me. You do everything I tell you and you’ll see Ada in about an hour. She’ll have some dope for you, okay?"
Webb was surprised he really didn’t want any dope. All he wanted right now was to go back and find Sarah. Sarah would tell him why he was upset. She would sooth him like she had this afternoon. His head still hurt, but he didn’t feel like he had to throw up anymore. Maybe Ada would explain it to him. "Okay." He winced and tried to jerk his arm out of the man’s grasp, but the other man just gripped him harder. "Don’t hurt."
"I won’t if you come on. I want to get there soon."
Webb had no choice but to follow the other man. He looked around him really seeing the people for the first time. Most of them looked like they were business people even though they were casually dressed. He began to make out things that heretofore he had ignored in his pain. A woman dressed in a black uniform he placed as a waitress – one going to work by how clean and spot free the white apron at her waist looked. Another was a security guard – not a cop. Webb was pleased with himself. He glanced behind him and looked right into her eyes. He realized who it was and started to call out, but she turned away and he thought he must have been mistaken.
"Damn it, come on." The man pulled on him. He had to concentrate to keep from tripping. His shoes, soft loafers, were comfortable enough but not meant for the pace they were trying to maintain. Webb lost track of the number of turns they made. He thought to turn around and see if he could still see the woman whom he thought had been Sarah, but every time he tried he would step on something and twist his ankle, nearly falling. The man was getting very impatient with him. "So help me, I’m going to tell Ada, and she is going to be so mad at you."
"Okay, okay." Webb was remembering how mad Ada could get, but he tried to remember why and what he had done to make her angry. It suddenly occurred to him that Ada’s anger had nothing to do with him. He wasn’t sure what that had to do with anything, but he tucked that piece of abstract knowledge away for future consideration.
"There. We’re going there."
"Where?" Webb demanded as they veered away from the buildings that they had practically been hugging. «Surely not that dark place? What is he doing?» He stumbled as he was dragged down a long flight of steps. "Why are we here? I don’t like it."
"Shut the fuck up, or I’ll hit you myself." The man snarled. Then his voice changed, and he was almost pleasant. "There they are. Almost home free now."
: :
Mac silently cursed when Clay and Rice entered the subway kiosk. She thought for sure that Rice would spot her. She couldn’t believe that Clay hadn’t called out to her when he spotted her. It had hurt to turn away from him, but she had to continue to follow them. If this was a CIA plan to get him away then she would have to play along and insist that they let her come with him. If Rice was doing something he shouldn’t then Mac needed to know what they were up against. She got lucky when a group of college kids barreled passed her. In their wake she could follow Webb more closely. When she realized she didn’t have a pass for the turnstile she almost shouted out her frustration. Rice had been prepared and inserted one in and pushed Webb through then took it and inserted it again for himself. Mac was afraid she would loose them if she stopped and bought one, so when the college kids started jumping the stile she gritted her teeth and joined them.
"Hey, you kids!" They all turned to see a transit cop speaking into the mike on his shoulder.
The kids started laughing and running. One grabbed Mac’s arm to pull her with them. Since they were running in the direction where Rice was leading Webb, she let him. Breaking away when several other cops came from the other direction, she quietly stepped back and stood next to a nun, dressed in a short shirt and blouse, the only sign of her profession was a short wimple and a huge cross around her neck that seemed to rest at an odd angle on her overlarge bosom.
Mac saw the two men, both dressed in shiny suits she had never in her life seen agents of any federal agency wear, even while undercover, both wearing looks of pure malevolence. She finally knew the CIA had nothing to do with Webb’s ‘escape’ from Havenhurst. She watched in fear as Rice nudged Webb forward until the two huge men stood on either side of him, dwarfing him. Each took hold of one of Clay’s arms and Rice hurried back the way he had come. Webb looked like he was going to struggle but one of the men said something and he seemed to calm down. "Bastards," Mac whispered.
"Dear?" The nun eyed her carefully.
Mac could see the lights above them flash, saw one of the men point to the sign proclaiming "Number 3" Train, Harlem 148th.
"Oh, God." She bit her lip then made her decision. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out her military ID. "Sister, please I don’t have time to explain." Mac prayed she had enough time. "Can you remember a telephone number?"
"Oh, dear me." The nun looked at the ID then up at Mac. "Oh, dear, let me find a piece of paper."
"No sister, there’s no time. Do this for me. As soon as I’m gone, please, please, call the local office of the FBI, tell them I said to call. Tell them to find Agent Cassie Ryan. Tell her I said Rice is dirty. You understand. Tell her Agent Rice is to blame, and I followed Webb onto the number 3 train. Please sister, repeat back to me what I said."
"Oh, dear." There were tears in the nun’s eyes but she started. "FBI, Agent Cassie Ryan. Tell her Agent Rice is dirty and to blame, and you’re following…oh, dear, who are you following?"
The train pulled into the station, and it was too late. Mac had no choice but to leave the very startled nun clutching her identification.
: :
Cassie was pacing back and forth, her phone in her hand swinging in cadence with her progress. She had tried twice to get AJ on his cell but each time his voice mail had kicked in. She was just getting ready to pull out her palm pilot and look up Rabb’s when the phone rang. "Ryan!"
AJ could hear the anger and frustration in her voice. He knew exactly what she was experiencing, and the thought flashed across his mind that if they could withstand this, they could weather anything that would come. "Cassie, Rabb called. Mac ditched him and she’s on her way up town to try and find Ada."
"Great. Just great. What are you doing?"
"We’ll go up there and try and find her. She’s going to check the addresses she knows, so we might get lucky."
"Well, I hope to hell that she has her gun."
"Hold on, Cassie." She could hear muttering and then he returned. "Rabb’s not sure. She had a purse with her, but he doesn’t know."
"Hold on AJ, I’ve got another call." Cassie pressed the flash key and snapped, "Ryan." She listened and closed her eyes. "Fuck!" She didn’t bother to say anything else but cut back to AJ. "We’ve got bigger problems."
"What!" AJ demanded as he made a turn and nearly lost the phone held between his shoulder and ear. How he wished for his Escalade and its hands free cradle.
"Webb’s gone. The CIA agent guarding him is dead. The security was breached so the whole damn hospital is on lock down."
"God damned son-of-a-bitch." AJ pulled over to the curbed and slammed the car into park. "Talk to me. What are we doing?"
Cassie wearily sat on the bed and thought. "Hell if I know. I’ll call in the troops and report to Anspach and the boss and see what they say. Oh, the shit is going to hit the fan."
"You think Webb went berserk and killed him?"
"Not unless Webb found a gun complete with silencer. Of course, if he did, why did he leave it by the body? No. AJ, find Mac and drag her back here. Ada is the least of our worries."
: :
Even this late at night, the "number 3" train was crowded. On one hand, Mac was happy because it helped her hide from Clay and his captors. They had shoved him next to a window and one sat down next to him; the other stood scanning the crowd. She just wished she could get closer without Clay spotting her. She carefully followed the map, marking each stop in her head. She suspected their final destination would be near the end of the line, near to where she had planned on going, anyway.
With each stop people got off and others got on. The farther north they went, the dynamics slowly changed. At one point there were only a few blacks, Clay, his captors and her; the rest were Hispanics. Several men spoke to her in Spanish, their propositions exactly what she would have expected this time of night. She answered them in Spanish and most of them laughed and left her alone, though one tried to insist that she get off with him at 109th Street. She managed to push him out of the door and remain on board.
She never took her eyes off him. He was sitting hunched over, his head bowed, cringing away from the man. Carefully, she brushed her hand against the small of her back to assure herself that her weapon was there.
She was definitely beginning to feel like she was standing out amongst the mostly black population now. Particularly since fewer and fewer people were getting on the closer they got to the end of the line. She no longer worried that Clay would notice her. She could tell the man sitting next to him was taunting him, saying things that made him shrink in upon himself.
Clay tried to shut out the vicious words the man was whispering to him. He could smell the body odor and cologne the man was wearing. It was all so familiar. He understood every word and suddenly realized that the man was threatening him not in English, but Russian.
{{You thought you could get away from us, didn’t you, fucker? No one gets away from Karpov.}}
Clay didn’t know why the man was mad at him, didn’t know who Karpov was, but something stirred in his memory. Similar smells. «Cabbage? Harsh alcohol, stale tobacco.» The words were familiar but not quite right. Then with crystal clarity he remembered:
Running away, carrying a small girl in one arm, a gun in his free hand. "Michaels, Evans, come on lets get them out of here! Professor Petrov. Your family is more important." Gun shots, screaming, smoke and an angry man shouting in Russian.
{{Kill them all! Kill all of them, the children first. Let their parents see them die.}}
He could almost feel it again as the bullet ripped through his shoulder. He couldn’t remember how he held tight to – to little Anya, that was her name. But he did and he even managed to get off a shot, heard the satisfying scream of pain and rage behind him.
"Hurry up Webb, you can make it."
"Here, give her to me."
Strong arms pulling him into the waiting helicopter. A woman’s tight hug as she whispered, {{Thank you, thank you. You saved my family.}} He recognized her, Natasha Petrov, wife of the professor he had gone into Kalmyk to rescue. He’d taken only two Rangers to help him bring the professor, his wife and their four children to safety.
{{Hear me, fucker? Karpov is going to sell you. Make a fortune. You’ll wish you were dead.}}
Clay shuddered and the memory was gone. In its place, flashed images of people dying horribly, screams of agony so close to his ear that he had joined in. Other pictures, a woman, an older woman still beautiful, cutting the throat of a baby, smiling at him, but whispering, "Clay, honey, I’m so sorry you can’t come home, but I understand." The pictures made no sense with the words, and he tried to sort them out but he remembered the pain. He remembered the pain, but he forced himself to relax.
He remembered a man, recently he thought, "Clayton Webb is a good man." «Who was that?» He almost remembered when the train came to a halt and he felt himself being jerked up out of the seat.
{{Come on, you useless fuck. Time to meet Karpov.}}
Mac knew that this was the stop. It was 0130 and there were only about ten other people on the train, all of them black, most of them looking like all they wanted to do was go home and go to bed. She knew she had been lucky that very few people had paid her any attention, let alone bother her. But as she stood up, from behind the large bus driver who had sat down in front of her nearly 30 blocks back, one of the younger men swaggered up to her and said loudly, "Hey, sweet momma, what’s a fine lookin’ white woman doing up here. You lost? You need me to see your sweet self home?"
Mac’s eyes locked on the eyes of the man standing guard over his friend and Clay. Understanding flashed across the car, and Mac barely had time to push the startled young man out of the way and pull her gun before the giant, cursing in Russian, came barreling toward her. {{Get him off the train. I’ll take care of the bitch.}} He pushed the bus driver so hard that when the man fell against one of the windows it cracked. His roar rent the air as Mac fired a round into his kneecap, but he kept coming as if there were no blood flowing from the wound. Mac cried out. "Stop! Please don’t…" The man lashed out at her and she went flying, the gun arcing high in the air.
Clay’s tormentor started to pull him from the car, but Clay had seen her. "It is her." When he saw Sarah flying through the air, something came together. "NO! SARAH!"
Ivan Serkaloff glanced back at his partner, and smiled evilly. {{Bring the bitch! Karpov will have fun…}} Whatever he was going to say died with him. Serkaloff was a good foot taller than Webb, at least 100 pounds heavier, but Webb had the angle. While Serkaloff was distracted, Webb clenched his fist and drove it straight up under the bigger man’s nose, driving it straight into his brain. The fist around Webb’s arm flexed tighter for a moment then suddenly released him. He started to topple forward, but with a mighty shove, Webb pushed him toward the open door.
Sarah landed against a seat occupied by a man and his wife. The man reached out and kept her from falling. She shook her head to clear it and dropped flat to the ground just in time to avoid the next punch. Instead of trying to get away, she dove into his good knee, blood pouring down on her. She heard the cartilage crack and give way just before the big man gave into his pain and roared in anger. He started to reach down for her only to find himself being pulled back by the collar of his shirt.
"Mac! Are you okay?" Clay demanded, as he pulled frantically at her attacker.
"Clay?" Mac stumbled to her feet, saw what Clay was doing and viciously kicked out and hit the man’s balls dead on. Their attacker screamed, and Clay released him. She climbed over the seats and grabbed at Clay. "We have to go. Now." She was afraid that there would be men waiting for them.
They exited the train in time to hear someone shout in Russian. {{Look! What’s happened?}}
And another voice, American, screamed "Get them! I want them now!"
Hand in hand Mac and Clay ran in the opposite direction only to find the stairs blocked by more burly men running toward them.
Clay was still unsure about most everything except that he had to protect Sarah. Couldn’t let her die with him. He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew nevertheless that there was only one thing to do. "Jump and watch the hot rail."
Sarah spared one glance over her shoulder and realized he was right. "You first…you can catch me."
He thought there was something wrong with that statement but they didn’t have time so he did. "Come on Sarah!"
"Run."
"NO!" His bellow echoed down the cavern of the tunnel.
She had thought to give him time to get away but saw the look in his eye. "Damn it." Hopping down, she reached for his hand.
Once he knew she was down there with him, that inner knowledge kicked in again, and he turned and began to run away from the train. "Come on!"
They ran along the far side of the track as far from the brightly painted ‘hot rail’ as they could get. Behind them, they could hear indistinct shouts which echoed and died as they rounded a corner.
"Clay we’re going to have to find someplace to hide. We can’t run all the way to the next station."
"Be looking!" He wasn’t sure how he kept going. The memories cascaded around him like a child’s tower of building blocks, some of them threatening to knock him to the ground. One vision of Sarah, dressed in strange brown spotted clothes, a hideous hat on her head, restrained by a man dressed in brown garb who held a knife to her throat. He had been scared that day too. So scared that he almost didn’t have the wits to help her save her own life. It had been very bright that day. Too bright, not like the terrifying darkness surrounding them. Only a few dim florescent lights buzzed and sputtered around them; the white rail seemed to absorb most of that light. The train bed was uneven and cluttered with years of garbage. His shoes were definitely not made for this type of running and he felt his feet slide and twist in them. He hoped he wouldn’t lose one.
«Just keep running, Clay. Darling, please don’t have a panic attack.» Mac scanned the walls on either side of them. They would have to get off the tracks and soon. She could feel the vibrations around her. Nothing close and she really didn’t think they had anything to fear from the train they had just escaped. She hadn’t seen any transit cops, but surely the conductor wouldn’t just continue. "There." She called out to him. When he didn’t stop, she put on a little more speed and reached him. He jerked around and nearly fell. She could see, even in the dim light, that for just a moment he had been running on pure instinct and had no idea who she was or why she was behind him. But that passed quickly.
"What?" he demanded. He was panting and sweat stood out on his face.
"There." She pointed across the tracks. "A door, maybe an electrical room or something."
"We’ll have to cross the hot rails though." He didn’t know a lot right now, so he focused on the one thing he did know. The painted white rail could kill them as surely as the thugs chasing them.
"We’ll hold hands. We’ll make it, Clay." She was heartened by the fact that he didn’t even shudder at the mention of his name.
They found a three-rung ladder leading up to the metal door. "Damn it! It’s locked." She turned to find Webb not even looking at the door, but peering at the ground. "Clay? Stay with me, sweetheart."
He didn’t answer but walked a few steps away, still staring at the ground. There was a light bulb directly over the door, and she knew that they would be spotted as soon as the men following rounded another curve.
"Clay!" She hissed.
"Quiet, Sarah, they’ll hear you," he responded almost absentmindedly. "Ah. This should do it."
She watched as he knelt before the door and thrust a heavy looking metal pin inside the lock. «Oh my God. Is he beginning to remember?» Her heart beat furiously, from the exertion, the fear and now exhilaration.
"Got it!" Clay stood and pushed down on the handle. They heard it click but the door didn’t swing open. Webb put his shoulder against the door. "Open, damn it!" Mac, hearing the voices becoming closer, added her weight to his and they finally managed to push open the door enough for Mac and then Clay to squeeze through.
"Euck!" Mac looked around the dirty, debris-filled room.
"Look at this," Clay said, the confusion in his voice evident.
"What?" She turned to see him pushing the door shut. "What is that?"
"I don’t know, but damn, it was heavy. Help me push it against the door." He clicked the lock then they shoved, both of them sliding on the filthy floor.
{{Look! There’s a door.}} They clearly heard the Russian call. Looking up they saw the air grate to the left of the door.
Mac put her lips to Clay’s ears. "We have to be very quiet." She almost gasped when he turned to face her. They were so close their panting breaths mingled just before he kissed her. Drawing her to him, he held on for dear life. Even after their lips parted, they clutched each other, burying their lips in each other’s shoulders. Both could smell the fear and sweat mingled with the stench of the subway tunnel, as the men outside jiggled the door handle.
{{They were here! You can see their footprints!}} One gruff voice insisted.
{{They must have jumped back down and ran down the…LOOK OUT!}}
So engrossed in their fear, neither Mac nor Webb had acknowledged the shuddering of their surroundings until the sound and vibration filled and overtook everything. Mac took the opportunity to move about the room. "Hey." Not even Clay heard her. She went back to where he was staring at the door handle, waiting for it to move. She grabbed his shoulder, and he jerked around as if he had forgotten she was there. Pulling on his shirt she motioned for him to follow her back to the far wall. "Look." She pointed.
The air grate was old and rusting and quite large. Webb crouched down and stared through the ornate scrolls that he thought probably dated from the thirties when the tunnels were built. Not expecting anything, he worked his fingers through the openings and pulled. He fell back on his butt; only Mac reaching out and grabbing the grill kept it from crashing to the floor. The room was suddenly quiet again as the southbound train twisted around the bend. Their pursuers decided to take a more direct approach, shattering the stillness. The blast of the gun made them both cringe, but neither uttered a sound. Mac stooped down and crawled through the hole. Webb looked back. There wasn’t much light shining in from the air grate next to the door, but somehow he knew they would have flashlights. Instinct born and bred of years of covert operations and the immediate need to protect Sarah was fast reawakening. As she hissed at him, he ripped off his shirt and quickly scattered away their footprints. There was enough dust and dirt to eradicate their passage. Tossing the shirt through the hole before him, he climbed in, then leaned back out to further erase their tracks. Another shot rang out as he pulled the grate back into place.
Exhausted from the fear and the unaccustomed exertion, he collapsed against the wall and tried hard to control his breathing.
{{Push you worthless fuckers!}}
{{Shit. They must have jumped down. No way has anyone been in here for 100 years!}}
{{Leave it, and let’s go.}}