After the Fall (36 page)

“Go Blue,” Sharkey inserted.

Long looked up from the report he was studying and grunted. The boss was a die-hard Ohio State fan, Sharkey knew.

Mintner pressed on. “Made important discoveries about a new class of drugs to treat transplant patients. Got hired by Replica. Small bio start-up. She's well liked. Respected. Due to make a not-too-small fortune when this drug is approved. Which it will be—confidentially—tomorrow. Company wants to showcase her during the press conference.”

“Communications with her father?” Long asked.

“What you'd expect,” Sharkey responded. “Mother with family matters. Father is ill. They want her back. That's what she's telling us. Maybe we'll find something on her home or work hard drive to connect to bioweapons over there.”

“Lot of pressure from the Bush administration to find any trace of bioweapons,” Long stated the obvious.

Sharkey again, “Denies knowing anything. But when I made the point that Immunone analogs have potential in anthrax protection, I saw a spark of validation.”

“Her air tickets to London?”

“Holiday,” Mintner said. “I don't believe her. About to marry
a guy and she doesn't say ‘honeymoon.' She and Badur Hammadi must have something going. Our surveillance has them both in her apartment. Came in last night and haven't left yet.”

“They're sleeping together?” Sharkey asked, her eyebrows arched. “Intel is that Hammadi is devoted to his wife and kids. Wouldn't be the first time.”

Long glanced from the wall clock back to his papers. “Abdul woman and Jake Harter, the guy works at the FDA, applied for a marriage license on March 3rd. Two days ago. Marriage scheduled in the same courthouse March 5th. That's today.”

“I thought Muslim women were more…what's the right word?” Mintner said. “So, she's sleeping with Hammadi and marrying this other guy?”

Long ignored the comment. “Harter's name goes into our surveillance genies. And guess what? Gets picked up on both ends. A query from Philadelphia PD to DC regional PDs regarding a vehicle owned by Jake Harter. Had to do with a hit-and-run in Philly a few weeks ago.”

“We didn't push her on her relationship with Harter,” Sharkey mused. “She didn't even mention him. Wonder why she didn't tell me?”

“Really, Sharkey, you think women open up to you because of gender allegiance?” Mintner asked with a rare chuckle.

“That puts an interesting spin on Abdul and Hammadi spending the night together.” Sharkey ignored her partner's dig. “So, what is this hit-and-run?”

“When Rockville PD responded to Philly's inquiry,” Long scanned the report in front of him, “they were able to tie it to a recent accident involving Harter. City impound still had the suspect vehicle.” He smiled. “Working tire-impression comparisons as we speak. If there's a match, this adds another element to your investigation. Beats me what the connection could be though. What are your next steps to either clear or connect Abdul and Hammadi?”

Mintner shook his head. “Go for warrants for Abdul's and
Hammadi's computer drives, warrants for phone taps, bring them both back in here. Sharkey and I don't think we can justify the manpower for ongoing surveillance.”

“Okay, go for the warrants. Coordinate with Detroit for Hammadi.”

“Yes, sir,” Sharkey said, getting up to leave as Mintner stayed seated.

“You can go now,” Long prompted.

“Just thinking about this Harter guy. Why the tie to a hit-and-run in Philly?”

“Find out, Agent Mintner. Now go. I've got a ten o'clock in here.”

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Was there something going on between Addie and the dead guy? Jake was quite sure Addie wasn't fooling around, but what if they'd been lovers in the past, or had shared some religious or cultural bond? She must have been more freaked out than he'd expected when he'd shot and killed her Iraqi friend. Obviously self-defense, she'd been there earlier when the guy came at him with a knife. What did she expect Jake to do, turn tail and run away?

He'd kept the television on, volume low, all last night to help him cope with Addie's absence, and now with the introduction of
The Morning Show
, he knew he had to come up with a plan. Where had she gone? And how was he going to find her?

There was no more dead body, and Addie's apartment appeared normal. Jake had been very lucky last night. When he realized she had left, he immediately went in search for her. Right outside her apartment door, he almost tripped on a phone book. Not thinking, he picked it up and carried it toward the elevator. He hopped on the elevator and took it to the ground floor, hoping to find Addie in the lobby. He didn't. He didn't go outside, but he did stand at the door, looking up and down the street. No Addie. Still carrying the phone book, he took the four flights of steps to her floor. Did she have a friend in the building where she could hang out? Addie was a very private person, and he thought not.

As he approached the long hallway from the stairs to Addie's apartment door, Jake all but ran into a thin, fifty-something man emerging from a door. The guy's bald head was down, and he was struggling to pull a large roller suitcase as a computer bag slid off his shoulder.

Holy shit
. No lights were on in the silent apartment. This man was leaving for some time, judging by the big, bulging piece of luggage.

“Let me assist you, sir.” Jake set the phone book down in front of the door and turned inward to grab the handle of the luggage. Instead of trying to roll it, he hefted it up and swung it into the hallway.

“Thanks, man,” Addie's neighbor said. “I'll be away for a month, several climates. I should have used one of those carts they keep downstairs. I'm getting too old for this much travel, but it goes with the job.”

The man adjusted the strap of his computer bag with one arm and reached to pull his suitcase with the other. “Damn thing keeps sliding off when I wear this coat. Well, thanks again.”

The man left without a look back at Jake or at the gap in the door where the phone book kept it propped open.

Jake had not found Addie, but he had found a place to store the Arab's body.

But now it was morning and Addie had not come home. He climbed out of bed, his jaw aching, each breath a stab of hurt, but he was a Marine, trained to work through pain.

For one sick, fleeting moment, Jake wondered if Addie could have called the police. In her eyes, would she think she'd witnessed a murder? Would she think it her civic duty to report it? Even if it meant turning in her fiancé? Certainly not. Addie came from Baghdad, where murders were everyday occurrences.

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Shouldn't there have been more blood?
Addie wondered, recalling Dru's body splayed on the floor, unmoving. Jake's bullet hit Dru in his chest. She could see the hole between his breasts, blood coming out of it, spreading in a circular pattern, staining his nice white shirt, but not pumping out enough to drench it as she would have expected. Addie was a PhD, not a medical doctor. She'd never seen a gunshot wound, never anticipated she would. She remembered with surprise that the gun had made only a popping sound, nothing loud enough to alert neighbors, attract police.

She remembered asking if Dru was dead. Jake's answer: “Yes.”

Dru was dead. In her apartment. Jake had shot him.

She'd bolted out her door, not bothering to close it, ran toward the stairs, hurtling down all four flights, heading toward the back door of the building where maintenance unloaded the daily trash. She worked her way under the cover of dark dumpsters to the shadows of the alley that would lead her close to her car. She knew Jake would try to follow her. He'd convince her to tell the cops it was self-defense. Or, she thought with horror, would he try to blame her? No, Jake loved her. Isn't that why he shot Dru? Jealousy? Must have thought she and Dru were having an affair, that she was going home to be with Dru.

Cringing in the dark alley, Addie knew she must escape Jake. He had taken himself out of her life. He was a murderer. Because
of him, the comfort of knowing Dru had looked out for her over the years was gone too. She was on her own. She could identify just two objectives.

First, her family. She needed to show up in Baghdad, or Saddam Hussein's regime would kill her family. Dru had made that clear and she knew the threat to be real. Second, she needed to protect herself. A woman in Islam was nothing more than an inert possession. She did not want a life of subjugation. Neither would she make herself a pawn in Saddam's biological weapons program. She had to find a compromise, a way to save her family but a solution that also would save her.

Addie moved cautiously along the back alley beyond the foul-smelling dumpsters. The black, moonless night both protected and terrified her. As she neared the dimly lit street that ran perpendicular to hers, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her car was parked a short block away. She gripped her handbag, thankful for the reflex that had made her grab it as she fled the apartment.

She often parked on this street, and tonight saw no one whom she recognized. She reached into her bag for her car keys as she approached her Audi. Before pulling out of her parking spot, she hesitated to listen carefully for signs of police or emergency vehicles.

All she heard were the usual sounds of the night—traffic at its usual cadence, a few stray voices. No pounding footsteps, no sign of Jake, or anyone else, behind her.

On impulse, Addie made a three-point turn and headed away from her house. Would she ever return? How could she, after seeing Dru's body lying dead in her living room? The horrors of the night had left no room in her mind for the DIA investigation. Till now. Would the agents be looking for her with more questions? Did they have the right to search her apartment? Of course, they did. Would they find Dru's body? Or would Jake get rid of it? Was that why he didn't come after her? What about Dru's wife and young sons? Hadn't he said they were hidden away somewhere? How would they learn of his death?

She felt faint and pulled into the lot of a convenience store, leaning over the steering wheel, taking deep breaths. “Addie,” she finally heard herself say, “stop it. You need a place to spend the night. Somewhere no one can find you. Start driving.” On the highway toward Baltimore, she chose a dumpy motel, paid with cash.

During the night, a startling idea had crossed Addie's exhausted mind. Was there any way agents Sharkey and Mintner could help her? She'd heard of witness protection… Would the US government help an Iraqi woman escape with her family?

Now in the clarity of morning, Addie scolded herself for even thinking such stupid thoughts.

She knew she had only one real option: try to get through the day. Avoid Jake; avoid her apartment; maintain her employment until the Immunone money was committed to her. How to actually take possession of the money, she did not know. Dru was to manage that for her. But now she had no one.

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Jake waited until nine o'clock. His head and jaw throbbed, and each breath shot a knifelike pain into the right side of his chest. And still no Addie.

In the car, he removed the Beretta from his ankle holster. He put it in the backpack with the extra ammo. Getting the contraption off his ankle felt good. He headed for a nearby deli where he indulged in a three-fried-egg breakfast with bacon, sausage links, whole wheat toast, and lots of coffee. When he would next eat pork, he didn't know. Eating pig's meat was against Addie's religion and he should probably respect that when they were together—which would be all the time.

All had appeared normal when he'd exited Addie's building. No sign of excitement or suspicion in the lobby. No sign of cops in the area. So far, the dead man in the apartment on Addie's floor must not have been discovered. It would take a while before the body decomposed, creating a telltale odor.

The city garage confirmed he could pick up his battered Jeep. It was drivable, his insurance appraiser had declared, despite the damage to the passenger side fender. Jake would feel comfortable once he was back in his own vehicle. The Blazer he'd rented did not have the security he required. Once he transferred his survival supplies—including his weapons—to the Jeep, he'd head to Replica. Addie should be there. They would drive together to the
courthouse in Ellicott City. This afternoon, they'd be man and wife. Never to be separated, no matter what.

By the time Jake arrived to claim his vehicle, his head felt better, but the broken ribs would take time to heal. He would just have to suck up the pain. As much as he loved the Jeep, Jake figured this would be a good time to sell it. He and Addie would get a new Lexus or maybe a Mercedes. He'd let her choose it; the color too. He'd fit it for a security compartment and—

Something caught Jake's eye as he was about to turn into the impound garage. Cop cars, several of them, but even one cop car was too many. He decided to drive by slowly, get a better look. Hovering by the entrance, he saw the two detectives who were investigating Karolee's murder. Booker and Finley. Why the fuck were they hanging around the impound area where owners could retrieve their cars? Jake drove on. He didn't need to tangle with them. He still was their favorite suspect in Karolee's murder, but they had no proof. These two clowns had nothing to do but hassle him. Today, he had no time for hassles.

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Addie found Replica in a festive mood—a small start-up realizing its dream of a huge cash infusion. Millionaires would be made tomorrow and she'd be one of them. A dream she'd never thought would materialize.