Broken Honor (36 page)

“Eachan?” Irish asked the question.

“My grandfather talked about the military all the time. I think it was the best time of his life,” Eachan said. “But he made his fortune years after he left.”

“He became a consultant?” Amy had done her own research. “To defense contractors?”

“There's nothing wrong with that,” Eachan said defensively.

“Of course not,” she said soothingly. “It's just that he's the only one of the three to go into the private sector.”

Sally started to say something, then looked at Eachan and hesitated. Amy's first impression of someone who was pretty and not much else had faded during the conversation. Sally had said little, but what she had said had been quiet and insightful. Her description of her attacker, and her subsequent actions, along with the drawing had changed Amy's mind completely. “Sally?” she asked.

Sally looked at her cousin. They exchanged looks, but Amy didn't know them well enough to decipher it. A warning from Dustin Eachan. Defiance from Sally.

“I'm going to tell them, Dusty,” Sally said.

Eachan shrugged. “It doesn't really mean anything.”

“It could,” Sally said. “And too many people have died.” Still, she bit her lip for a moment before continuing. “My grandfather gave my father a painting. It's one that's on the original list. Part of that list is missing, but the painting was on what remained of it.”

“Is there anything else?” Irish asked after a moment's silence.

“Not that I know of,” Sally said.

“Eachan?”

Dustin shook his head. “The only thing I recognized was Sally's painting.”

“That makes sense,” Amy said. “The newspaper story said some of the items were used temporarily in headquarters offices. Silver, linen, china. Even paintings. The houses that were confiscated for their use were mostly empty. It seemed easier to use some of these items, especially since things like china and silver probably couldn't be traced and returned to the rightful owners.” She turned to Sally. “Is it valuable?”

“It's not a masterpiece,” Dustin said. “But it's a well-known Spanish artist. It's probably worth fifty thousand today.”

“Did the commission know about it?”

“Not where it is today, no,” Dustin said. “It was one of the few things Sally's father left her. There is no known owner today. I … checked.”

Amy saw Irish raise an eyebrow. “I assume you think that makes it right?”

Sally rushed to her cousin's defense. “He didn't know until recently. All we knew was that it belonged to my grandfather, and he'd given it to my father, who gave it to me. It didn't look like anything special. But it was important to me because … my father left it to me. Dustin knew that.”

“It doesn't matter,” Amy said. “What does matter is who feels that this is so important he has to kill for it. I suppose there's a statute of limitation for theft.”

“But not for murder,” Irish said pointedly.

“Now it's your turn,” Eachan said, turning his gaze to Irish. “What part did your grandfather play in the theft and its cover-up? He
was
the ranking officer.” His voice was deliberately sarcastic. “Didn't he ever say anything?”

“He avoided the subject,” Irish said. “I don't know if he left any papers. I was out of the country when he died, and I was gone most of the succeeding years. I do know that when I started looking a month ago, I found a lot of papers, but none involving the last six months of the war.”

“Which leaves us with no more information than he had,” Eachan said.

“Not exactly,” Amy countered.

“What do you mean?”

“The list I've compiled from my grandfather's memoirs.” She looked at Irish. “I think they should see it.”

Irish shrugged.

Amy took it out of a folder and handed it to Eachan. His gaze moved down the names with almost frightening speed. She knew he was reading—and cataloging—everything. She suspected that his elegant good looks cloaked a brilliant mind.

She also saw that his eyes suddenly curtained at one point. She knew he recognized a name. So did Irish. She could tell by the way his body tensed.

“What name?” Irish asked.

Again Eachan hesitated.

“Tell them,” Sally said.

Dustin Eachan's face had paled in those few seconds. “I didn't see that name anywhere else,” he said. “It's not on any of the documents I've seen.”

“Which name?” Irish asked again.

“Sergeant Major Hawkins Jordan.” He hesitated a moment. “I remember him visiting my grandfather twenty years ago. Just before my grandfather died. He was working with my grandfather on a military project. He's founder of Jordan Industries. His son, Brian, is now CEO.”

Amy's blood ran faster. Hawkins Jordan. He was one of the few survivors of the command staff.

“He must be eighty or more now.”

“And he still plays golf four times a week,” Eachan said. “Mostly with senators and congressmen, and he can beat most of them.”

“A big rise for an enlisted man,” Irish said. “He had to have influence … and seed money.”

“The gold,” Amy said.

“And blackmail,” Sally said after a short silence.

Dustin hadn't entered the speculation, but his face was still pale, his lips had thinned. “The bastard,” he whispered. “My grandfather died a week after Jordan visited him.”

Irish spread the palms of his hands on the table. “We have no proof. Only speculation. And if we're right, is it Hawkins Jordan or his son who's responsible for what's happening now?”

“The son was in my office a few days ago. He wanted me to sign off on the sale of armored personnel carriers to an African country,” Dustin said, and for the first time Amy saw a passionate anger in his eyes. It was followed by sudden comprehension, even hatred. Then they all disappeared, and blandness settled over his face.

“Did you?” Irish asked.

“No,” he said simply. “But it might go through anyway.”

The comment said far more than the actual words did. Eachan was saying that this Jordan had more influence than he himself did and that, in fact, Eachan had qualms about the man. It revealed a glimpse of integrity that she knew Irish didn't think Eachan had.

“What do you know about him? Or the company?” Irish asked.

“Which one?”

“Both,” Irish said impatiently.

“As I said, the old man has enormous influence, mainly because of campaign contributions. The son is something else. Smooth. Charming. Ruthless.”

He stopped, as if suddenly realizing what he had said. Amy saw another look pass between Eachan and Sally. She asked the question: “Do you think he might have been involved with the attempt to drug your cousin?”

“To use against me?” Dustin asked. “Possibly. And it might have nothing to do with that damned German train. He wants that sale. He might have thought that if he photographed my cousin in a compromising situation, it would change my mind.”

“I wonder if it would be that benevolent,” Irish said. “Murder isn't much of a step further than blackmail.”

“There's no proof that the Jordans are involved,” Dustin pointed out. “We're just speculating here. And the African sale has nothing to do with a robbery that happened fifty years ago.”

Irish shook his head. “If a conglomerate the size of Jordan Industries was found to be established on a foundation of stolen gold, I don't think it would last long. There would be a hundred suits filed, not to mention bad publicity.”

“We don't know they have the gold,” Amy said. “Maybe someone is still looking for it. Maybe it was never found. Maybe someone thinks I might have a clue to it.”

They all stared at her.

“I don't think my grandfather had any of it,” she said. “He lived well, but not that well. From what Irish has said about his family, I don't think his grandfather had anything to do with the theft, either.” She turned toward Dustin and Sally. “Could your grandfather have taken any part of it?”

Dustin hesitated long enough to make Amy wonder. Then, “Jordan emerged from the forties as the wealthiest of all,” he said. “I think he's as likely a suspect as any. If, in fact, the gold wasn't just lost in the last days of the war. It may not be connected to anyone with the command. It could have been lost anywhere along the way. From Salzburg to New York.”

“The trunks of gold disappeared in Salzburg,” Irish said.

“They were stored there for months,” Dustin said. “I don't suppose it was inventoried every week, so we have no idea—nor did the commission—as to when it actually disappeared.”

“And the other items?”

Eachan didn't say anything.

The tension between the two men still ran high. Amy decided to try to cut it. “This Brian Jordan. Would he have the power to do everything that has been happening to us? My house destroyed, accidents, murders?”

Eachan nodded. “Probably. He has one hell of a security department. But that's normal in his business. He produces and sells very advanced weaponry, including some classified equipment.”

“Would they have access to government investigative agencies? Like the CID or FBI?”

She glanced at Irish. He was leaning lazily against a wall, but she suspected he was way ahead of her. In another second, he confirmed that. “Most large corporations recruit from federal agencies. I've had offers myself.”

“So they might still have contacts in those agencies?”

Irish nodded. “It's one of the reasons these people are valuable. The companies are buying contacts as well as experience and training.”

Eachan didn't add anything. Instead, he appeared relieved that the conversation had veered away from him.

“So if Sally's drawing is sent around to agencies, someone might recognize the picture?” Amy addressed that question to Eachan.

“Possibly,” he said.

Amy was thinking out loud now. She was sure Irish must have run through this himself, but he seemed content that she was doing the asking. Eachan didn't become quite as defensive with her. “Then wouldn't whoever sent this man after us find him rather an embarrassment?”

Irish smiled approvingly. Eachan looked startled, as if the thought hadn't occurred to him. Sally looked surprised, too.

“They don't seem overly concerned about killing people. So why should they concern themselves about embarrassment?” Sally asked.

“Except for the attempt on Amy's life in the hospital, everything could be an accident or a random crime. A house fire, a gas explosion, a hit and run, a simple burglary. They're becoming more and more desperate.”

“They must know now that we can identify at least one of them,” Amy said.

Irish turned to Dustin Eachan. “It might be productive to start looking for fresh unidentified bodies,” Irish said.

“Or they could send him overseas,” Dustin said. “Get him out of the country. Jordan Industries has interests throughout the world.”

Sally, who had been quiet until then, interceded. “But he doesn't know I can draw. I don't think anyone does.”

Eachan turned to her. “Did you leave any of those sketching materials in your room?”

Sally's face tensed. “Yes.”

“Then we have to assume they know. Whoever,” he said pointedly, “they might be.”

“I don't think we can wait around until the man is identified,” Irish said. “I can't be gone that long, and I'm not leaving Amy alone.”

“What do you propose?” Eachan raised an eyebrow. “Brian Jordan is one of the most politically connected men in the country. We have no proof.”

Amy studied his face and thought something else was at stake, too. Of them all, only Dustin Eachan had escaped threat of bodily harm. Because he was too visible a target? Or was he alive because he could still be used for some purpose?

“Are you willing to wait and risk your cousin's life? I sure as hell am not going to risk Dr. Mallory for your goddamn career. Or mine.”

“I'm waiting for a suggestion,” Eachan said.

Irish returned to the chair, put his foot on it and looked at Eachan thoughtfully. “We have to make them come out of the shadows.”

“How in the hell are we going to do that?”

“A trap,” Irish said.

twenty-four

N
ORFOLK

Irish drove Eachan and his cousin to the parking lot where he'd left the rental car, then handed the keys over to Eachan.

Eachan looked at the purple car dubiously. “Are you sure it will get us back to my car?”

“No,” Irish said cheerfully. Then he took pity on Sally. “It will get you there.”

She laughed. It was a pleasant sound, the first time he'd heard it tonight. “I never thought otherwise, Colonel.”

Eachan hesitated a moment, then took a key ring from his pocket and detached a key, handing it to Irish. “I'll call you at my Maryland house in two days. Will that give you time?”

“I hope so. We're running out of it.”

“Take care of my house.”

“Are you sure you want to risk it?”

“We don't have time to rent one.”

Irish made no attempt to leave. “What about your cousin? She can stay with us.”

Eachan shook his head. “You seem to be the main target right now. I'll find a place.” He hesitated, then held out his hand. “Good luck.”

Irish nodded, then watched them drive out. He wasn't sure he could trust Dustin Eachan. But he had damned little choice. He went to his rental car. Another thirty minutes, and he and Amy would be on their way again.

He planned to stop at the chief's trailer and tell him they had received a check, enough to rent a car and pay him, and planned a weekend trip to Washington. They might even stay a few days longer, since their son wasn't expected until late next week.