Endgame (Last Chance Series) (25 page)

"And that's all?" Harrison asked.

She wanted to tell him, to ask his advice, but no matter how close they were, there were some things she simply couldn't share. At least not until she understood them herself.

"Isn't that enough?" she asked, dodging his
question. "I was pretty shaken by Jeremy's death. And I wasn't up to battling my dad. Gabriel realized it, and bought me some time. And I can't say that I wasn't grateful."

"I agree you needed time to decompress. Your dad can be a bit overwhelming. But I'm not sure you didn't jump from the frying pan into the fire."

He was absolutely right, of course; she'd swapped one set of problems for another. Granted, the latter had been incredibly pleasurable as far as problems went, but she still had no idea where she and Gabriel could go from here.

All she knew for certain was that he'd muscled his way into her heart, and the idea scared her to death.

*****

NIGEL STOOD OUTSIDE the building, counted to ten, and when he was certain no one was following, walked quickly down the street, ducking into a blind alley about two blocks away. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed a series of numbers, entering two passwords, one vocal and another alphanumerical.

Finally he was connected, the voice at the other end impatient.

"What do you mean they found the man?"

"Just what I'm telling you. They've connected W. Smith to an Ernhardt Wilhelm Schmidt. And they're pretty damn sure he's the one. Gabriel has everyone running down the details as we speak."

"And you?" The man at the other end sounded more annoyed than angry, which surprised Nigel no end.

"I'm supposed to be talking to London."

There was a burst of laughter from the earpiece of the phone. "How convenient And what will you report back?"

"That Ernhardt is indeed connected to the subversive group in China. But I'll need physical evidence to support the fact."

"Consider it done. And Nigel—
" there was a pause, and then the voice continued, the tone almost menacing "—I want you to find the man and make quite certain he doesn't surface. Am I making myself clear?"

Nigel swallowed, not certain how he was going to accomplish this latest command, but not willing to indicate his concern. "Of course, sir. I'll get right on it."

"See that you do." The line clicked dead, and Nigel gripped the phone in anger, wondering how in hell he'd ever allowed himself to land in such a position. A rock and a hard place if ever there was one, and a misstep in either direction could very well leave him dead.

Which was a position he didn't relish in the slightest.

*****

CULLEN HUNG UP the phone and sat staring at it for what seemed an eternity. Even with the team close to unraveling the whereabouts of Ernhardt Schmidt, he was still battling with the Chinese and the president. Fighting to keep things alive, when in reality they were probably already dead and buried.

He sighed, and buried his head in his hands, wondering exactly how he'd found himself in this position, knowing the answer without even having to think about it. Greed. Pure and simple greed. His desire for more outstripping all common sense.

He'd played the game and now potentially he'd lost it. Only a last-minute Hail Mary could save him now. The grandfather clock in the corner ticked ominously, the great pendulum swinging back and forth as if it were a death knell.

A requiem for all that he was and had been and perhaps would never be again.

Greed.

What a nasty word.

"ALL RIGHT, SO what have we got?" Gabriel paced in front of the operations room window, his gaze encompassing the group gathered around the conference table.

Harrison fidgeted with a pile of papers, his
ever-present laptop open in front of him. Payton sat in the corner, the back of his chair tilted against the wall. Nigel straddled the chair next to Madison, his attention apparently focused on a report he held in his hand.

"The FBI dossier confirms what we already knew," Madison said. "Unfortunately there's not a whole lot else. Waxman did provide passwords for computer access and I turned them over to Harrison." She shot a smile at her friend, ignoring the resulting scowl from Gabriel.

"And what did you find?" Gabriel snapped at Harrison, the sound making the younger man jump.

"E
rnhardt has been on a watch list since the early '80s. He's been tracked to the U.S. at least fifteen times, spending most of his time at various places on the East Coast. As expected, he keeps a low profile. Generally he uses an alias, and to date he has not been attached to any particular scheme. Although he has been linked to several plots against various political personalities abroad. In fact, the bulk of his activity has been in Europe, which effectively takes him out of the purview of the FBI."

"Interpol also has him on a watch list," Payton said. "But has likewise been unable to definitively tie him to anything substantial. He's been hauled in on numerous fishing expeditions, but no pay dirt. He's suspected of involvement in two assassination attempts. A NATO ranking official and a German subversive." He handed a typed report to Gabriel. "The man is definitely a spook. I also talked to various underground contacts and though they'd all heard of him, no one had actually met him."

"By contacts I take it you mean other mercenaries?" The question came from Nigel, his expression inscrutable.

"Black ops people, yes." Payton seemed unruffled by the barb. But then it was his profession, and Madison assumed he was probably used to disapproval—even from friends. "I also followed up with Lin Yao, and he could find nothing concrete to connect Schmidt to Chinese dissidents. However, according to Chinese i
ntelligence, he did make a trip to the western frontier sometime last year."

"They were tracking him?" Gabriel stopped, moving to lean against the windowsill.

"No, the report came from British reconnaissance. But they seemed satisfied with its validity." Payton shot a look at Nigel, who shrugged.

"I don't work the Far East, but if you like I can have the report verified."

"Thanks, Nigel, but it won't be necessary. I trust Payton's sources." Gabriel frowned, obviously trying to put the information together. "I talked with the counterintelligence people at Langley and they report much the same as their counterparts at the FBI. The man has been on a watch list for years, and has been in and out of the country on numerous occasions."

He shifted on the windowsill, his frown still firmly in place. "They haven't been able to verify that he is
currently in the country. And when I talked to the European department, they also seemed to be unaware of his current location. He's deemed low threat, so not watched with the fervor of some of his more anti-American counterparts. Nigel, what did London have to say?"

"Very much the same, I'm afraid. That he's a shadow, and low threat, but worth watching. They did also hint at the fact that he might have worked with the U.S. on several black ops missions. Did anyone at Langley mention that?"

"No." Gabriel shook his head with a smile that indicated he wouldn't trust them if they had.

"And I suppose it wouldn't be relevant
anyway," Payton said.

"Unless the CIA is trying to upend the accord," Nigel offered.

"I doubt very much it's even on their radar. It may play out as an important economic boon for the United States and/or the president, but I don't think it figures much in the day-to-day operations of the CIA." Gabriel's tone was dry, but there was a barb there. Something between him and Nigel that Madison hadn't seen before.

She glanced at Harrison to see if he'd noticed the exchange, but he was as usual oblivious to everything but the computer screen, the tapping of the keyboard a soft underscore to the conversation going on around him.

"So how do we find out if the man is in the States?" Nigel's question held a note of frustration that Madison understood on more than one account. It seemed every way they turned they hit another dead end.

"If the
records from Candace's cell phone are to be believed, then someone called her just after she talked to Smith. If we find that person, maybe we can find out more about who Candace was meeting. And if it turns out that Smith and Schmidt are the same person, then maybe that information will lead us to him."

"Well, no one who was there that night is owning up to the call," Payton said. "Nigel and I talked to all sixty."

"And Cullen claims not have talked to her at all that day."

"No big surprise." Gabriel sighed.

"Well, someone called her," Madison said.

"Unfortunately," Nigel sighed, "the problem is compounded by the fact that there's a phone in the lobby. Which means that there's access without needing to clear security."

"But surely the guard would have noticed someone unknown in the building at that time of night." Madison frowned.

"Possibly," Gabriel admitted. "But there are over six hundred employees here. The guard couldn't possibly know all of them. Still, it's worth checking out."

"I could recanvas the apartment building where W. Smith supposedly resided," Nigel offered.

"Good idea." Gabe nodded. "And Harrison, you recheck the information we had on the man from Virginia. Maybe there's something there we missed. We're going to find the man. It's just a question of when."

Payton's face reflected his skepticism. "Unfortunately we don't have an unlimited amount of time."

"So we work all that much harder."

"I'm afraid time has run out." Cullen stood in the doorway, his face ashen. "There's been another murder."

*****

ANDERSON MCGEE'S HOUSE SAT on the back half of ten acres in Connecticut, the long drive from the road and dense brush an effective camouflage for the old farmhouse. If Gabe hadn't have known it was there, he'd have never found it.

Weathered clapboard and crooked shutters adorned the once-magnificent house, now dilapidated from age an
d lack of care. McGee had been an invalid of sorts, a semi- recluse, living on family money, and having little to do with the outside world.

More interesting than all of that was the fact that he had no
toes to the consortium at all, unless one counted the fact that his family's corporation was a member. But the link between Anderson and the company was slight, his activity limited to the role of major shareholder.

His involvement with the accord was another thing altogether. A self-taught expert in Chinese diplomacy, as a younger man
, he'd traveled often to the Far East, and built quite a reputation as an historian and a scholar. When he'd returned to the U.S., he'd come to Connecticut to live in relative seclusion.

But when the consortium began negotiations with the Chinese, it was Andy McGee who had fronted the operation, at least on paper. He'd drafted and reviewed almost every single document that had traveled to Beijing. His knowledge of protocol was critical to the success of the endeavor.

And now he was dead.

One shot to the head, while listening to a Bach concerto.

The fact that he'd been found at all was only due to the diligence of the grocery delivery boy, who was determined to leave his boxes with or without the owner answering the door, and managed to shimmy through an open kitchen window.

A cursory check of the house had revealed McGee prone on the recliner, blood staining the plaid upholstery with a garish flare.

Gabe stood to the side, watching as the techs measured and photographed the body, while Madison questioned the still-shaken boy. There was no missing the similarities between Bosner's death and McGee's. Both had been shot through a window with a high-powered semiautomatic rifle of some kind.

Here, as in Bosner's Manhattan apartment, shattered window glass littered the floor, and here, too, a brandy bot
tle sat open on the table, McGee's spilled glass on the floor beneath his now flaccid hand.

"The kid didn't see anything." Madison appeared at his elbow, the sound of her voice warming him, despite the situation. "According to the techs, McGee had already been dead for at least twenty-four hours. They'll be able to give us a more exact time when Tracy does the autopsy."

"Any employees or family?"

"No family nearby
." Madison moved a little closer and his body responded to her nearness. He sucked in a breath, forcing himself to concentrate on what she was saying. "There's a housekeeper, but she only comes in twice weekly. And the last time she was here, McGee was hale and hearty." She glanced down at her notes. "There's also a groundskeeper. He lives in a cabin just over that hill." She pointed out the broken window toward the driveway. "No one's talked to him yet. According to the housekeeper, he's an odd sort. Likes to keep to himself."

"He'll fit right in, then." Gabriel nodded toward the body.

"I'll grant you he was a bit of an oddball, but that doesn't change the fact that he was murdered in much the same way as Jeremy. And that he had ties to the accord and, to a lesser degree, the consortium."

"And I'll lay dollars to doughnuts that Tracy will find a .223 lodged in his skull," Gabriel finished. "But that still leaves us without a clue as to the whereabouts of the illustrious Herr Schmidt."

"I've got people combing the ground underneath the window, trying to ascertain where exactly the shot was fired from. But unless they turn something up, we're at a standstill, I'm afraid. What we need is a witness. Someone who either saw Schmidt, or something to tie him to the case more directly than our leap from W. Smith to E. Schmidt."

"There's something else you don't know about."

Madison frowned up at him. "What?"

"Something Harrison told me. I didn't share it with the group because I'm not sure exactly what it means." He ran a hand through his hair, trying to order his thoughts. "Harrison did another check on the hacker. Ran the same diagnostics he used to trace the relays that led us to Virginia and
W. Smith."

"And—" Madison's frustration was apparent.

"And he may have found something new. Evidence that the hacking occurred from inside the building."

"But he traced the relays." Madison's frown deepened, suspicion darkening her eyes.

"Yes, he did, but he's not completely convinced now that they were genuine. It may be that they were put there on purpose."

"
To send us down the wrong track." She crossed her arms, looking up at him as she pieced it all together. "Payton said that he thought it had all been too easy. But if someone is purposefully steering us in the wrong direction, the big question is why?"

"I don't know yet. Harrison wanted to do some more tests. See if he could find anything else. And in the meantime, there didn't seem any point in speculating. My guess is that Schmidt was worried we'd be looking for him, and so sent us on a wild-goose chase instead."

"But why use a name so similar to his own? Surely that's a dangerous game to play?"

"Maybe." Gabe smiled, knowing the gesture lacked any real humor. "But men like Schmidt are an arrogant lot. It's possible that he liked the idea of us eventually finding the truth. Sort of rubbing it in the wound so to speak."

"But it puts him at risk."

Gabe shrugged. "Not really. I mean we still aren't any closer to catching him than when we thought he was W. Smith. Quite frankly, I'd say he's probably laughing his ass off at our expense as we speak."

"Or maybe we're missing the bigger picture." Her brows were drawn together in serious thought now. He could almost see the wheels turning.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm not sure. I want to think on it a bit. Maybe talk to Harrison. But I think Payton's right. There is something else going on here, and I, for one, don't like the idea of being led around by the nose."

"I don't see that we have an alternative."

Madison smiled, their gazes colliding. "There's always an alternative, Gabriel."

*****

"I THINK I'VE GOT HIM." Harrison stood up waving at the computer screen with a flourish.

"Got who?" Madison asked, not bothering to look up from the file she was reading.

They were waiting on Tracy's autopsy for confirmation and a possible ballistics match. Gabriel had gone over there, unable to wait for the phone call, and Madison was wishing she'd gone along. She'd stayed with the intention of reading over the forensics reports for both Bosner and McGee, but she was having problems concentrating.

"Schmidt."