The 3rd Victim (45 page)

It was Joe. David and Madonna were coming up behind him. Sara spotted Leo King moving quickly but discreetly toward the other side of the carousel. Frank was off to their left whispering into his radio. The police began to circle, FBI agents at the exits nodding to one another as they listened to some form of radio communication, perhaps coming from their Special Agent in Charge, King.

‘He's here,’ she said, turning to David.

The police moved in quickly, corralling passengers, trying to clear the floor.

‘Hunt. I saw him. He's
here
.’ She pointed toward baggage claim carousel G3. ‘Oh god,’ she said as a fresh wave of panic hit her. ‘David,
where did he go
?’ She started to sob. ‘He might have made it to that exit.’ Her head wrenched left before jerking back toward David. ‘This agent … he left his post.’ She grabbed his arms. ‘What if we've lost him? Or the Yorks …?’

‘We have the Yorks.’

She looked up at him and she knew what he was telling her: but we don't have Lauren.
Hunt has Lauren
.

David did not answer. ‘Oh god.’ Sobs began to rack her body. ‘
Oh god, oh god, oh god …
’

5.09 pm

David felt her crumple into his arms. He wanted to hold her but there was just no time. His job was to find Hunt. His job was to save his daughter and kill the murdering son-of-a-bitch who had stolen her from them.

He passed Sara to Nora, who tried desperately to hold tight to her now convulsing form.

He looked toward Joe, who was moving rapidly through the passengers, scanning faces left and right. Frank was just in front of them, barking orders into his radio. King was nowhere to be seen. Madonna stood steadfast beside him, her expression firm, determined.

‘I can't see him,’ said Arthur.

And neither could David. ‘Where are you?’ he said, terrified, like Sara, that Hunt had slipped from their grip.

He felt the heat rise up inside him. ‘Where the hell are you?’ he said, louder this time. ‘Show yourself.’ Louder. ‘Show yourself, you fucking coward, you
goddamned son-of-a
- …’

When he saw him he knew that in the end this was what it would come down to. Whatever else, Hunt was not a man to back down. So when they locked eyes David understood that one way or another, this would all end here, which was why he moved quickly at a diagonal, reaching his right arm out in front of him.

He saw the clip was unattached and that the holster was wide and open – which made it all the easier for him to grab Frank McKay's gun.

5.14 pm

‘Cavanaugh,’ said Hunt. He was moving very slowly toward David. David's eyes scanned to the left and the right of him. No Lauren. No Sophia. But there was an elderly couple just behind him. The old man was holding fast onto his grandchild as they gauged the situation, as if deciding whether it was safer to stand firm or run.

‘You taking the elderly hostage now, Hunt?’ asked David. The gun was out before him. He was making no bones about the fact that he was more than willing to pull the trigger if he did not get what he wanted.

Hunt held his arms out and up to show David he had no weapon. ‘I'm unarmed,’ he said.

But David did not believe him. ‘I know you have a gun, Hunt.’

Hunt did not reply.

David was aware of his surroundings but also not. He knew people were screaming as they fled from the crazy man with the revolver. He could hear Joe's voice calling out somewhere in the distance. He could hear Frank and perhaps Sara. There was a policeman's whistle and frantic movement from men in suits – but none of this noise or activity registered in any meaningful sense. It was like he and Hunt were in an underwater bubble while everyone else floated around them, somewhere outside. They were men from Atlantis, ready to duel after a long private feud, one that had left a trail of blood behind it – blood and heartache and lives destroyed.

‘You need to put that gun down, David,’ said Hunt. He was advancing again, around the turning curve of the baggage carousel. The carousel was still moving, its rubber slats interlocking like gnashing black teeth.

‘Go to hell. Where is my daughter?’ David held the gun higher, aiming it directly at Hunt's chest.

‘She's safe,’ said Hunt. ‘She's with the girl – Sophia.’

David swallowed. ‘I know about your plans for Sophia. You –’

‘Cavanaugh …’ David heard the voice from the other side of the carousel. It belonged to Leo King. David's eyes refocused on King to see he was brandishing a gun of his own. He was covering Hunt and David, his weapon up with the safety off. ‘You need to put the gun down and let us handle this thing.’

‘No,’ said David. ‘This is my fight, Leo. She is my daughter.’ He was vaguely aware that his voice had faltered.

‘You put that gun down and I'll take you to your daughter,’ said Hunt. He was lowering his arms now. He took another step forward, advancing on David.

‘You tell me where she is or I will put a bullet through your head.’ David lifted his weapon that inch higher. He heard Sara say his name somewhere outside the bubble.

‘Killing does not serve a purpose,’ said Hunt.

David almost laughed. ‘Listen to who's talking about killing and purpose. The man who set up the murder of his own daughter, killed his employee, framed an innocent woman, murdered his partner, abducted a pregnant girl and …’ David's thoughts went to Lauren, and he felt his grip tighten on the revolver.

Hunt took another step forward. ‘You need to put that gun down,’ he repeated.

But David did the opposite, he cocked the weapon, ready to roll.

‘David.’ It was King again. He was advancing from David's left, his weapon still up and out but his left hand was now held fast to his ear, as if he was receiving a communication. ‘Listen to me, I just got a report. My men, they found Sophia. She's in FBI custody, and she has your daughter. Lauren is safe, David.
Lauren is safe
.’

David's eyes flicked toward Leo and then, as if in desperate need of confirmation, toward his best friend, Joe. Joe was standing ten yards to the left and slightly behind him. He had his weapon out also. He had remained silent during the entire exchange.

Joe tilted his ear toward the radio attached to his shoulder strap. David saw the muscles in his arm flex and then release. ‘It's like Leo says,’ said Joe. ‘She's safe, David. We have her. You can stand down, buddy. You can stand down.’

Joe took a step toward him as David felt the most overwhelming sensation of relief. It was a feeling so powerful, so
intense
, that it made his entire body shudder. His heart skipped, his skin tingled and the air about him suddenly became cool and fresh and clean. But then he looked at Hunt and the heat returned in the form of a blazing fury. And he found himself wanting to lift the revolver again, to place his finger around that trigger and slowly begin to squeeze.

But he sensed the presence of Joe and Frank behind him. Their weapons – Frank having secured another police-issue Glock – were locked on the man they knew was responsible for taking David's daughter. But it was not Joe or Frank who confused him, it was Simba and his FBI men, Glocks up and advancing. They too had found their target but it was not Hunt … it was … it was …

The shot consumed the space around him, filling his ears with its echo. He had lost all sense of reality. He'd raised his arm and squeezed the trigger and fired at the man he hated more than any other. The recoil jerked him
up
and then
back
and then
down
as the bitter smell of gunpowder bit into his sinuses and stung his eyes.

But he was wrong again. His arm was not up. On the contrary, the hand that held Frank's gun was hot and heavy, like lead. The gun in it was cool, removed, until a thick, sticky heat began to slither around his fingers and bind the weapon to him. He looked down and saw his bloodied right hand hanging limp and lifeless as the revolver slipped unfeelingly from his grasp. And in those brief seconds before the world went black he realised that he had been wrong from the beginning – no, that he had been
right
about everything except the one thing that really mattered – Daniel Hunt.

PART EIGHT

79

Two days later

I
n his dream he was floating. Face up. The water was tepid around him – thick and warm, like a blanket. He was looking up. The sky was the ideal blue people sing about. The clouds were white, and perfectly formed like bunches of bleached cotton candy.

His mind was playing tricks on him. Cruel and wonderful tricks. He saw her face. He saw her soft blonde hair and her smooth olive skin and those wide green eyes. And then she was gone. She coasted up and out of his line of vision, and his mind tried desperately to pull her back. But her face was replaced by another. This one kind and soft, and the eyes … the eyes were also green but they were not Lauren's. These belonged to a woman much older and wiser, someone who had seen too much.

‘Mr Cavanaugh,’ said the face. He saw her lips move and her mouth lift into a smile and maybe … maybe he even felt her soft hand rest gently on his forearm.

She turned away. ‘He's waking up,’ she said.

David managed to turn his head just an inch or so to the right and he saw Sara, who was crying – and Lauren, who was smiling – and he heard the word
Daddy
and his heart ached with so much joy that he sensed this dream might not be a dream after all.

‘Lauren?’ he thought he heard himself say.

‘Daddy,’ he thought he heard her reply.

And then Sara came forward and took his hand and she felt so warm, so soft, so real.

But then the dream turned sour again. He was here –
Hunt
. He was in the room with them. He was standing next to Sara, next to his
daughter
… and to … to Sienna, which made no sense at all. His client looked different. She was wearing a charcoal suit with a crisp white shirt. Her hair was groomed, pulled back, her face serious until she met his eye and smiled.

‘David,’ she said.

And then he remembered the shot … and the last thought he'd had before the blackness swallowed him whole. And then everything started to take shape, like a reflection in a river settling as the waters began to calm.

Hunt moved around the bed to David's left and approached him. Sienna followed from behind.

‘David,’ he said, ‘you've been shot in the shoulder but you're going to be okay. The bullet splintered your clavicle but you've had surgery to repair it, and in time you'll be back fighting for the good guys again.’

David turned to Sara. She nodded at him in relief.

‘David.’ It was Sienna. ‘I'm sorry. I can only imagine how confusing this must be for you.’ She shifted her weight to move that bit closer. ‘There's so much we need to talk about … I … I …’

Daniel Hunt shifted also, his left hand brushing Sienna's right ever so slightly before he looked at David again.

‘I think I should introduce myself – properly, I mean,’ he said as he held out his hand. ‘Special Agent Michael Carlson, FBI.’

David knew he should have been surprised, but he wasn't – in fact, all he felt was a hollow sense of emptiness. He could have taken Carlson's hand but he didn't. He wasn't ready. He was a long way from ready.

‘You shot me,’ he said.

‘No,’ said the voice from behind them – it was the old woman, the one with the pale green eyes. ‘I am afraid that was me.’

David nodded, the river's surface starting to blur as the darkness began to swallow him once again.

‘Not to worry,’ said the old woman. ‘You're on the mend now so there'll be plenty of time for you to take it all in. But for now you must rest,’ she said. ‘And don't worry – Sara, Lauren, they'll be right here when you wake up. They're quite attached to you, you see, and they won't be going anywhere until you open your eyes once again.’

80

E
xactly one week later, David, Sara and Joe were sitting in Leo King's office at the FBI's Boston Field Office at 1 Center Plaza, King sitting at the head of the conference table with the older woman who had gone by the name of Esther Wallace on his right and Sienna and Michael Carlson on his left.

David had put some of the final pieces together, of course – those he had not previously placed into the puzzle. The truth was, prior to that showdown at the airport he had, despite the odds against him, managed to construct a close to flawless jigsaw – hundreds of tiny interlocking links minus the ones that mattered the most. But that had been their intent, of course, the reason for involving him from the outset.

The surgery to repair the damage caused by the bullet that had shattered his collarbone and shredded the cartilage surrounding his shoulder joint had been extensive and painful. David was still officially a patient of Massachusetts General, where he existed under the constant eye of his surgeon, his sister Lisa, and her new boyfriend Lucas Cole – but he had insisted on this temporary leave to attend the meeting he, Sara and Joe had been insisting upon for the past seven days. Eventually Leo King had agreed, but only on the condition that this would be the first and only time they would be told – by everyone involved in what had turned out to be one of the most intricate federal fuck-ups in history – the entire truth of it, including all its repercussions and consequences, from beginning to end.

‘I want to begin with an apology,’ said Sienna Walker.

Their client was sitting across the conference table from them. She had been released from custody not long after the incident at the airport. Judge Stein, after a long and highly confidential conversation with Leo King, had dismissed the jury and dropped the charge against her. Stein had also released a short statement saying that new information regarding the events that led to Eliza Walker's murder had come to light but that no further details would be available until the police and District Attorney's Office had had the chance to examine the implications of this new evidence. When asked if the recent events at Logan Airport were linked to this new information, the Judge gave a definitive ‘no comment’ and stressed that any further queries should be directed to the FBI and the Suffolk County District Attorney's Office. And despite it all the very thought had made David smile, knowing that as soon as he and King came to some sort of agreement regarding the public face they were putting on this investigation, Roger Katz would be back-pedalling from here to China.

‘I am sorry for everything from start to finish,’ she said, ‘for involving you and Sara and Joe in this thing from the outset, for lying to you, betraying your trust.’ She took a breath. ‘I may have come into this thing as blind as the three of you, but … I did so by choice, and you were, well … I am afraid we played your hand for you.’

She glanced quickly at King and then at Carlson beside her.

David took a breath. ‘You're together,’ he said of Sienna and Carlson. They had not told him this officially, but he knew what her answer would be.

‘Yes,’ replied Sienna.

‘But your husband …?’ said Sara.

‘I was in love with Jim, or at least I was in love with the idea of him.’

‘So you married him not knowing who he was?’ asked Sara.

‘Jim was hard to resist. He courted me attentively. He was interested, enthusiastic, smart, charming.’

Sara went to ask another question, but then shook her head. ‘I'm sorry, it's hard to know where to start here.’

‘I understand,’ said Sienna as she cast her eyes toward Simba.

David knew that the FBI Chief had drawn some sort of line prior to David, Sara and Joe entering the room and he did not want the other three to cross it. But David was having none of it.

‘We need to know everything,’ he said, addressing King from the outset. ‘We need to know every little detail – when and how this thing started and, more importantly, why in hell it all got so out of control.’

Simba sat forward in his seat and went to answer but Sienna interrupted him. ‘Special Agent,’ she said. ‘Please.’

Simba hesitated, before sitting back again.

Sienna exhaled. ‘It will take some telling,’ she said.

‘The FBI have held our lives hostage for the past six months, Sienna. It will take as long as it takes.’

She nodded before turning to the older woman sitting next to Leo. ‘Perhaps you should start, Senior Officer?’ she said to the woman David knew as Esther Wallace.

The woman looked at Leo. ‘If I may, Special Agent,’ she said in the crispest of British accents.

David was getting sick of all this hierarchical posturing.

Leo looked down the table at David, Sara and Joe. ‘None of this leaves this room,’ he said.

‘None of this should have left your organisation in the first place, Simba,’ said Joe, his voice low and tight and determined.

Leo blinked before turning to the older woman once again. ‘Go ahead,’ he said, his tone somewhere between uneasy and resolved.

And so ‘Esther Wallace’ sat up a little higher in her seat and cleared her throat before asking her audience of three to travel back in time with her – to the year 2006.

*

‘Yes, Prime Minister,’ the woman – who had finally introduced herself as Serious Organised Crime Agency Senior Officer Catherine Loxley – explained she had told former British Prime Minister Tony Blair.

‘I would be honoured, of course. I assume you are aware that the Director General consulted me when you established SOCA earlier in the year,’ she had continued, outlining exactly what had transpired in the secret meeting involving herself, Blair and her then boss, the Director General of MI5. ‘I knew from the outset that the establishment of our own federal bureau to fight organised crime was long overdue and well … your asking me to play this significant role, as I said, I am honoured.’

‘So SOCA is the UK's version of the FBI?’ asked Sara, the first of a myriad of questions she, David and Joe were determined to learn the answer to before they left this room.

Loxley's cool green eyes fell on Sara. ‘Yes. SOCA was the result of the merging of the National Crime Squad, the National Criminal Intelligence Service, the National Hi-Tech Crime Unit, sections of Revenue and Customs and the Immigration responsibilities for organised international crime. As such, one of the Agency's priorities was to set up a UK Human Trafficking Centre, and when the Prime Minister asked me to set up and lead this unit, well, as I explained, I was honoured.’

‘So what were your responsibilities at MI5?’ asked David, needing to take this step by step. ‘I'm assuming you had experience with people smuggling?’

‘Yes. I had considerable experience in investigating cartels involved in white slavery, international abduction rings and so on. The abuse of innocent individuals by the creatures who prey on and profit from them, and the planning and execution of operations that brought these criminals to justice – it had always been a special interest of mine.

‘People smugglers are, however, incredibly hard to track down. They move in the shadows, disguise themselves as legitimate businesspeople. The industry generates an estimated thirty billion dollars per year so as you can see, we are up against it.’

David nodded. The figure surprised him, disgusted him – especially because his daughter almost became part of that statistic. ‘So this particular investigation … I am assuming it started in the UK?’

‘Yes,’ replied Loxley.

‘And it involved … what? Scrutiny of birth records, hospital documentation, adoption papers?’

‘Oh no, Mr Cavanaugh, at least not initially. To begin with, all it involved was luck.’

‘
Luck
?’ said Sara.

‘Indeed. SOCA came across the illegal activities of the men you know as Jim Walker and Richard Davenport accidentally.’

David shook his head. ‘Okay, first up, I am assuming you're telling us that Walker and Davenport were not their real names.’

Loxley nodded. ‘Their real names are James Winter and Richard Cameron.’

David wasn't surprised really. Men like Walker and Davenport no doubt depended on swift changes of identity to move their business from continent to continent. ‘Okay, and what of this accident? What did it involve?’

‘The swine flu of 2009.’

David held up his hands in frustration. ‘I'm sorry, Senior Officer Loxley … I may be slow but …?’

‘No, I'm sorry,’ said Loxley, who was obviously accustomed to the ‘less is more’ approach to sharing intelligence. ‘In early 2009 Winter was based in London. He was working for a high-profile international banking house known as Glo-Corp. His friend Cameron – Davenport – had a thriving fertility practice in South Kensington and their business in the capital, much as it was here in Boston, involved Winter finding the clients and Cameron supplying the product.’

‘Genetically gifted children, for either infertile couples or those who simply wanted intellectually superior offspring,’ confirmed Sara.

‘Yes,’ replied Loxley. ‘Winter was Oxford educated. He was a mathematical genius. He graduated Oxford law – on a scholarship – with honours. His background may have been middle class but he was smart and ambitious and determined to get ahead. He met Davenport – or should I say the Yale-educated Cameron – at, of all places, an American Ivy League rowing invitational. The two got on, and kept in touch, Winter eventually putting his proposal to his American friend.

‘So to the swine flu of 2009,’ she said, taking them back to where she had started. ‘If you recall, the early months of that year represented a time when the flu was on the cusp of becoming an international epidemic. People were nervous, they started to wear face masks in confined spaces, hospitals were on alert, airports started to screen for passengers with raised temperatures.’ Loxley took a breath. ‘In February of that year there was such a check conducted at Heathrow, on a five-week-old baby boy. The child had a temperature and was prevented from flying to Germany. His passport was checked and a discrepancy picked up. When a police sergeant found further anomalies in documents relating to his date and place of birth, he contacted SOCA, and that is how I first became involved in an investigation that would reach across the Atlantic … when I first became aware of James Winter and his fertility expert friend.’

‘So the child was taken into protective custody?’ asked Sara. Loxley nodded.

‘Which would mean Walker and Davenport – I mean Winter and Cameron – I assume they feared that at that point, their business might have been in danger of …?’

‘Exposure?’ finished Loxley. ‘You're correct, Ms Davis. The pair must have known we were on to them, or that we were, at the very least, on the verge of digging where they did not want us to dig. They could not risk it, you see – their UK-based operation being compromised. So they up and left. They changed their identities and set up shop in a fresh market – in a city filled with opportunity. Boston was small enough to keep their business “boutique” but unique enough to provide them with the genetic raw materials base and the clientele who had the money to acquire it. But that was when our problems started, considering SOCA had no jurisdiction in the US.’

‘Hold up,’ said David. ‘How did you track them to Boston?’

‘We sent out a classified information data file on the pair and their suspected activities to a number of significant global law enforcement agencies including the FBI. We asked them to keep an eye out for the establishment of new, upmarket fertility practices, and Special Agent in Charge King ran a local check and came up with Davenport's clinic in Beacon Hill. Further subtle enquiries linked Davenport to his friend Jim Walker and the connection was made.’

Loxley looked at Leo before continuing. ‘Of course at this stage we had no evidence of any criminal activity so we knew a discreet investigation had to be put in place. But the trick was how to go about this, given the interest from our end and our restrictions when it came to jurisdiction.’

Loxley shifted in her seat, and David sensed she had reached a line Leo King had drawn for her. No matter which way you played it, SOCA's authority as a legitimate law enforcement agency stopped at the boundaries of the British Isles – and David knew the flouting of such restrictions was part of the reason why he and Sara and Joe had been drawn into this mess in the first place. And the look on Leo's face told David he knew David knew it too.

‘All right,’ said Simba. ‘What I say stays here,’ he stressed. ‘You repeat it, we deny it. The only way this will work is if we are all on the same page.’

But David was shaking his head.

‘I know, I know,’ said Simba. ‘Sacrifices have been made. But we didn't have any other option. We crossed a line, but our motivation was always the desire to bring these two criminals to justice. When things began to …’ Simba paused as if deciding on the safest way to describe it, ‘… grow beyond our immediate control, we understood that despite the risks involved, bringing you in was our only way of removing ourselves while maintaining quasi control of the investigation.’

‘In other words, you used us as an investigatory laundry,’ said David.

Leo hesitated before nodding. ‘Your investigation was clean and ours was dirty, for a number of reasons which – to our credit – we are willing to explain. We did everything we could to maintain legitimate control, but cases like these are inherently unpredictable and –’

‘What a goddamned croc of shit.’ It was the so-far silent Joe. ‘To your credit? Jesus.’

David knew this was coming and to be honest he was grateful for it. David was angry about how they had been played, but he suspected Joe was equally as outraged. David knew he and Sara and Lauren were like family to Joe, and that Leo's subterfuge had compromised what Joe saw as his personal responsibility to protect them. Worse still, Joe considered Simba a professional ally and friend, and as such perhaps considered his part in this set-up as somewhat of a betrayal.

Leo's hands were up at the ready. ‘I know you're pissed, Joe, and rightly so, but the fact that we're here, sharing highly confidential details …? At the very least you owe us –’