Zero Separation (19 page)

“How do you know him?” Montero gestured toward Donovan.

“I've been brought up to date on events at a certain gentleman's club this evening. After which I made it a point to learn about your new partner. Mr. Nash is, of course, not law enforcement—but a man with a vendetta. I can appreciate that.”

Montero gestured for Keller to have a seat. She went into the kitchen and poured three glasses of whiskey, neat. Donovan took one and she handed the other to Keller. Montero kept her gun close and set her glass down untouched.

“Why do you care what happened tonight?” Donovan asked.

“The same reason you do. Sasha.”

“Why?” Montero said without hesitation.

“It's late,” Keller said, taking a sip of his Scotch. “Let's not play these games. We'd be naive to ignore the problem we all face. After events tonight in Fairfax, Virginia, as well as here in Florida, all the evidence points toward an Islamic fundamentalist group with a stolen Gulfstream jet. It's very simple. I need to know who has it and what they have planned.”

“Every federal agency in the country is tasked with that mission,” Montero said. “I'll warn you, I'm not real comfortable talking to member of a foreign intelligence service about an ongoing investigation.”

“You're not officially involved in this or any investigation. We're just having a friendly drink. After everything that went down tonight, it's no big secret you've been working this case on your own, and at this point I'm not sure what you do or don't know, but I believe you're correct in linking the events of the last twenty-four hours to what happened to you and Alec in the Florida Keys.”

“What do you know about Alec?” Montero jerked as if Keller had struck a raw nerve.

“I know you were set up.”

“It doesn't take a genius to figure that out.”

“I believe the deception goes far deeper than anyone realized. The men Alec had under surveillance may not have been Venezuelan,” Keller said. “That was what your informant wanted you to believe.”

“What do you know about my informant?”

“Same as you.” Keller shrugged. “Absolutely nothing.”

“So who do you think they were?”

“We both know they were well funded, had impeccable documents, and their trail vanished completely. It's my guess they were professionals of unknown origin, perhaps even mercenaries. In fact, until tonight I was fully convinced that you were on the right trail with this being drug-related activity. But after the bomber in Fairfax, I'm not certain of anything. We uncovered some new information about Diego and Ramone. They aren't from Venezuela. They're from Trinidad, a small island nation off the coast of South America with a significant Muslim population. Diego, Ramone, and Sasha were the last direct links to the people who stole this jet, and now they're all dead. What did Sasha tell you before she was killed? Ms. Montero, I'd like to know everything you've learned since the Gulfstream was stolen last night.”

“Sasha spooked and ran. We didn't learn a thing.”

“That's unfortunate. Did either one of you catch even a glimpse of the man driving the Lexus?”

Both Donovan and Montero shook their heads.

“I understand.” Keller calmly pulled out his phone, pressed several buttons, and then handed it to Montero. “Have you seen this man?”

Montero ran her hands back through her hair, pulling it behind her ears, looked, and shook her head. “I don't recognize him.” She passed the phone to Donovan.

There was a color image of a man; the angle was down and to the side, revealing no remarkable features except that the man's hair and beard were almost pure white.

Donovan was careful not to betray his recognition. The photo was the guy he'd seen earlier tonight at the club, the one sitting at the upstairs bar. Donovan shook his head.

“Are you positive?” Keller sat up straight, his fatigue seemed to multiply. He set down his drink and rose to his feet. “I thank you both for your time.”

“Since we're working together, you won't mind sharing this picture.” Montero slid Keller's phone from Donovan's hand, pushed several buttons, and forwarded the image to her own phone. When she finished, she handed it back to Keller, who looked less than amused.

Keller tossed a simple white business card on the table. “My being here tonight is off the record, so I trust you'll not share this visit with anyone else. It was intended as nothing more than a professional warning for both of you to be very careful. You can reach me at that number if you remember anything else. May I please have my gun?”

Donovan handed over the man's pistol. “I have one more question. Why would Mossad be so concerned about a stolen Gulfstream? We're a long way from Israel.”

“It's a small world and it's not always the direct threat that concerns us as much as the far-reaching implications. Good night, Agent Montero, Mr. Nash, and good hunting.”

Donovan closed the door and waited as Keller's footsteps receded into the night.

Montero put her finger to her lips to silence Donovan and then went to where Keller had been sitting. An exhaustive search turned up nothing. Montero finally grabbed her untouched drink and downed most of it and then settled into the sofa. “I don't see a bug, but I'm convinced that he's completely full of shit. He was here fishing. I'm not sure anything he told us tonight was true.”

“I saw that guy tonight in the bar,” Donovan said.

“Who? Keller?”

“No, the guy in the photo.”

Montero's eyes grew wide. “And you didn't say anything?”

“The only reason Keller was here was to find out if we'd seen that guy. Everything else was camouflage. We're not even sure exactly who Keller is—he flashed some credentials, but who knows? I wasn't about to give him what he came for without knowing what was going on.”

“Good call. Where was this guy? I don't remember him. What was he doing?”

“He was standing at the bar. He had his back to us most of the time. I didn't think much about him until Sasha got agitated. It momentarily crossed my mind that maybe she'd reacted to seeing him. He may have been the one who scared her, not us.”

“Think about the timeline. Did you see him leave? Is it possible he could have beaten you to the parking lot?”

“I didn't see him leave, but he could have slipped out while we were tied up with the bouncers. If that's the case he could've easily made it to the parking lot before I did. We need to ID this guy. He could have been the one driving the Lexus.”

“I don't know how we can.” Montero shook her head in frustration. “I can't explain where the image came from. If I tell Burgess we took it in the bar, he'll want to know why we didn't say something earlier. The FBI would go ballistic if someone caught wind of the fact that I'd talked to a Mossad agent.”

“Okay, forward the photo to my phone.” Donovan said. “I'll find out who he is.”

“How?”

“Let's just call it Washington connections.”

“Give me your number,” Montero said as she picked up her phone, going into the kitchen to pour herself another measure of whiskey. Moments later she told him it was sent.

Donovan checked the image, and then finished his Scotch. He relished the warmth of the liquor as it began to soften the razor-sharp edge he'd been riding all night.

“I have to get some sleep.” Montero yawned. “You should too.”

“I will. What time in the morning?”

“Let's sleep in and then figure out what's next.” Montero collected her drink and she padded back to her bedroom and closed the door.

Donovan refilled his glass before heading to the guest room. He guessed Lauren was home with Abigail by now and that both were safe. He hated what this was doing to his family. He thought of what Lauren had told him earlier about the police being at his house. More than anything he wished he could hold his daughter and tell her that everything was going to be fine. Courtesy of Calvin and the DIA, there was a secure landline at his house, and he hoped that Lauren would be free to talk. He let himself into the guest bedroom, quietly closed the door, sat on the bed, and downed the remainder of his whiskey. He was stalling and he knew it. He couldn't imagine what Lauren had been through tonight, and he had no real idea what to expect or what was causing his sudden uneasiness.

Lauren heard the soft chime of her phone announcing a text message from Donovan. She opened it, but there was no text, only the image of a man. A quick look confirmed she had no idea who he was, only that he had startling white hair for such youngish facial features.
What in the hell was she supposed to do with this?
she wondered and set the phone aside.

She was too wired to sleep. Buck and Andy were somewhere close, and they'd told her to go about her normal activities. The only deviation from normal: insistence that she close all the drapes and avoid standing near a window. That, and the armed men lurking inside her home. How could that not feel like an intrusion? From the study, she heard her work line begin to ring, and as she headed that way she knew it had to be Donovan calling.

“Hello,” Lauren said.

“It's me,” Donovan said softly. “I didn't wake you, did I?”

“No, I just walked in. Where are you?”

“At Montero's. Can you talk? How's Abigail?”

“She was asleep when I got home. The babysitter said she's fine. I can talk for a little bit, but it's still chaotic here.”

“You doing okay?”

“I've been better. I spent most of the evening being interrogated by the FBI, the house is now under armed guard, and I have a massive headache that won't go away. Other than that, I'm fine. Hang on, let me close the door.” Lauren quietly shut the door and went back to the desk. She saw the book where Donovan had hid the movie and felt her displeasure flare again. “Okay, I'm here.”

“Who's there with you?”

“Buck and one of his friends, a guy named Andy. The Fairfax County Police are parked outside the house as well as making regular patrols through the neighborhood. Calvin has the Defense Intelligence Agency on round-the-clock support. Whatever that means. The FBI has taken over the protection detail for Michael and Susan.”

“It'll all be over soon. How's Michael doing?”

“He's Michael. He asked me where you were. Even pumped full of drugs, he knows something's wrong.”

“It'll be okay.”

“You know what? I've had a really crummy night and the last thing I need to hear right now is a bunch of empty platitudes. Earlier, at the hospital, a minute or two either way and everything might not have been okay.” Lauren felt her anger rise and she practically dared Donovan to lock horns with her.

“You're right. I'm sorry.”

“Why did you text me this picture?” Lauren ignored his frail apology. “Who is this guy?”

“It's a long story, we think this guy might be involved, but we don't know who he is. An Israeli diplomat named Aaron Keller gave us the photo. Can you run both men and see what turns up?”

“Why can't you get the FBI to do it for you? It would probably be a whole lot faster.”

“I'm afraid they'd leave us out of the loop.”

“All right, I'll see what I can do.”

“As far as the situation here, we're in better shape now than we were a few hours ago. The investigation is in full gear. It's gotten everyone's attention, and I think the FBI will turn up something soon.”

“Not according to Buck.”

“Why? What does Buck think?”

“I overheard him talking to someone with the FBI. He thinks that somehow we've become a target, that some jihadist group has leveled a fatwa against us and that it's far from over. What
happens if I have to jump on a plane to Europe? We won't have any protection at all from the people who are trying to kill us.”

“If we have to go, we'll take the security with us. It was how we were going to have to start living anyway.”

“God, I really hate this. I can't go to the grocery store, let alone sneak off to Europe.”

“If you think it sucks living in an armed camp for a few days, imagine being Mrs. Robert Huntington. It'll be armed guards twenty-four-seven.”

“I don't want to be Mrs. Robert Huntington, but most of all I don't want to be a widow.”

“Nothing's going to happen as long as Montero's with me—she's not a threat as long as I'm here. She's been sidelined by her superiors, and if I can keep her in check until the case is solved, then my part of the bargain will have been met.”

“I don't know why you're applying simple business principles to a volatile, emotionally impaired woman. You don't have a single assurance that she's going to do what she tells you. How can you trust that she won't string this out indefinitely? Why should she ever let you go? She has her own personal billionaire on a string. I'm not seeing an endgame here that turns out well at all—for anyone.”

“I'm not on a string, and despite what we know about her from the file, I think her behavioral issues are manageable. I feel I can trust her.”

“Oh, perfect. I'm so glad you can trust the woman who's blackmailing you. I'm sure Montero's been grilling you about your past. Why wouldn't she, you're an icon. Does she know about the documentary? It must be great to hang out with someone you can trust.” Lauren hated that she'd said the words, but somewhere down deep she knew she needed to confront him about what she knew and how much it had hurt her.

“I was going to tell you about the film. I just wasn't sure how to explain certain things.”

“I'm your wife, I don't expect you to have every negative emotion quantified and catalogued before you bring it up to me. In fact, I'd prefer you bring me the unvarnished truth, and we'll work on the problem together.”