Firebird (19 page)

“Eve and
Fraser
? 
Together
?”

“Yes.  Someone tried to blackmail her.  Someone set her up!  
He’s
got to be the person who killed her, Garcia.  And every instinct I have is telling me that this man called Ivan holds the key to Eve’s death.”  Her gaze met his, angry and demanding.  “Is Ivan the Russian you are investigating?”

His eyes narrowed.  “I have no idea who your Ivan is.  As far as I’m concerned, without a photograph he’s a ghost.  But -”

“But you believe me,” she whispered.

“A beautiful woman with secrets.  Sex, damning photographs, blackmail…  This has Bogart and Bacall written all over it.”

She pulled the blanket from her shoulders and tossed it on the deck.  “I’m out of here.”

“Do you know what a mole is, Red?”

A  small wave hit the boat.  Grasping the railing for balance, she made an effort to keep her voice steady.  “Espionage.  You’re talking about spies.  Seriously?”

He nodded.  “The word was coined during World War II.  A ‘mole,’ in British Intelligence, was someone close to the top who sabotaged missions and blew operations.” 

She gestured for him to continue, anxious to know more. 

“In Cold War parlance, a mole became a spy working for an enemy country who buried himself deep within a community - often in a highly sensitive political job - waiting to be activated at same future date.  The deeper he was buried, the safer his cover.  Hence the word ‘mole’ - or ‘sleeper’, if you will.”

“Aldrich Ames,” she said softly.  “Robert Hanssen.”

“Exactly.  Ames betrayed over 20 Western agents, most of whom were shot.  Hanssen tipped the Soviets to a secret FBI tunnel beneath their D.C. embassy, and God knows what else.  But moles are extremely difficult to unearth - pun intended.”  He gave a wry smile.  “Most people don’t know that even in the post-Cold-War world, we continue to be the target of very aggressive Russian espionage.  Russia has three times as many spies working in the U.S. now as they did during the Cold War.”

“I’m guessing they’re after high-tech information now.”

“Mostly.  And much of the intrigue now takes place right here in Washington.  Since the Cold War ended, Soviet agents - often disguised as businessmen - have been actively trying to steal national security secrets.  They’ve bugged IBM, MIT, the National Security Agency, the Senate Foreign Relations Committee…”

“And now, even the State Department,” she added, her thoughts on her brother-in-law.

There was a note of dark irony in Garcia’s voice.  “Some of them hold relatively unimportant jobs.  One agent was the chauffeur for the Joint Chief of the Navy.  A Soviet spy was the piano tuner for Nelson Rockefeller.”

“But we all play the game,” she said softly.

Garcia’s smile was grim.  “Si.  A primary task of
any
clandestine intelligence service is to establish moles within the enemy’s inner sanctum, agents in a position to warn of changes in plans or intentions.  Most of the mole rumors, of course, have swirled around the CIA and the KGB.”

“But the KGB no longer exists.”

“Post-Glasnost, the old KGB simply re-opened for ‘business abroad’ as the Foreign Intelligence Service, the SVR.”  His eyes glinted at her.  “Nothing more than an old dog with a few new tricks.  And now there’s the FSB, Federal Security Service, as well.  Still very active, and highly professional.”

“The Cold War is long over, Garcia.”

He shrugged.  “The ruins of the Berlin Wall have been auctioned off, sure.  But the sad fact is, Red, the human impulses that made the Cold War possible are still kicking.  Nuclear, economic and technological espionage cases are epidemic.  And those rumors of moles within our government are still very much alive.  Charles Fraser was an expert on Russia and nuclear affairs.  He was also the President’s spy hunter.”

And there was the connection
.  “I had no idea.”  Shock shimmered in her voice.

“Few did.  The President called him ‘Jesus’ behind closed doors - after James Jesus Angleton, the CIA’s most famous mole-hunter.”

“Anthony told me about Angleton.”

“Your brother-in-law probably knows a lot more than I do.  For years, in the sixties, Angleton searched for a mole code named Sasha.”

“Anthony said no mole was ever unearthed.”

Garcia shrugged.  “The CIA has continued to lose its own critical agents under mysterious circumstances for years.  We’re still losing agents today.”         

“So you believe those rumors?”  She could hear the doubt shimmering in her voice.

“Charles Fraser did.  Just think of the damage someone close to the President could do.  Presidents
listen
to their good friends, their advisors.  And what if that trusted advisor is a mole?  He could influence opinion, delay documents, conveniently misunderstand urgent information.  He would have access to
our
spies,
our
secrets.   And we become nothing more than marionettes dancing on a damned chain.”

Garcia looked away, suddenly grave.  “Charles Fraser was convinced that there’s been a mole ‘in place’ in a very high position in Washington for years, Alexandra
.”

“You think that man, the mole, planted the listening device found at State.”

“I’m certain of it.  My team’s been investigating a major spy network here on the East Coast for months.”

She gazed at him.  “What drives a person to become a spy?” 

“MICE.”  He managed a fleeting smile.  “Motivation, Ideology, Coercion.  And Ego.”  He looked away.  “That’s what Charlie Fraser was looking for.”

Something was off, in his voice and eyes.  “Oh, God” she said, suddenly understanding.  “Fraser died without identifying the mole.”

“He knew, Alexandra.  He was supposed to meet with the President’s top advisors, the FBI and folks from the Senate Intelligence Committee to brief them, but…  he died just a few hours before the meeting.”

“The car accident,” she murmured, suddenly understanding the note she’d found hidden in her sister’s bedroom.  “Charles Fraser was
murdered
?  You’re investigating his death.” 

I know what happened to Charles Fraser
.  The words in the note she’d found in her sister’s nesting doll, summoning Eve to the river.  Should she tell him?  Not yet.  Not until she knew if she could trust him. 

Garcia gave her a strange look.  “Standard ops when a senior Presidential advisor dies so mysteriously.  Especially one with so many foreign connections.  I can tell you that his death has increased the intensity of the mole hunt.”

“And this is where your mysterious Russian comes in?”

He scowled down at her.  “I can’t tell you any more.  That’s a fact.”

“But Eve’s secret, and her death, could be connected to Fraser’s death.   That connects
us
.  We need each other, Garcia!”

“What you need is to go home to your kid and forget about all this.  Where the devil is that damned taxi?  I’ve had dates end faster than this!”

She felt the anger burn through her.  “The hell I will!  With you or without you, Garcia, I’m going to find out the truth about my sister’s death.  I let her down while she was alive.  But I’ve been given a second chance.  I’m not going to blow it.  Not this time.  And
that’s
a fact for
you
!”

“So you’ll do it alone?” he murmured.  “Against all odds, an art curator figures out who murdered her sister.  And then what?  What will you do?  Have you considered that if Eve died because of something she knew – then someone will do everything he can to stop
you
?  You’re putting yourself in harm’s way, Chica.  And you could be in for an enormous world of trouble.” 

The sudden warning in his voice surprised her.  “I have to do this,” she whispered.  “Not just for Eve.  For me.”

His eyes glittered at her.  “But it scares you, doesn’t it?  If you go forward with this, you could be falling right back down into that black rabbit hole.”

Oh, yes.  I’m scared.
  “That’s
my
business, Garcia.”

Exasperation flashed in his dark eyes.  “And my business is to find the answers.  That’s
my
job, Alexandra.  Not yours.”

“Oh, damn, I should never have –”  She stopped.  “Shut the front door!   You’re going to help me?”

A ghost of a smile touched his lips.  “I wouldn’t have told you everything I just did if I wasn’t going to help you.  But it’s not that simple.  You’ve got to stay out of it, Red.  You’re far too reckless for your own good.”

“Reckless!”  She thought of her quiet, controlled life in New York.  “The most reckless thing I’ve done in months is buy Hagen Daz instead of no-fat yogurt!”

He stared at her.  “You are in
way
over your head, Alexandra!”  The dark eyes softened.  “It’s time you tell me, Red.”

 She lifted her face to the sea wind.  “Tell you what?”

“Whatever it is you’re hiding from me.  That phone call you mentioned?”

I hardly know this man, she thought.  But there was something about him...  She made a decision.  “If Eve was murdered, Juliet could be in danger as well.  My own child could be in danger, because the man who attacked me in Maine called me.  Menacing, horrible.  He called me ‘Shura,’ a childhood name given to me by my Russian grandmother.  He knew about that, knew about Juliet.  And the bastard mentioned Ruby.”

“Hijo de la puta!”  His face was hard as granite as he reached for his cell.  “He threatened you?  No way I’ll let –”

She held out her hand to stop him.  “I’ve taken care of it, Garcia.  My daughter is with her nanny and a New York City cop.  I sent them out of Manhattan.  They’re in a safe place.”

“You’re sure?”

She closed her eyes, willing back the fear.  “Olivia calls me every few hours.   I’m sure.”

He leaned closer.  “You should be with your daughter,” he said slowly, fury still scraping in his low voice.

She held her ground.  “I’m done running,” she said quietly.  “Understand this, Garcia.  My daughter is my world.  But she won’t
be
safe if I do nothing.”

“Brave thoughts.  And your niece?”

She turned away from him, her hands tightening on the ship railing.  “A mother becomes fierce when her child is in danger.  There’s
nothing I won’t do
to keep my niece and my own child safe.”

“Easy, Mama Bear.”  He swore under his breath.

“I’m not going to break another promise to Eve’s daughter.  And I won’t let anyone hurt Ruby ever again.”

“I should walk away from this,” he murmured.

“No,” she said simply.  “It’s the right thing.  You won’t walk.”  She turned her face toward the sea.  “We’ve got to find the man who attacked me – he’s got to be the monster who murdered my sister.”

“I’ll find him, count on it.  But my gut says he’s just the icing, Chica.  And I want the whole damned cake.”

“We both do.”   

“Then I have conditions,” he said slowly.  “No negotiating.  No compromises, no regrets.”  His eyes locked with hers.  “We
are not
partners. You’ll tell me all you know, and you’ll stay out of my way.”  The edge in his voice, very clearly, said ‘or go find yourself someone else.’

She stared at him.   Arrogant as hell.  “Two way street,” she murmured.

“
My
way street.”  His smile was unrepentant.  “I’m the best at what I do, Chica.  That’s a fact.  We’re going to do this by the books.  Esta bien.  We’ll need to keep your girls out of this.”

Your girls
…  I was right about you, she thought.  “Juliet’s school is well-guarded.  I’ve arranged with the Mother Superior for extra security.  Jules has someone with her all the time.  I’ll need you to arrange additional protection for her –  and for Ruby, too.”

“Done.  I’ve got friends, ex Secret Service.  Then what?”

“I need to fill in the blanks of my sister’s life, especially since the last night she saw Charles Fraser.  This is what
I’m
good at, Garcia.  Knowledge, reason, facts - not emotions.  Follow a trail step by step, look for the logical connections.  Last month I followed the provenance of a questionable Matisse all the way to a filthy basement beneath a fado club in Portugal.”

“Scholar by day, Indiana Jones by night,” he murmured.  “And the trail for your sister begins…?”

“Right here in Washington, with the three names Eve gave me.  You, Ivan, and Charles ‘Jesus’ Fraser.”

“Me, a faceless Russian, and a dead man.  Can my night get any better?”

“I didn’t say it would be easy.”

He smiled wryly.  “Nothing about you seems easy, Red.  And I’m still not convinced that three names on your sister’s recording are so all-damned-important that someone would attack you on the cliffs.” 

Her eyes held his.  “Eve went all the way to Maine to hide that information, Garcia.  It
had
to be important.”

He looked out at the black water.  “Okay,” he said at last.  “You want Ivan.  We need a strategy.”

“Already have one.”  She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out a folded envelope and a newspaper clipping.  “The envelope holds a transcript of Eve’s recording.  And I’ve found this Washington Post article on Fraser’s funeral.  There’s a photo of an ‘unidentified family member’ - you see? - the woman in the dark coat.  Her face is partly hidden by her hood, but I think I saw her at Eve’s funeral as well.”

She handed him the clipping.  “If we can’t talk to Fraser then we talk to someone close to him.  It seems he had a younger half sister.  Help me find the woman in this photograph.  I’ll take it from there.”

He gazed at the hooded woman.  “You’ve done your research.”

“You can get lost in research,” she said quietly.  “It keeps you from thinking about…  other problems.”

“Esta bien.  Can you get me those photographs of Eve in St. Petersburg?”

She thought of Anthony’s face, gaunt with anguish.  “I’ll find a way.”

Headlamps speared the night air and rolled toward them down the pier.

“Finally!” he muttered, turning to her.  “Get some rest, Red.  Tomorrow, we begin to find out what happened to your sister.”