Ring of Truth (Devlin Security Force Book 2) (25 page)

“Not the FBI,” Devlin said, swinging into his executive chair at the head of the table. “They probably couldn’t get a warrant to bug you.”

Cort smacked a fist into his palm. “That leaves Rolf Rousso and Colonel Yerik. A damn wonder they didn’t trip over each other.”

“Discovering these now is good news, given you need to get out of town without them knowing you’ve gone.”

Cort thought about it, then rose and wandered the room. Moving fueled his brain with a spark of an idea. “The black tracker has to be Rousso. The military one Yerik. I hope. We need a plan.”

Devlin placed his elbows on the table and steepled his fingers. “Things are coming together in your favor. The Gramornia royal guard arrested the prime minister an hour ago along with several of his deputies.”

“You’re involved in that somehow,” Mara said, her brow furrowed with speculation.

Before Devlin could reply, Cort held up a hand. “I’m the one who kept her out of it. Let me take the heat.”

He turned to her. “Once Yerik added to the threat, I asked Mr. Devlin to help. He acted as go-between to eliminate the threat from the colonel. I kept it quiet because I didn’t know if what he planned would work. Yerik hurt you and I want to see him taken down.” More than taken down. He’d have risked arrest to pound the asswipe into the dirt.

“I’ll make a note in my smart phone you kept this from me. Payback comes later.”

“Duly noted.” If Devlin hadn’t been there, he’d have kissed her within an inch of her life. And she could pay him back any way she wanted. “I look forward to it.”

Color suffused her cheeks.

“I’ve been scared to death since he burned me. I felt like I had knives in my chest. Even yoga didn’t calm me.” She closed her eyes, breathing deeply. “How did all this work? Go-between with whom?”

“A contact at the Gramornia embassy,” Devlin said. “My contact kept it under wraps while proof was found that Prime Minister Turkof was plotting against the royal family. They also have proof of Yerik’s involvement, but they don’t know where he is. They don’t know he’s in the country. He probably used false papers.”

“We don’t know his location either, although he’s been monitoring us. Until now.” Cort nodded toward the transponders.

A diabolical smile curved Devlin’s lips. “I think my Gramornia contact can arrange something that will make everyone happy. Everyone but Colonel Yerik.”

“Get in the back, you idiot. Let me drive.” With jerky movements, Yerik maneuvered behind the Town Car’s wheel. Why couldn’t he have a comfortable automobile like this in Gramornia? Once Turkof took over, perhaps he would.

His men had phoned him, panicked over their target’s erratic behavior. They did something to the computer, he was certain. But when he checked the program, all appeared in order. Now he would see for himself what was going on.

After Gregor settled into the backseat, Yerik steered into traffic. “You say Marton left work at seven o’clock and has been driving around the city for an hour?”

“Yes, sir. Aimlessly as far as we can tell.” Egor, beside him, nodded over the laptop screen. The man’s nervous sweat made Yerik wrinkle his nose. “She’s not very far away. If you’ll take the next left. Sir.”

After the earlier downpour, the sky cleared of all but a few wispy white clouds. Within five minutes, Yerik pulled to within four vehicles behind Marton. Raindrops on the pavement and on vehicles reflected the ambient light and made it hard to see. He couldn’t spot the red Nissan but it had to be there, blocked from his view by larger, taller American vehicles.

“She seems headed home now,” Egor said.

The transponder guided him past Dupont Circle, where Marton should’ve turned. Her flat was only blocks from the crowded hub. Where the hell was she going?

He turned to Egor, but his man merely looked as puzzled as he felt.

When she led him west on Massachusetts Avenue toward Embassy Row, Yerik started to sweat. No matter what she was up to, he wasn’t going to take the chance of driving too close to his country’s embassy.

“She has stopped up ahead,” Egor reported.

“In front of the Westin?”

“Yes sir. Perhaps she has been waiting to meet someone.”

“Killing time. A possibility.” He should berate Gregor for offering an opinion without being asked, but given the circumstances, he would let it go. He steered to the curb and killed the engine. A yellow sign indicated a no-parking zone, but what did he care? “We shall wait to see what she does.”

“I do not see the Nissan,” Gregor said. “No red car ahead. Only a black limousine.”

A limousine.
The skin on Yerik’s nape prickled. Perspiration broke out on his hairline. He reached for the ignition. “Can you see any sort of insignia?”

Tires squealed and brakes screeched. Vehicles converged from ahead and behind, blocking any exit. People in flak vests leaped out, guns drawn. They surrounded his car.

“Colonel!” Gregor squeaked from the back.

Egor slammed shut the laptop lid. A look of panic froze his broad face.

Yerik reached inside his jacket for his Glock. He flicked off the safety and fired. A bullet smashed through the computer on Egor’s lap. He screamed, a shrill and unearthly cry above the echoing blast. The next shot shattered the man’s skull. Blood and gore sprayed the passenger window. The lifeless body slumped to the side.

Before Yerik could turn to silence Gregor, the driver’s door flew open and a pistol jabbed his temple. A gloved hand snatched the Glock from his hand. Two brawny arms yanked him from the seat like a rag doll. A man and a woman slammed him against the hood. A thud on the rear bumper meant Gregor received similar treatment.

“Embassy of the Principality of Gramornia Security,” the woman said. Hearing her speak in his native tongue fizzled the last molecules of bravado. “You’re under arrest for crimes against the crown. And for stalking one of our diplomats.”

What? Who?
He tried to twist around but was pushed back against the car as the male guard bound his wrists behind him with a zip tie.

When the guards dragged him upright, he saw the limo’s doors open. The uniformed driver helped out a blonde woman in a pink suit. The daughter of the ambassador.

Before his brain could tackle the conundrum of how an embassy limo came to have his transponder attached to it, Mara Marton joined the blonde outside the limo. The driver doffed his cap. Cortez Jones.

Yerik had been taken for a ride, to use the American expression literally. His gut felt knotted with razor wire, and a cold sweat covered his torso, but he straightened his shoulders. He was a soldier after all, albeit on the losing side.

If his hands weren’t bound he’d have saluted his adversaries. Instead he dipped his head in a sharp nod.

***

When Cort saw Yerik nod in their direction, he planted his feet to stop from going over there and beating the asshole to a pulp. Mara started walking toward the man, but he caught her elbow.

“What are you doing?” he asked over the noise of cop voices in two languages and the rumble of high-power engines. The smells of exhaust and pavement still hot from the day’s sun mingled with another, grisly smell.

“I have to face him down. Rid myself of this fear.”

Recognition slapped him between the eyes. He’d faced his father, saw the man he’d hated and feared no longer powerful, but withered and weak. The meeting didn’t eradicate his hate but instantly dissipated the fear.

Mara had begun their journey nearly paralyzed by fear of the violence threatening the two of them. He saw her grow into decisive purpose and courage. “I’m going with you.”

“I shall remain here,” the Gramornian ambassador’s daughter said, no less regal for her petite stature. “It has been my honor to assist in capturing this traitor to my country. And my pleasure to meet the people responsible for uncovering the plot. Thank you.”

“My pleasure entirely,” Cort said as the three exchanged handshakes.

“Thank you so much for allowing us to ride with you,” Mara added.

“My father did not want me to participate, but I’d not have missed this for the world.” The other woman returned to the limo. As if by magic, her real driver appeared to open the rear door.

Gramornia guards stood on either side of Colonel Yerik, ready to pounce even though his hands were bound behind him. U.S. Secret Service and D.C. police milled around, as if unsure of jurisdiction.

“It appears you have won,” the disgraced colonel said as Mara and Cort walked around puddles and approached him. He held his head high.

Cort held her elbow. No way was he letting her get closer than three feet. No matter how under control the guards had the colonel.

“You have a lot to answer for.” Indignation fired her words. Her shoulders trembled and she fisted her hands. “Treason, assault on Cort and me, and now murder. Your prime minister has been arrested. You’re done.”

“Treason?” His voice was aloof but strained. “Perhaps. All in the perception. I prefer to think of my efforts as loyal opposition.”

Her shaky laugh held no mirth. “Whatever. I hope you rot in prison.”

“A short sentence, Ms. Marton.” The skin tightened across his face, sharpening his features and thinning his mouth. “In Gramornia I face a short trial and a firing squad.”

She stared a long minute. “I’d sentence you to fifty years, enough time for you to consider the distinction between opposition and treason.”

Cort waited until Yerik’s bleak gaze swerved to him. “She’s way too nice. Personally, I’d like to be there to see those bullets rip you to bloody fucking shreds.”

Blown away with admiration at Mara’s bravery and boldness, he released her. They walked away together to Devlin’s waiting car.

The car Devlin had sent for them drove them back to Crystal City, where they retrieved Mara’s Versa, complete with the remaining transponder. If their plan worked, Rousso would think she’d worked late and was just heading home after nine o’clock.

As soon as they entered the apartment, Cort took her bag and deposited it on a chair. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her with all the pent-up emotion and heat building since learning their vehicles were plugged in to the bad guys. She looped her arms around his neck and opened to him with matching ardor. Their tongues caressed and danced. He ached to take her to bed and make love to her all night. On a sigh of reluctance, he ended the kiss, too damned aware of what else he had to accomplish before they could blow this town. He buried his nose in her fragrant hair and inhaled the woman.

“You were amazing back there.” He had to tell her just how amazing. “When we started this high-wire act, you had no idea of the dangers involved. Truthfully, neither did I, but prison taught me to watch my back.”

“No kidding. I fell apart like a broken marionette and panicked all over you.” She caressed his cheek, probably too rough with stubble against her soft palm. The same passion burning in him glowed in her eyes along with the awareness their time was short.

“Understandable. But in San Francisco and tonight, you were Wonder Woman. Fighting back, standing up to the slime. I’ve never seen more courage.”

“He was in handcuffs,” she reminded him with a smile.

“I wouldn’t put anything past someone like Yerik.”

“You were pretty good too, letting two females backseat drive all over the District.”

“I suffered, but I’ll live.” After another kiss, he released her.

She gestured toward the kitchen with a sigh of apparent regret. “The pizza we had in Mr. Devlin’s office was okay but I’d planned a celebration dinner before we left.”

He rooted around for the beer he’d hoped for after his run, but opted for a tea. They had a long night ahead. The sadness in her eyes tugged at his chest. “A bittersweet celebration. I’m sorry as hell learning Leon’s hiding place comes at such a price.”

Something was off about Leon sending Marton a ring piece. He’d get it sooner or later.

“I know.” She ambled to the kitchen and poured a glass of water.

“And we have a couple more tricks before our high-wire routine is over.”

She snapped her fingers, as she remembered something. “I didn’t get to tell you earlier what I came up with about André Rozmer. More digging yielded some interesting information. He
is
negotiating wine distribution contracts while he’s in the Baltimore area.”

“I hear a
but
in there.”

She smiled ruefully. “I found a plane flight. He took a private jet from La Guardia to San Fran the same day we did. No info on where he went out there.”

“Maybe he was the man who followed the fake delivery guy. But why? How does he figure in all this?” He had an idea but they had no time. Save it for later. “We can leave as soon as it’s safe. I want to get the crown jewels and turn them over to the FBI before Rousso knows we’ve left D.C.”

One day to go before the new prince’s crowning.

Mara measured out water for the coffee maker. When she retrieved the coffee beans from the freezer, she hummed with surprise. A metallic clink on the countertop told him what she had.

Smiling, he leaned his butt against the breakfast bar as he opened his tea. On the counter were the linked ring pieces he’d stashed in the freezer when he went out to run. “Speaking of hiding places, I see you found mine.”

“Not what I expected to see in my freezer.” She shot him a sly look, mischief in her eyes. The rich aroma of freshly ground coffee filled the kitchen as the beans ground. “Another attempt to find meaning in the raised symbols?”

He hooted a laugh. When he realized she was trying to cheer him up, warmth curled in his chest. She’d been dealt a body blow about her father but she was thinking of him. “Thought I’d see if freezing gold morphed the runes into the answer to the Sphinx’s riddle.”

“Maybe the Sphinx’s but I’m guessing not Leon’s.”

“No answers, ancient or new. I left the rings chilling while I ran. Seemed safer than carrying them in my pocket on the streets. Figured the freezer was another layer of protection along with the security system.”

“Linked like that, they look like copper pipes,” Mara said. “You know, for plumbing.”

Cort stared at her, then at the rings. His brain flashed back to a workbench littered with Dante Falco’s bump key, a keybit, and other tools. Including short copper pipes.

The hairs rose on the back of his neck as his gaze and his mind raced. He set down his tea so hard that liquid splashed out the top. “Son of a bitch.”

“What?” She ambled over and picked up the joined rings.

“In Falco’s basement, the burglar dumped drawers of tools and junk onto the surface of his workbench. When the rock and then the Molotov cocktail went through the window, I forgot everything else. For days I’ve tried to figure out what was bothering me about the incongruity of what I saw on the bench.”

“And?” she prompted.

“Along with his burglary tools, copper pipe. All shiny bright and unused. He had many talents, but fishing toy boats from the nameless muck in toilet drains to give him entry into people’s houses? Not the fastidious Dante Falco I knew. Not likely. And I saw no plumbing tools. So why have short lengths of copper pipe?” He picked up the linked rings. “After that drawer, no more were dumped out. The rest of the basement was untouched.”

Her luscious mouth formed an
O
as she saw what he was getting at. “What better place to hide his ring piece than mixed in with similar rings?”