The Shield of Darius (31 page)

THIRTY-FOUR

The buzz of his cell phone drew Falen’s attention away from the collage of beautiful faces and bodies that lay before him on the table beside his computer. He’d found that he looked at them much more often than the case warranted. They were Washington’s finest; women whose seductive faces and sensuous figures brought a groan from deep down inside every time he opened the file. They were professional girls whose prices were going up daily as the file on each of their clients became thicker and more bizarre. Falen knew that some of the old farts up on the Hill who were buying their favors would sell their souls before they’d let any of this stuff go public. Des Moines and Omaha weren’t quite ready for mixed doubles and other assorted kinkiness. Looking at these women, he could see why this extortion scheme was working.

Like the DWAT operation, the blackmail scheme had initially appeared to be a collection of disconnected occurrences. High level government officials had become involved with beautiful women, all apparently after chance meetings. In two cases, the partners had been attractive young men, but eventually the professional lovers broke off the relationships, complaining that because of the officials’ careers, families, and reputations, nothing could ever come of it. That’s where the possibilities of coincidence ended. Within two weeks of the breakup, each man received a hand-delivered brown envelope containing photographs and taped conversations of the official in most indelicate situations. A week later, the blackmail began. No money. Just requests that key votes or committee decisions fall a certain way. This wasn’t anything new to Washington, but Fisher – and whoever Fisher worked for – were concerned about the scale and organization of the extortion.

Though the lovers all seemed to disappear from the Washington area as soon as the relationships ended, Falen had managed to locate four of them. One in Miami. One in New York. Two in Los Angeles. Women with faces like these were easy to find. They refused to keep them hidden. All four had convinced Falen they didn’t know who they’d been working for. The contacts and arrangements were all made by phone by a woman who offered lots of money, and bonuses for particularly compromising encounters. The only condition was that the girls had to relocate after each was told to end the affair. It had been easy money, and difficult for Falen to trace. But Miami had given him a break. She was a stunning brunette who had a very restricted client list in Washington, had dropped one of her regulars after he began getting too rough, and had changed her unlisted number. Only six men had her new one, and Falen was systematically working his way through the six, knowing that one would lead him to a link with the blackmailer.

The Miami brunette always reminded him of Kate Sager and he walked to the kitchen to check the incoming call, hoping it was from Baltimore. His postcard from London must have reached her several days ago, but he wasn’t going to make the first call. It had to come from her, and he now had time to be patient.

The cell phone showed no incoming number – just a series of pound signs. It was  Fisher. Falen listened to the voicemail.

“We need to talk. Call me as soon as possible.”

It was not one of the standard messages and the uneasiness in Fisher’s aged voice irritated Falen. Or was it that it was Fisher’s voice and not Kate’s?

Falen walked to the crowded DuPont Circle and called from the front of the building that housed the fifty-plus higher education associations in Washington.

“What’s so pressing?”

“Some very interesting things have been going on the last few days. Very hush-hush. Even inside. But I’ve learned someone is trying to background you.”

“I thought I didn’t have a background.”

“You don’t. But whoever this is wants very much to find out why.”

Falen scowled. “You’re well connected. Run this down and find out where it’s coming from.”

“I’ve tried. My sources say this is coming from very high up. They asked if Christopher Falen was a name I was familiar with, and of course I said no. All they have is a name to trace. They’ve got no idea who you are. But they’ll find you. Have you stepped on someone I don’t know about?”

“You know about the Tehran raid, and the escape problem. I can’t see how that can be coming back on me. Everything was cleaned up according to plan.”

“Did you cross the Israelis with that deal? They don’t take kindly to being used.”

“I was straight with them. I know not to mess with Ishmael. Plus, he knows how to get in touch with me if he needs to.”

“I’m not sure when they’ll locate you,” Fisher said, “but I think you need to disappear for awhile.”

“I’ll relocate and give you a new contact number until this cools down,” Falen said. “Can you get me a new identity and documents? I’d like to stay on this hooker thing….”

“You’re not hearing me,” Fisher said with open irritation. “When these people are looking for you, you can’t just change addresses. I’ll get the documents by this afternoon, but you need to disappear quickly. Check in with me in a few weeks. Your numbered account should be secure so I’ll put enough in there to keep you awhile.”

“Don’t make it too long,” Falen said. “I’m starting to get somewhere with our blackmailers.”

He walked back to the apartment reviewing again the Finland operation. It had been clean, he was sure of that. As he’d ridden the bicycle back to Lahti he’d been passed by only two vehicles and had managed to pull safely into the woods before either saw him. Even if he’d been seen and Sager’s body found, he was too removed to be connected. The Volvo in the lake belonged to John Bateman and Sager was without identification. Any trace of the gas would be gone by the time they could autopsy him. If by chance someone had seen Falen at the Lahti inn or train station with a silver Volvo, a good man might be able to trace it to the rental agency and to Christopher Falen, but not beyond that. He’d turned the car back in just like any tourist would. And as far as the world’s official identification files were concerned, Falen didn’t exist. They couldn’t be onto him, unless….”

He thought of the tall, thin-faced Russian with the rimless glasses. Why would Ushakov care about this? Getting rid of Sager was as much to his benefit as Falen’s. No talk of hostages. No report of civilians being killed in an air raid. And he doubted the Russians would – or could – work the system from that high up. There was still too much distrust.

That left this call girl thing. He must have touched a hot button with one of the Miami whore’s six clients. Whoever was running the stable was a heavy hitter and may have gotten to somebody in the Company with an order to stop the investigation. If that was the case, they were out of luck. The hooker deal had much of the intriguing appeal of the DWAT case, and he was going to stay on it until he nailed someone’s ass to the wall – or they nailed his. He would disappear, but not far enough away that he couldn’t get to whoever was after him.

His cell phone vibrated in his pocket as he entered the apartment. It was a message left while he had been on the phone with Fisher.

“Chris, this is Kate. Call me when you have a minute.’

Falen smiled. At least one bit of good news. The week away had done some good, and oh, how he wanted that woman. He punched his phone to life, hesitated, then tapped it back off, retrieving a cheap disposable cell from a drawer in the bedroom to dial the Baltimore number.

“Hi. This is Chris. I just came in and got your message. It’s good to hear from you!”

“Sorry it took so long for me to get in touch. Did you try to call earlier in the week?”

“No. I thought I’d wait on you. You know how I feel – so it’s sort of been your move.”

“Well – this isn’t really a move. But I almost sold the company, then backed out. I’m having a hard time dealing with all the uncertainties, and just wanted to talk.”

“Any time. What would work for you?”

“Before I start, I have to tell you that I’m not ready yet for anything at all serious. Can we keep things at that level?”

“Sure. I understand completely.”

“Well, having said that, this might sound a little strange. We have a subsidiary in Leeds – England – that I need to check in with. I wondered if you might meet me there?”

“You’re right. That doesn’t sound like keeping things from getting serious. But sure. I’ll meet you anywhere you want. What do you have in mind?”

“Chris, please. This just needs to be a friends thing. Some people here have given me use of a little cottage just outside the village of Grassington in the Yorkshire Dales. Two bedrooms. I’ve never been there, but they say it’s a beautiful secluded place. Did you ever read the James Herriot books? That kind of place. I need to be away from all this for a few days, and would like someone I can seriously talk to. Right now, you’re about the only one who fills the bill.”

“Thanks for making me feel so special….”

“No….  I didn’t mean it like that.

“Say no more. Just tell me when we’re leaving.”

“I’ll be leaving in the morning, and should have my business wrapped up after the weekend. The children are staying with one of Ben’s uncles on his farm. They’ll be good for about a week. That will give us a couple of days at the cottage before I need to be back.”

“I can be in Leeds any time you want. How do I get in touch with you?”

“I’ll have a car and meet you. A flight comes into Leeds-Bradford from London every afternoon about two. I’ll meet you there at the airport on Monday.”

“Perfect.” Two bedrooms, hell. He wouldn’t need two days to get Kate Sager nestled against him beneath an eiderdown. “Don’t stand me up,” he said.

“I’ll be there,” she said.

.  .  .

Peter Koka had called her at home the previous afternoon and asked her to meet him that evening.

“I’m leaving for England late tomorrow,” she said. “Can I get with you when I get back?”

“Kate, I can’t tell you much about this, but it needs to be tonight. Come to my home.”

She dropped the children at her mother’s and drove the fifty miles to Frederick, Maryland, where Peter Koka lived alone on a small gentleman’s farm north of the city along the Monocacy River. He was sitting on the porch as she drove up and without inviting her into the house, took her arm and walked across the pasture toward the river.

“I know what happened to Ben,” he said simply.

Kate stopped and held a gasped breath, afraid that she hadn’t heard correctly.

“We’ve learned what happened to Ben,” he repeated.

“
We?
” she asked suspiciously.

Peter Koka tilted his chin thoughtfully and gave Kate a long, penetrating look. “I’m going to trust you more than I think is wise, Kate. Can you give me your assurance that this conversation will remain between us?”

“Of course,” Kate nodded anxiously.

“Under any circumstances? This might make you so angry you will want to tell everyone. That can’t happen, or you will put me – and a number of other people – in great danger.”

Kate considered his warning, knowing that she couldn’t walk away from this, but couldn’t compromise Peter. “I agree,” she said firmly. “Now what’s going on?”

“You remember our conversation in the garden after Ben first disappeared? About the RPA?”

Kate again nodded slowly, her thoughts racing ahead of the gesture.

“Well, let’s just say I have an affiliation. And for reasons that don’t need to be explained now, some people affiliated with the RPA have learned what happened to Ben.”

“How would they know this if he weren’t connected in some way,” Kate asked suspiciously. “….or have you known about this for some time?”

Peter Koka’s expression chilled. “I’m not at all enthusiastic about talking to you about this now,” he said. “And you might remember that it was your call that I overheard informing someone that they should look into a connection. The organization gets uncomfortable when people start checking on it.”

Kate knew that she should feel chastened, but didn’t. If her query had turned up information about Ben, even at the expense of the secret wing of the RPA, so be it.

“I’m sorry,” she lied. “What did your group turn up?”

Peter Koka studied her thoughtfully, then began again to walk toward the river. “Ben was taken from the castle at Sherborne by Iranian terrorists – knocked unconscious and somehow shipped to Tehran. He was held hostage there with a number of other American prisoners and….”

Kate turned and pulled him to a stop, shaking her head in confusion. “He was
what
...!?”

“Taken to Iran where he was held with a number of other people....”

“
Was
?” Kate felt the blood drain from her face and she closed her eyes to maintain her balance.

“…and our impression is,” he continued without acknowledging the question, “that they were being warehoused to use as a human shield if things really get tense between Iran and the U.S. or Israel over the nuclear situation. Something they called the Shield of Darius.”

Kate tightened her grip on his arm, the thoughts coming too fast for her to process. “Pete, is this some kind of a bad joke?”