Unfortunately, Dima could only point him in the direction the Volvo had taken, but after that, there were no more cameras to track the car’s movements. If it weren’t for the stupid storm, they could have used satellite links to follow the car all the way to its destination. Now Griffin would have to hunt and peck.

  At least Trevor Hollow was considerably less populated than Arlington or DC.

  “YOU THINK YOU guys can walk from here?” Daeng asked.

  He’d pulled the Volvo to the side of the road, about a quarter mile west of the collection of buildings that officially represented the town of Trevor Hollow.

  “Should be okay,” Howard said.

  “I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” Misty said. “You’re hurt, Steve. You can’t—”

  “Not the first time I’ve had to work injured.” Howard opened his door, and used the frame to leverage himself out of the backseat into the rain.

  Misty hurried out her door, popped open the umbrella they’d appropriated from the cabin, and raised it above Howard.

  Daeng lowered the passenger window a few inches and leaned across the seat. “I’ll call you when I’m ready to be picked up. Until then, stay out of sight. If you don’t hear from me in ninety minutes, get someplace safe and call Quinn.”

  While Misty looked scared and uncertain, Howard nodded and said, “Good luck.”

  Daeng swung the Volvo in a U-turn and headed back toward the cabin. The rain was coming down so hard now that the wipers, even at full speed, were barely effective. But as much as his instincts told him to slow down, he knew he couldn’t. Every second could be crucial, so he powered past where the main road turned to dirt, and slogged through the mud to the cabin turnoff.

  He had a fleeting thought that this Griffin person might somehow already be waiting for him, but the parking area in front of the cabin was empty. He parked the Volvo at an angle so that someone driving up the access road would not only see it, but know what kind of car it was. He then wiped down the interior.

  Before getting out, he padded his pocket to make sure Howard’s now data-wiped cell phone was still there. The coat he was wearing had also come from the cabin—a black jacket complete with hood. A bit warmer than he needed this time of year, but at least it would keep some of the rain out.

  Pulling the hood on, he climbed out and jogged down the road away from the cabin. When he was about a hundred feet away, he stopped and looked back, examining the tableau he’d created.

  Satisfied that nothing seemed amiss, he turned to his left and disappeared into the woods.

  GRIFFIN CRUISED THROUGH the tiny village of Trevor Hollow, looking for a blue Volvo S60. He knew it was possible Howard and his friends had already ditched the vehicle, but it was the only lead he had at the moment. Even if they had switched cars, finding the Volvo meant he could have Dima tap into local law enforcement records and see what vehicle might be missing in the vicinity. So far, however, no Volvo.

  He headed west into the mountains on the only road leading out of town. Dima had dug up an older satellite image of the area, taken on a clear day, that showed where homes were located. He’d even overlaid a map onto it, no doubt hoping to earn some bonus points from Griffin. Too bad for him. Griffin didn’t hand out bonus points.

  The first two houses he checked were empty. Before he reached the third, the asphalt covering the road gave way to what was fast becoming a muddy sluice. Houses three and four were both occupied by families—neither, apparently, owning a Volvo.

  According to the satellite image, the fifth house was a small place tucked down a private road. Griffin reduced his speed so he wouldn’t miss the turnoff. That turned out to be a mistake. One of the back tires plunged into a particularly muddy dip, and the car lurched to a stop.

  Griffin immediately punched the gas. The car rocked up, but then fell back again.

  “Shit!”

  He shoved the accelerator all the way to the floor. The engine roared, temporarily drowning out the sound of the rain. This time, when car reached the top of the dip, it slowed but didn’t fall back.

  Griffin eased back on the pedal, and glared out at the clouds. A little foul weather was always good for cover, but this storm was a bit more enthusiastic than he needed.

  The road he was looking for appeared on the right a few minutes later. He slowed to make the turn, and was happy to see that though the access road was also dirt, it was narrower, the trees creating a canopy over the top. So while the ground was wet, few puddles had developed.

  Reaching what he judged to be the halfway point to the small house, he let his car roll to a stop on a firm part of the road, and killed the engine. Ideally, he would have liked to turn the car around in the event he had to get out in a hurry, but there was no room.

  He extracted his gun from his shoulder holster, attached the suppressor, and donned his knee-long raincoat over his suit. When the coat was buttoned, he quietly opened his door and moved outside.

  The trees might have been blocking a lot of the rain, but there was still enough getting through to soak him before he’d gone a dozen yards. The mud was a problem, too. Though it was probably only a half-inch deep, the muck pulled at his shoes every time he took a step. Even when he moved into the trees along the left side of the road, it wasn’t much better.

  It took five minutes before the house came into view. With its wood siding and small size, it was more a cabin. And sitting right in front of it, parked near the front door, was a blue Volvo S60.

  Keeping under the cover of the trees, he moved in until he could see the license plate. It was a match.

  The corners of Griffin’s mouth twitched up.

  He focused on the cabin. Though at least two lights were on inside, he couldn’t see anyone through the windows. He circled around, scanning each side of the building, not stopping until he reached the front again on the other side of the driveway.

  There were only two exterior doors—in front, and in back. Windows were limited, too. Two on either side of both doors, and a small one on the right side of the cabin, probably a bathroom. The left side, where the chimney was located, had none.

  He crouched and looked through the windows once more.

  “Come on,” Griffin whispered. “Let me get a look at you.”

  The occupants of the house weren’t cooperating. Maybe they were asleep. Howard had been hurt—that much was clear from the witnesses at the accident—and the other two might have been exhausted from taking care of him. Getting a little rest wouldn’t have been out of the question.

  He watched for another minute before deciding it was time to take a closer look.

  IF IT WEREN’T for the pounding rain, Daeng would have heard the man’s footsteps long before he did. The problem was twofold: in addition to the noise of the storm, Daeng had been listening for a car, not someone on foot. So when he heard the sound of mud sucked up by a shoe only a few feet away, he froze.

  The man who passed by the rock Daeng was crouching behind was no taller than Daeng, but he had a much broader chest, and a harder, chiseled face.

  It had to be Griffin. There was no other reason for someone to be walking through the woods toward the cabin at that time. Still, Daeng knew he needed to be sure.

  He let the man get a good lead, and then quietly followed.

  All doubt was erased when he watched the man survey the house from a distance, before looping around it without leaving the safety of the trees. If that wasn’t enough, the suppressor-enhanced weapon in the man’s hand was.

  Daeng backed away.

  GRIFFIN MOVED SILENTLY up to the window and peeked inside. A living area—couch, a few chairs, a table for eating—and in the back, jutting off to the side, the sliver of what was probably a kitchen. The only thing missing was people.

  On the wall opposite the kitchen were a couple of closed doors. The bedroom and a bathroom, he guessed. That’s where they must be.

  He eased over to the front door and tried the handle. Locked. He figured the back door would probably be the same, so instead of wasting time checking, he pulled out his picks, selected the appropriate implements, and inserted them into the lock.

  Moments later, the door swung open with a faint squeak. He waited at the threshold for someone to come out and check, but the cabin remained still.

  Too still.

  He stepped inside.

  And smelled the distinct odor of bleach.

  Son of a bitch.

  Though he knew he was alone, he moved quickly over to the two doors. The first led into the bathroom, and the second the bedroom. Both empty. Both smelling of bleach. In the bedroom, the bed had also been stripped, leaving only a bare mattress.

  They must have found another car, he realized.

  Shit! Shit! Shit!

  This Steve Howard and his friends were really starting to piss him off.

  WHEN DAENG WAS confident he wouldn’t be heard, he picked up his pace and raced through the woods back to the access road. Griffin’s vehicle had to be somewhere alongside. The only question was, had he brought someone with him?

  Keeping in the trees, Daeng paralleled the road until he caught sight of the vehicle—a black Lexus LS 460. The sports model, if he wasn’t mistaken. It appeared to be empty.

  He crept forward, his eyes scanning the area for any movement. When he was sure no one else was around, he stepped out from the woods and approached the vehicle.

  Given the type of person Griffin seemed to be, Daeng knew the door would be unlocked before he even pulled up the handle—easy access for a quick getaway. The trick, though, was to not get the interior so wet that Griffin would suspect something. While the passenger side might have seemed like the smartest bet, it was actually the driver’s side that would get less scrutiny. Griffin would be in a hurry to get in, and even if he did see some water, it could easily have happened when he’d opened the door.

  Daeng crouched next to the door, opened it, and quickly slipped his gift under the driver’s seat.

  Seconds later, he was back in the trees, moving south toward the main road.

  THE FIRST THING Griffin did when he climbed back into this car was call Dima.

  After giving him the location of the cabin, he said, “Find out every vehicle the owner has. If he has family, find out what cars they have, too. Then check and see if any of them were left here.”

  “I’ll do what I can,” Dima said.

  “Find out and call me back.”

  He disconnected the call, tossed his phone on the passenger seat, and considered his next move. He could stop at the café he’d seen in Trevor Hollow and wait until Dima called back, but even then there was no guarantee they’d know where the others had gone.

  No, staying around here was a waste of time. Best to head back to DC. Morten was due in later that evening anyway, and would want a briefing.

  Griffin started the engine, and drove all the way to the cabin so he could turn around before heading for the main road.

  DAENG WATCHED FROM his hiding place at the end of the access road as the Lexus made the turn back toward the interstate.

  He tapped SEND on his phone. When the call connected, he said, “He just left.”

  “Good,” Quinn said.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  GRIFFIN HAD EXPECTED Dima to call already, but here he was, nearly back in DC, and no word from the useless stooge.

  While he knew it was only a matter of time before he caught up to Howard and his friends, in the interim Griffin would have to report his short-term failure to Morten. That would not go over well.

  He had just taken the Rosslyn/Key Bridge exit when the phone rang.

  His first thought was, Finally. His second was, That’s not my normal ringtone.

  Even odder, it wasn’t coming from the seat next to him, where his cell sat. The sound was muffled and…under him.

  Keeping his eyes on the road, he reached under his seat and searched for the source of the ring. As the tone stopped, his hand encircled the familiar shape of a phone, and pulled it out.

  How the hell did it get into his car?

  As he contemplated the question, it rang again. The display read: UNKNOWN. He debated for only a second before answering. “Yes?”

  “Mr. Griffin, how’s the drive?”

  There was a small empty parking lot ahead on the right. Griffin pulled into it and stopped. “Who is this?”

  “From what I understand, I’m someone you want to talk to.”

  The tension that had engulfed Griffin moments before suddenly disappeared. Maybe his report to Morten wouldn’t be as gloomy as he’d thought.

  “Do I have the pleasure of speaking to Mr. Howard? Or are you the other one?”

  The silence was short, but unmistakable. Griffin had scored a point. “Call me Steve,” the man said.

  “I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered from the accident, Steve.” No response on the other end. Another point scored. “What is it I can do for you?”

  “You can tell me why you’re so interested in me and my friends.”

  “I would be happy to. Perhaps we can meet somewhere and discuss it.”

  The man laughed. “Right. That’s not going to happen. I’m not a fool.”

  “If you’re not a fool, then you must know why I’d like to talk to you,” Griffin said, hoping to find out if Howard was even worth worrying about.

  “It obviously has something to do with the apartment in Georgetown. Peter’s apartment.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Specifically, I would say it has something to do with two things.”

  Here was the potential prize. “And what would those two things be?”

  “You’d like me to tell you, wouldn’t you? I’ll say this much. One has to do with a tiny island in the Caribbean, and one with a leisurely mountain drive in Turkey. Does that help?” Before Griffin could come up with a response, the man said, “I’ll call again.”

  Griffin continued to hold the phone against his ear after the line had gone dead.

  A tiny island in the Caribbean. A leisurely mountain drive in Turkey.

  They knew. Not only about Miranda Keyes, but also about the connection to Romero.

  It was the worst-case scenario, and if he didn’t clamp down on it now, he’d never be able to control it.

  He had to restrain himself from throwing the phone on the floor. He needed it, needed Howard to call him back. He set it on the passenger seat next to his own cell, and put the car in Drive.

  There were things he needed to do before the phone rang again.

  ISLA DE CERVANTES

  QUINN WALKED BACK across the room to where Nate, Orlando, and Liz had listened in on the call over Orlando’s computer.

  “I’d say that was a direct hit on Miranda Keyes and Peter,” Nate said.

  “Absolutely,” Quinn agreed. Griffin had known exactly what Quinn was talking about, which meant there was no question now that the man and the people he worked for were involved in both deaths.

  These were the people Peter had been hunting. These were the people Quinn wanted.

  “He knew Steve’s name,” Liz said. “He knew about the accident. How could he?”

  “The photos taken in front of Peter’s place,” Orlando said.

  Quinn nodded. “He must have gotten his hands on them and somehow ID’d Steve that way.”

  “I thought Helen Cho had shut down contact between her agency and Griffin,” Orlando said.

  “That’s what she told me.” He lifted his phone and tapped the director’s number. As soon as he had Helen on the other end, he said, “Either you lied to me, or you have a leak.”

  WASHINGTON, DC

  DIRECTOR CHO ORDERED an immediate lockdown of O & O. Cell phones were confiscated, and all nonessential communications were forbidden.

  Computer techs began looking through logs that tracked not only landline calls but all cell-phone activity within the facility, searching for the specific unusual activity outlined by Director Cho.

  It took only eight minutes to identify a potential suspect, and another three minutes to comb through his personal cell-phone records to confirm that more suspicious calls had occurred when he was away from the building.

  When the security detail entered the suspect’s office, Michael Dima—the current Central—looked up from his computer screen in surprise. “Excuse me, but you’re not allowed in here.”

  Clyde Witten, head of the detail, took a step forward. “Sir, you will come with us.”

  “I will do no such thing. I’m Central. I can’t leave my desk.”

  “Relief is on the way, sir. You will come with us.”

  Dima made a great show of being outraged as he reached for his phone. “This is ridiculous. I’m calling Director Stone right now.”

  Witten stepped forward, yanked the phone out of Dima’s hand, and put it back in its cradle. “You will come with us.”

  He grabbed Dima by the arm and pushed him firmly toward the door.

  “What’s this all about? You can’t do this! I want to talk to Director Stone.”

  “I’ve been told that Director Stone is no longer with O & O,” Witten said. He’d received word of Stone’s “early retirement” straight from Direct Cho when she gave him his current orders.

  “What?” Dima said. “Then…then, I, uh, I want to talk to who’s in charge.”

  “That won’t be a problem.”

  DIMA WAS DEPOSITED in one of O & O’s interrogation rooms, and told to wait in the chair.

  A television monitor on a rolling stand was at the other end of the room. Three minutes after he sat down, it flickered on. Staring back at him was Director Helen Cho.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Dima,” she said.

  “Director Cho,” he said, his mouth dry. Though he and everyone at O & O knew what she looked like, he’d never talked to her before.

 

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