I got dressed while a forensics team crawled all over Lana's bedroom and the side of the house. It's a small thing, but I didn't want them to see me in my Dora jammies. Instead, I slipped on a white T-shirt and pair of shorts. Kelly stayed with Lana. I think she felt a little protective of her.
We watched in silence as the team worked. Rex and I gave them our shoes so they could distinguish our footprints outside from the kidnappers. Riley said nothing. Kelly stayed to answer questions on her involvement. One by one we were interviewed. It was all standard operating procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary.
My mind was racing. FSB. The Russian Foreign Intelligence Service. It was them? Riley was right? I'm sure he thought so. And it made sense that the FSB would come after Lana—after all she did spy on them…for me.
But why involve Ahmed, Carlos, and Midori? If they were going to kill Lana—and wear a ring that broadcast who they were—why kill the other three? What purpose did that serve? Was it all to frame me? To cover up that the real target was Lana?
The ring. Why wear the ring, letting us know who they were? Maybe they thought she'd be too terrified to tell us.
I needed to talk to Riley, but that would be impossible until everyone else had left. I wondered if the FSB still had agents in the area. They were probably watching the house. I would. I'd want to make sure my victim died before leaving if I were them.
If they were watching, then they would know, if they hadn't figured it out already, that Lana had survived. And if they came all this way and went to all this trouble, they'd stay until they were sure she was dead. It was how they worked. They'd come too far and wasted too many resources to fail.
The police took photos of Lana's bruises. It must've been the only time in her life she'd taken a bad photo—and even then she looked gorgeous. She also looked scared. She'd worked with FSB and knew what they were capable of.
Rex approached. He was in a suit, just like Riley. How did men throw on a suit like that and look so good doing it?
"They found construction barricades across the street a few blocks in both directions. That's why there wasn't any traffic going by when this happened," Rex said.
"I wondered about that," I said. Obviously, the FSB didn't want anyone driving by, attempting to save Lana. They wanted her dead, like Ahmed and the others. Thankfully, she was smart enough to kick my bedroom wall.
Rex added, "We're not going to insist that Ms. Babikova go to the hospital, but I think she should." He watched as Riley shook his head. "Alright. Well, we are going to put the house under surveillance for a couple of days, just in case whoever did this comes back. I'll come back over in the afternoon to see if there's anything else Ms. Babikova remembers later."
He could rim the perimeter with land mines and rabid Dobermans—it wouldn't matter. This wasn't some random murderer. These were trained professional killers hiding beneath a government flag. A Russian flag. It seemed unfair to let Rex think it was just a simple, Midwestern murder attempt. But then, maybe he wasn't thinking that.
Rex handed me a card. "My cell number. That's the best way to reach me. If anything, and I mean anything happens, don't hesitate to call."
Oooh! He gave me his cell number! That's got to mean something, right? Like he's interested. Right? My stomach dropped a little when I thought how he'd seemed interested in Lana yesterday. No, I shook my head—which probably looked ridiculous to those around me who were watching. Rex was just being polite. He didn't really flirt back. He probably didn't know what to do with the blonde bangle dangling from his arm. Yes, that was it, I told myself, and went back to being excited about getting his number.
The forensics team had packed up and were heading for their vehicles. It was dawn, and everything that had been dark as pitch was now bathed in lavender light. Somewhere in this neighborhood, assassins were hiding. Watching. It was better motivation for staying awake than any form of caffeine.
Riley saw Rex to the door. He shook his hand. "Thanks for everything Detective. I really appreciate it."
Rex nodded at him, then turned to look at me. "You did great, Ms. Wrath. Nice job."
I blushed. "You can call me Merry, Detective. We're neighbors too."
Rex smiled. It was the kind of smile you wanted to curl up inside of. "Then you should definitely call me Rex." He winked. I melted. He left.
I made Lana some eggs for breakfast. I at least knew how to do that. Riley sat with her in the other room. I thought about what I should do next. Lana needed to know, if she hadn't figured it out already, that FSB may have been behind this all along. Riley should move her to a safer place. I needed to go on a vacation. Under an assumed name. To a country I'd never been to before. Which was a very short list that was unfortunately made up of only Greenland and Papua New Guinea.
"Here you go." I handed Lana a plate of scrambled eggs, toast, and a fork. "Do you feel like eating?"
Lana nodded and took a few bites. She swallowed some more tea. Riley and I watched her as she ate the whole thing. I could bet that her mind was racing like ours was. Interesting how you could put three spies in the same room and know, without them talking, that they were all thinking completely different things about the same problem. It was just a given.
"Lana," Riley said quietly, "can you remember anything else?"
She looked at Riley. Then she looked at me. She held my gaze so long I had to look away. Did she wonder why I didn't come to help her last night?
"I didn't hear anything, Lana. I swear! I had no idea until you woke me up kicking the side of the house." I felt terrible. Horrible. Worse than horrible. Horriblester.
"It's okay, Merry," she said. "It happened pretty fast. I didn't have much opportunity to fight back." Her words hit me like arrows. Arrows tipped in curare and lemon juice.
"Sorry," I said softly.
"Lana…" Riley turned her attention back to himself. "Have you seen any FSB around? Was there any sign they were in town?"
I stifled a laugh. The idea of Russian spies trying to blend in, in small town Iowa, was ridiculous. If they'd been there, we would've noticed.
Lana's eyes went up and to…the right. "No. I never saw anything."
She was lying. The woman was obviously terrified. Their intimidation had worked on her. If I'd been a better friend, maybe she would've confided in me.
Riley stood up. "All right. I need to call this in." He looked out the window. "Looks like Rex moves fast."
I joined him at the window to see a black and white sitting at the curb. Subtle.
"Small town cops won't scare off the FSB," I said.
Riley raised an eyebrow and studied me. "I'll only be gone a couple of hours. I need to get back to the hotel and make a few calls. Then I'll be back." He grabbed my hands in his and winked. "You'll be okay until then."
I watched as he walked out the door. Two winks in one day by two gorgeous men. It may not sound like much, but it's been a bit of a dry spell for me this past…well…lifetime. I'd take what I can get.
"Merry?" Lana's voice sounded pitiful behind me. I joined her on the couch.
"I didn't mean to upset you yesterday." Her eyes grew watery, and her lower lip was quivering. Remember how I said I couldn't handle it when my Girl Scouts did this? Same was true for Lana.
I hugged her, gently of course. "It's okay. I know that now." I still thought a little bit that she was on the make with Rex, but I could overlook that. What I really wanted to know was why she was lying to us about having no clue Russian assassins were in town. But I still felt guilty about not being there for her, and she needed some rest. I could interrogate her later.
"You can sleep in my room," I said. "I'll call Rex and see if I can go ahead and clean up yours."
"Okay," she said in a small voice. I watched as she stood up and handed me her plate and tea cup. Then she walked down the hall to my room and closed the door.
I sat back on the couch. From where I was, I could see the police car in front of the house. The cop inside was drinking coffee. I was tired just looking at him. Yawning, I realized I hadn't gotten much sleep either. But with Lana out and the Russians probably watching the house, I needed to stay awake.
I'd only ever dealt with the Russian Foreign Intelligence Agency through Lana. I'd been stationed in Kiev and made only a dozen trips across the border to meet with her in Moscow and St. Petersburg. I knew what the agents looked like but had no up-close experience with them. They tended to wear expensive Italian suits and shoes, which would stand out like a neon yellow sperm whale in a public fountain here.
I wished I had a dog. Walking a dog was the perfect way to do surveillance of a neighborhood. Going jogging was out—I couldn't run ten feet without quitting. And if they've been watching the house, they'd know that I never so much as walked around for exercise.
But I'd feel better if I did some recon, just to play Spot-the-Spies so I'd know how many were out there. On the other hand, if I left, they might move in. These guys weren't afraid of a local cop. They'd probably kill him. No, if they saw I was gone, they'd definitely try to finish what they'd started last night.
Chances were they'd strike after dark. Making a spectacle of themselves was not in their modus operandi. They'd hit us hard at night, then get clear of town before dawn. They broke in last night and did everything they could to keep it covert. Clearly they wouldn't launch a full scale attack in broad daylight.
They tried to avoid me last night—maybe they were setting me up for the fall, thinking I'd be blamed for Lana's death. Maybe they were after both of us. After all—I'd been Lana's handler.
Another thought crossed my mind. Why didn't they kill Lana outright? Why leave her dangling and alive? Seemed to me they'd just as easily have slit her throat and leave. But they didn't. Why not? Were they worried about being seen and decided to make a break for it?
Ahmed and Midori were dead when I stumbled upon them. But Carlos was still alive. This was getting me no where. Maybe I was overthinking it.
I should just wait for Riley to get back. It really was up to him to figure this out and come up with the plan. He was the professional now, not me. I needed to let him handle this. But the urge to get involved was kind of tough. Old habits, especially the ones you liked, die hard. I didn't want to retire. My own government made me.
Rubbing my eyes, I went into the kitchen to make a very strong pot of tea. The caffeine would do me some good. I drank two cups before I remembered: the suitcase. I smiled. Maybe I wasn't so out of it after all. But first, I needed to talk to Rex.
"Detective…I mean, Rex?" I asked as he answered his cell on the first ring. I got a little thrill when he answered. After all—this was our first private phone call together. Clearly it was time for me to consider bridesmaids dresses.
"Ms. Wrath?" Of course he answered that way. He was in the office and on duty. "Has something happened?" Rex sounded alert, ready to pounce. It was hot.
"I just wanted to know if I can clean up Lana's room. She's sleeping in my bedroom. I thought I'd put everything back so she isn't traumatized when she wakes up."
"Go ahead. We took photos and had everyone in there. It's pretty obvious what happened. You can clean it up."
"Thanks. I'll talk to you later then," I said.
I heard a smile in his voice. The same one he'd given me earlier. "You're welcome. Looking forward to it."
Ooooh! He was looking forward to it! I tried to hide my glee as I went down into the basement. First things first. Secure the perimeter, clean up Lana's room, then date the detective.
I only used the basement for storage. My washer and dryer were in the upstairs bathroom in a closet, so I never needed to go down there. It was an unfinished basement—all cement and spiderwebs and visible beams. I switched on the bare, exposed light bulb and went to the corner shelves. Pulling out a bunch of old paint cans, I felt for the case. I found it and carried it back upstairs.
It was dusty, and I thought I spotted some mouse droppings. I guess I really did need a cat. I set it on the breakfast bar and wiped it down. It was a small, leather case from the '50's I'd gotten at a thrift shop for five dollars on my first week on the job. The leather creaked as I opened it.
Perfect.
Some people bought souvenirs of all the places they traveled to. I collected all the tools I'd used. The ear piece I'd used in Malaysia…the pack of tampons that held a hidden camera from Brazil…the tiny bobby pins that doubled as extra secure door locks that I'd used in Qatar…and much more. These were my souvenirs.
By the way—the box of tampons with the hidden camera was one of my favorites. I've never met a man who would touch it—so it always went uninvestigated. In fact, I think we need more spy stuff disguised as feminine hygiene products. I think a douche box with a hidden gun inside would be perfect. Of course, that would only work for a female spy…
Oh sure, I was supposed to turn stuff like this in when I left the agency. That's why I didn't use the agency's Halliburton metal briefcases. They would've confiscated that. No one ever touched this suitcase that I told them had been my grandmother's when she went to boarding school at the convent. (Pssst—my grandmother never went to a boarding school, and if she had ever been in a convent I was pretty sure she'd have burst into flame. Grandma had some authority issues.)
Why did I keep it if I was never planning to use this stuff again? Sentimental value mostly. I thought that someday I'd buy one of those display pieces, the ones people use for those weird little porcelain statues or china, and put this stuff in there. That reminded me—I needed to buy a display case—in addition to getting a cat.
When I did get a house, I thought people might find it weird to see I kept things like bobby pins and tampon boxes in a glass display case—so until I had a better idea, the case was hidden in the basement. Among the spiders and mice. My argument for getting a cat was definitely shaping up to be a good one.
I picked carefully through everything, the laser sights that looked like a contact lens case, the can of Diet Coke that took pictures when you tilted it up to drink, my disguise kit…until I found the security alarm system. The orange iPod Nano and its docking station were one of the best inventions Langley put out. Most travelers brought mp3 players with them to make cold, impersonal hotel rooms seem more like home. No one ever suspected it, especially when teamed up with a set of earbuds and the speaker you docked the iPod on.
It worked wirelessly. When you plugged the iPod into the speaker, it cast a five thousand square foot perimeter that alerted you to intruders, based on music selections. For example, if a raccoon or anything crawling on all fours entered, "Rocky Raccoon" by The Beatles played. For the two-legged animals that wanted to kill you in your sleep, you got "Brahms' Lullaby."
I never figured out how to change the music. It was weird that classical played when a human approached. But maybe the lab thought an intruder would dismiss classical music. It didn't really matter, because it worked. Saved my life once in Budapest. An assassin tried to slip into my hotel room. I'd heard the Brahms' and took him out with a salad fork before he even saw me. Fortunately, room service hadn't come up to claim my dishes yet.
I picked through the case and found one or two other things I might need, set them on the counter, and closed the case. Time to get to work. With a little bit of luck, some extra batteries, and a screwdriver—no one would get to us today.