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“What the hell do you mean, they're gone?!” Stephanie exclaimed, her voice loud enough to be heard by John and Blake, waiting outside Rob's office.
Blake raised an eyebrow and sipped his coffee.
“Is she always that quiet when she's in a closed meeting?” he asked John idly.
John grinned.
“Only when she doesn't like what she's hearing,” he answered.
“She's a real spitfire, isn't she?” Blake asked, leaning against the wall.
“You have no idea,” John murmured.
“Any idea what that's all about?”
“Nope.”
They both listened to a deep, even tone inside the office, unable to make out what Rob was saying.
“Is something missing?” Blake asked after they had tried, unsuccessfully, to eavesdrop for a few moments.
“Apparently, but she didn't say what,” John told him. “She went down to autopsy to see Larry and came flying back up like a bat out of hell. All she said as she passed me was, “They're gone!'”
Blake sipped his coffee and studied John thoughtfully.
“Now what on earth could be missing from autopsy?” he wondered.
John shook his head.
“I don't know,” he said. “That's why I'm standing here, trying to hear what they're saying.”
Blake grinned and fell silent, but after a few more minutes, all they could hear was Rob's low, even tone before it went silent. Blake glanced at John.
“You don't think she killed him, do you?” he asked with a grin.
“I didn't hear a gun shot,” John retorted.
The office door flew open then, startling both men, and Stephanie drew up short, looking at them in surprise. John had the grace to flush, but Blake just grinned and sipped his coffee, meeting her gaze blandly.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
“Listening,” Blake replied.
Stephanie opened her mouth to blast him with a scathing response, but ended up chuckling instead.
“Did you hear anything?” she asked.
“No.”
Stephanie glanced over her shoulder and motioned for them to follow her. She turned and strode away from Rob's office, past her desk, and toward the elevator.
“Where are we going?” John asked as the trio stopped outside the elevator.
Stephanie pressed the button and looked at them.
“I want to show you something,” she told them.
Blake raised an eyebrow. He glanced at John, who shrugged, and the elevator doors slid open. They followed Stephanie in and, a few moments later, found themselves standing in the middle of Larry's domain.
“Do you see anything wrong?” Stephanie asked them.
John frowned and looked around hopelessly. Larry emerged from a door in the back, shaking his head when he saw them.
“Any luck?” he asked Stephanie.
She shook her head.
“I don't understand,” John said, looking at the metal tables, all filled with cloth-draped bodies.
Blake was a little quicker and started going from slab to slab, checking the clipboards. Larry watched him, then glanced at Stephanie.
“You haven't told them?” he said under his breath.
She shook her head.
“Where are Lorenzo and Ramiero?” Blake demanded after checking all the slabs.
“That's the question of the day,” Stephanie replied.
John sucked in his breath.
“That's what's missing?!” he exclaimed. “Two bodies?!”
“No. Six bodies,” Stephanie answered. “All the Cartels.”
Blake strode back to Stephanie, the teasing laughter wiped from his face.
“Where the hell are they?”
“Gone,” she informed him grimly. “Their remains, all the evidence recovered from their remains, and all the records were removed last night.”
“By WHO!?” Blake roared.
“The CIA,” Larry answered, pulling a plastic apron on over his scrubs. “I sent Stephanie up to Rob to see if anything could be done. Apparently, my work load is now six less. Not to worry though. I still have enough to keep me busy for the next few weeks.”
John stared at Stephanie.
“What does the CIA want with six cartel soldiers?” he asked.
“I don't think it's necessarily the soldiers they want, as much as the evidence that went with them,” she replied.
Blake stared at her.
“What are you saying?” he asked softly.
Stephanie glanced at Larry, who chuckled and waved his hand dismissively.
“Don't mind me, my dear,” he told her, heading to the far slab. “I'm just the one who cuts them up. I don't care about the politics that put them here.”
Stephanie smiled despite herself and looked at Blake.
“You already know what I'm thinking,” she told him quietly, the smile fading from her face. “You realized it yourself last night when you saw Moon.”
Blake's brown eyes met hers, his face unreadable.
“Well, would you care to fill me in?” John demanded. “Apparently I'm the only one here who doesn't have a clue.”
“Lorenzo and Ramiero were shot with .22 caliber rounds,” Blake said slowly, not taking his eyes off Stephanie's. “Last night, when I examined Moon, I said it looked like the same round.”
John whistled.
“And now they're gone,” he breathed, understanding dawning. He looked at Stephanie. “You think it was the Black...”
“No!” Stephanie said sharply, cutting him off, unable to pull her gaze from Blake's. “I don't.”
Blake's lips curved slightly.
“The Black Widow?” he asked, his voice low and filled with amusement. “That's what you guys call her?”
John stared at him in consternation.
“How...” he began, then stopped, turning to Stephanie. “Oh, you need to explain.”
Stephanie glanced over to the other end of the room where Larry hummed as he pulled the cover off Philip Chou, paying them no attention.
“Blake knows about Viper,” she told John quietly. “He found out about her in August.”
John looked at Blake.
“Is that true?” he asked.
Blake smiled faintly, watching Stephanie.
“Well done,” he commended her. “What gave me away?”
“Viper,” she answered with a rueful smile. “She said she owed you.”
Blake threw back his head and laughed.
“Did she now?” he chortled.
“Ok, look, I'm feeling really stupid right now,” John interrupted. “If she owes him, why did her agency take his cartel bodies?”
Blake sobered at the reminder of the missing bodies.
“I don't know,” Stephanie lied, glancing at John.
Blake cast her a sharp glance and Stephanie resisted the urge to cross her fingers behind her back. She returned her gaze to him and caught her breath. He knew she was lying. She could see it in his eyes.
“If you don't think she killed Moon, then what do you think?” John demanded with a frown. “The CIA doesn't just take evidence on a whim. At least, not on a regular basis. Well, at least not usually from the FBI,” he tried to clarify, his voice trailing off.
Blake grinned and slapped John on his shoulder.
“Welcome to Washington,” he told him.
“I think the CIA was behind this whole thing from the beginning,” Stephanie answered John's original question in a low voice. “They made sure everyone who came close to Kwan was warned off, except us. We have two musicians with classified military files dead after trying to kill Kwan, shot by a sniper we can't find. We have the same caliber pistol killing two cartel soldiers and the head of a North Korean terrorist regime, and now the evidence linking the one with the others is gone. And all of this centered around a virus capable of causing global economic collapse. Frankly, I think we were played from the very beginning.”
“And you don't think the Black Widow had anything to do with it?” John demanded, raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Steph, babe, listen to yourself.”
“Oh, I think she was involved,” Stephanie said with a nod. “I just don't think she was the one sent to kill Moon.”
John ran a hand through his hair.
“Then who was?” he asked.
Stephanie shrugged.
“We'll never know,” she replied.
“Well, I call this a bunch of bullshit,” John announced.
Blake grinned and glanced at Stephanie thoughtfully.
“Anything involving that agency is usually heaped with the stuff,” he told John. “We're lucky to get out of this with our jobs. Usually, when they run the kind of operation Stephanie's describing, the only ones left standing in the end are them.”
“Not to sound naïve, but I didn't think Viper's department was like that,” John murmured.
Stephanie looked at him grimly.
“Oh, I don't think for one second her department was behind this,” she told him. “In fact, I think they're the ones who saved our asses.”
Blake watched the armored transport van roll out of the parking garage, headed for Washington with Turi secured inside. As it turned and disappeared from view, he turned to look at Stephanie.
“Agent Walker, it was definitely interesting,” he said, holding out his hand.
Stephanie laughed, grasping it.
“I tried to warn you when we first met,” she told him. “Do you still think easy is boring?”
Blake grinned, his brown eyes meeting hers.
“Maybe something in between next time,” he admitted, releasing her hand. “I have to admit, though, you have some pretty powerful friends in your corner.”
Stephanie looked up at him.
“So do you,” she replied softly.
Blake nodded, pulling his keys from his pocket and turning toward the black SUV parked a few feet away. He hesitated, then turned back.
“You know who killed Moon and the Cartel soldiers, don't you?” he asked, lowering his voice.
Stephanie met his brown gaze and smiled slightly.
“Have a safe trip, Agent Hanover,” she said.
Blake studied her for a long moment before his lips curved into a slow smile.
“If you're ever in DC, give me a call,” he told her.
Stephanie answered his smile with one of her own.
“I'll do that,” she replied.
Blake nodded and turned back toward the SUV. Stephanie watched as he climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. With a wave, he pulled out and rolled up to the exit of the parking garage, turning to follow the transport vehicle.
Turning back toward the elevator, Stephanie found herself grinning.
Blake Hanover had turned out to be nothing like what she expected, and much more discerning than anyone else. Pressing the button for the elevator, Stephanie stepped inside and turned to face the doors as they slid closed. Blake knew she was protecting an assassin.
He would learn, in time, these particular assassins were worth protecting.
Somewhere in Mexico
Martese Salcedo scowled and slammed down the telephone with such force that the items on the desk jumped. He pushed back his chair and got up, striding to the window of his office angrily. Staring out the bay window to the swimming pool below, he watched as his young wife dove into the water. He didn't see her, or the dozen or so other bikini-clad women who were lounging around the pool.
They had lost the virus. Worse, they had lost seven seasoned and veteran soldiers.
And now Jenaro himself was missing.
How had this happened?
La Cabeza swung around from the window and stalked across the room to a table with a bottle and glasses. Pouring himself a shot of tequila, he tossed it back angrily and poured himself another.
Jenaro had told him that this man, this invisible ghost they called the Hawk, was in New Jersey. He had also told him he had him under control.
Tossing back the second shot, Martese slammed the glass down and returned to his desk. Obviously, Jenaro didn't have him under control. Not at all.
A knock fell on the door and he called to enter impatiently. A maid opened the door silently and entered, carrying a tray with the mail and a box. She set the mail on his desk and then held out the box.
“This came by Federal Express a few minutes ago,” she told him.
Martese raised an eyebrow and took it, waving her away. She turned to leave and he tossed the overnight package onto the desk, turning to his laptop while she left. Once the door closed softly behind her, however, La Cabeza slid the box toward to him. He pulled out a switchblade from his pocket and sliced through the heavy tape sealing the box. It was heavy, and he wasn't expecting any deliveries. The return address was Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. Had Jenaro sent something back he didn't want to carry over the border?
Tossing the knife aside, Martese opened the box, frowning when he came across heavy, black plastic sheeting. He pulled it open.
“Dios Mio!”
He shoved himself back from his desk, staring into the box in horror.
Jenaro Gomez stared up at him.
Martese wiped a meaty hand across his lips, his hand trembling as he stared at the head. There was no note. Just the head.
Slowly, his shaking stopped and La Cabeza took a deep breath. Getting up from the chair, he walked over to the window again and stared outside.
Jenaro had been so confident he could catch the Hawk and pay him back for killing the former La Cabeza. Martese had wondered at the wisdom of engaging such a formidable assassin at a time when their forces were already stretched thin. They were trying to rebuild the Cartel out of chaos. Jenaro, however, had been adamant. In a moment of good humor, Martese gave his permission.
Now, Jenaro's head sat in a box on his desk.
La Cabeza shook his head and rubbed his neck. If this Hawk could get through all the soldiers with Jenaro, and then get Jenaro himself, he was indeed a formidable foe. Lapsing deep into thought, Martese struggled with thoughts of vengeance and the realization that, with the loss of Jenaro and his team, his Cartel was even weaker. After a long while, La Cabeza raised his head and turned away from the window.
The Hawk would not be pursued.