| |
DIRECTOR WOLFE SHUT his mobile phone and stared at it in his hands for a long moment. Then he looked out his car’s window and fixed his eyes on the scenery flashing by.
He perceived none of it. Instead, he saw only the appalling image Collier’s description had painted in his imagination. The tall, blond form of the fearless woman he admired and respected . . . charred and twisted beyond all recognition.
Accident or intentional? The crushing weight inside Wolfe’s chest insisted it was no accident.
I failed you, Bella. No, I failed you, Laynie! I sent you into danger, and my efforts to protect you were woefully inadequate. Somehow, despite our precautions, the enemy knew you were coming . . . and was waiting for you.
It occurred to him that the fake email he’d sent to smoke out the mole in his upper organization had yielded nothing. The “canary trap,” as it was called, had been ignored. Why?
He could think of only one answer—because the mole had already obtained the details of the actual op. Despite the silo he’d built around Bella’s mission, the mole within the task force had obtained and communicated the operational particulars to his or her superiors—and had done so right under their noses.
But who? Who could it be? Was it Seraphim? Richard? Tobin? Jaz? Wolfe shook his head. They were Bella’s closest friends! But they were also the only people within Broadsword’s perimeter who were privy to the operation’s particulars.
I don’t believe it. I know these people—and I didn’t rise to this position by not being able to spot a liar when I hear one. There has to be another answer, another explanation.
He pushed the distressing thoughts of Bella’s last moments aside and focused on the conundrum he faced.
The mole can’t be one of Richard’s people either. It became obvious to us that the team harbored a second mole before I relocated the task force to Broadsword. So, if it isn’t Seraphim, Tobin, or Jaz, that leaves just the remaining six members of the task force.
Wolfe ground his teeth together. This leak is like a cancerous arm. The only certain means of excising the cancer is to cut it off—amputate the whole limb.
Disband the task force.
He shook his head. But I can’t do that. Not with the certainty of a New Year’s attack only weeks away and the progress we have made toward figuring it out. No, we have to flush out the mole—and soon—so we can stop the attacks.
Wolfe focused on his short conversation with Collier. He made himself slow down and run through it multiple times. Collier’s visitor could have been no one but Cossack. At least he believes himself still safe—and I trust the man. I know he will find a way to convey the details of the upcoming attacks to us.
Sighing, Wolfe turned his attention back to the matter at hand. Bella’s death. He had to break the news to the team. Her team. He had to rehearse the awful details while the traitor within its ranks gloated behind a façade of grief.
I will be watching their reactions. I will personally interview every member of the task force. We cannot let up until we have uncovered the leak.
Wolfe felt suddenly sick inside—he would have to notify Bella’s family. No, not Bella’s family. Laynie’s family.
I’m sorry, Laynie. You deserved better from me.
I pray that the God you so recently found has received your soul and granted you peace. I pray, too, that he will forgive me for vowing that I will never rest until every snake hiding in my organization is hunted down and destroyed.
He cleared the lump from his throat. Still, his voice rasped when he spoke to his driver. “Parker?”
“Sir?”
“You have a go bag with you?”
“Always, sir. In the trunk.”
“Good. Back to my condo, pronto. I need to grab mine. We’ll be gone overnight.”
“Yes, sir. Where are we headed, sir?”
“Broadsword.”
IT WAS DARK WHEN WOLFE’S car arrived at the Broadsword checkpoint and the guards waved it through. Richard was waiting on the front porch when Wolfe’s driver pulled up to the cabin.
Wolfe clenched his jaws and climbed from the back seat.
“Good evening, Director.”
Wolfe shook his head. There was nothing good about this evening. “Would you please ask Seraphim to join me in the conference room? And I would like you to join us.”
“Is it bad news, then? About Miss Bella?”
“Yes, I’m sorry to say it is.”
Richard had difficulty speaking. He finally managed, “I’ll find Seraphim, sir.” He would have stumbled had Wolfe not caught his elbow and steadied him.
Pulling himself upright, Richard lifted his chin. “Thank you, Director. I can manage now.”
Minutes later, Seraphim and Richard entered the conference room. Richard closed the door behind them. Perhaps sensing the purpose for Wolfe’s unannounced visit, Seraphim had set her face in stone. While Wolfe spoke, neither she nor Richard said anything other than to ask a few clarifying questions.
“I’d like you to assemble the task force, Patrice,” Wolfe said, “so I can break the news to them.”
“I should do it,” she answered. Then her chin wobbled, and her face contorted. “But . . . I don’t think . . . I don’t think I can.”
Wolfe’s hand covered hers. “It is my responsibility, not yours. I was the one who sent her.”
“Pardon me, Director,” Richard whispered. “I would appreciate if you would allow me to bring Bo and Harris into this meeting. I wouldn’t want them to hear it afterward.”
“Yes, of course . . . only, I want to do it soon. As soon as we can assemble everyone.”
SERAPHIM SENT OUT A group text message, summoning the team to the gym. They arrived by ones and twos looking around at each other, some wondering aloud at the late-evening meeting.
Tobin walked to his desk and sat down. He glanced at Jaz when she took her seat and noted Lance and Sherman standing against a wall. Richard, Bo, and Harris were also present, Richard’s expression carefully blank.
It wasn’t until Wolfe walked in that the gravity of the summons began to dawn on Tobin. His eyes jinked from Wolfe to Seraphim and back. When he was unable to make eye contact with either of them, his shoulders tightened.
Then Wolfe began to speak.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I have called you together to convey sad news.”
A low murmur ran through the gym. Tobin’s heart stuttered. He choked on his own breath.
Wolfe said, “I received word a few hours ago that yesterday noon, local time, our friend and coworker Bella was involved in a serious car accident.” He paused. “A fatal accident. Bella and the other passengers in the car perished at the scene.”
All around them, Wolfe’s news was met with denials followed by sobs and curses.
Tobin gasped. He muttered, “Marta? Lord Jesus . . . no! Please, no!”
Rusty, weeping unashamedly, jumped to his feet and shouted what others were thinking.
“No, that’s not right! She can’t . . . Are you sure? Are you sure?”
Wolfe nodded, slowly. “I received my information, through channels, from a firsthand witness.”
He waited a moment, allowing the team to process what they had heard before adding, “I understand your pain. I feel it just as deeply. Bella was . . . extraordinary. She was the heart and soul of this task force. I don’t know how she managed it, but she pulled all of you together—complete strangers—and, within days, showed you how to work together. She fashioned you into a powerful, cohesive team. She exacted your best efforts, insisted on everyone’s full participation, and demanded that you respect each other. She made you . . . more than a team. She made you a family, and we will mourn her as a family.”
Of those gathered in the gym, a few attempted to stifle their shock and grief until they could get away and find some privacy, but many were shaken, openly weeping.
Jubaila stood. “Director Wolfe? Please. Can’t you tell us anything more? Where is Bella? I mean where is her . . .” She didn’t finish.
Wolfe nodded. “I understand your need for information, to try to make sense of her demise. I can add only a few details to what I have already told you. Bella was out of the country when this happened, and we are working to bring her home. However . . .”
Wolfe’s voice failed him momentarily. He swallowed, cleared his throat, and tried again. “What I can tell you is that the car she was in . . . caught fire after the accident.”
Tobin shuddered. O God, my God! Please, no! I cannot bear this. Oh, Marta!
Wolfe said softly, “The car burned. None of the passengers escaped the fire. Bella—”
Seraphim, seeing Wolfe struggling, came and stood next to him. “The Director will arrange for Bella’s remains to be shipped back to the States . . . not to us, but to her family.” She looked around, making eye contact with the task force members. “Because of Bella’s injuries, there will be no viewing. In fact, out of respect for her family’s privacy . . . and to safeguard this task force and its ongoing work, none of us will attend Bella’s burial.”
Into the stunned silence, Wolfe cleared his throat and nodded. “Thank you, Patrice.” He added, “Seraphim is correct. We cannot attend Bella’s burial. But that does not mean we won’t pay our respects to her. We will hold a memorial service here. At that time, we will properly honor her—as she deserves.”
Within Tobin’s heart, every hope and dream he’d nurtured fractured and crumbled. He pulled in on himself and wept like a child.
Within his agony, he kept remembering their last words. “I couldn’t let you leave, Marta, not without telling you how I feel. I love you. Come back to me—in one piece, hear? We need more time, you and I, to figure things out.”
“Quincy Tobin, I can’t promise you anything except, God willing, I will come back. And if it is his will? We’ll have plenty of time to, you know. Figure things out.”
“No more time,” he babbled softly. “No more time for us! Oh, Lord! Why? Why wasn’t it your will for us?”
Tobin sat up and scrubbed his face with his shirtsleeves. He saw Jaz prostrate on her keyboard, her whole body shaking and quivering.
He stood and rolled his chair over to hers, sat, and placed one hand on Jaz’s shoulder. He was crying again, heedless of his own weeping—only that his tears, as they tumbled down, felt like the shards and slivers of his broken heart.
Jaz shuddered under Tobin’s hand.
“No,” she keened softly. “I can’t believe it! I don’t believe it!”
Tobin couldn’t answer her, but inside he was screaming, I don’t believe it, either.
The meeting began to break up. Some team members stood in small knots, hugging and comforting one another. Others fled the gym, seeking the privacy they needed to mourn.
Tobin remained with Jaz.
Eventually, she lifted her head a few inches off her keyboard. The black eyeliner and mascara that were such a part of her “trademark” look now streaked her cheeks and chin.
“Tobin.”
“Yeah, Jaz?”
“I can’t stay here. I . . . I can’t. I can’t bear it.”
“Can’t stay here? Do you mean here, in the bullpen? Or . . . here, with the task force?”
“There is no task force without Bella.”
You’re not wrong there, Jaz, Tobin thought.
“But where would you go? The Ukrainian mob. You know they are looking for you.”
“I don’t need Wolfe’s protection from them. I never did. I have the means to disappear and never be found. I just kind of got roped into this and thought it might be fun for a while, but now . . .”
“You can’t go yet, Jaz. Not until we’ve honored Bella like the director said. It wouldn’t be right for you to leave before then.”
She sniffed and scrubbed a hand across her face. “Yah. I suppose you’re right.”
“MARSHAL TOBIN.”
Tobin raised his chin. Wolfe stood over him.
“Sir?”
“I need to notify Bella’s family. In person. I would like you to come with me.”
Marta, Tobin screamed within himself. Not Bella, but Marta. My Marta!
“What are you grinning at?”
“Grinning at the best news I’ve heard in days, sweet Marta.”
“Dork. You know that’s not my name, right?”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice.”
No, her name wasn’t Marta. Nor was it Bella. It was Laynie—and now he was supposed to tell Kari that her only sister was dead?
Memories of the night Wolfe and his team had intercepted Laynie and reunited the two sisters rushed into Tobin’s mind. He had seen them running to each other. Embracing. Sobbing with love and wonder.
It had been one of the most profoundly joyous scenes he had ever witnessed. The two sisters had talked from Lincoln all the way to Kari and Søren’s home in RiverBend, often touching hands during the drive. Tobin had thought their love a holy thing. An unbreakable bond forged in and through fire.
He flinched as he reminded himself that, in a few hours, he and Wolfe would dispense grief and loss to Laynie’s sister. They would become the instruments to destroy that joy.
Tears stung his eyes. You’ll always be Marta to me. My Marta.
Tobin had done death notices before. He knew how to compartmentalize so he could perform this sacred duty with honor and dignity. He choked down the tears. Forced the pain to the back of his mind and locked it there.
I will grieve later, he told himself.
His heart added, You will grieve forever.
“Yes, sir. I’ll go.”
“I’m having my plane prepped and fueled. We’ll leave here in thirty minutes, spend the night at a hotel near LaGuardia, and fly out early tomorrow morning.”
