“Fairly certain or positive?”
A pained look appeared on her face. His question had hit a nerve. She said, “I feel confident that I had developed a sufficient circumstantial case-enough to indict. But when my file reached the director’s office, it was put on ice. No one would tell me why. That was three weeks ago.”
Showers glanced at her watch. It was eleven and the restaurant was closing. She collected the two letters from him. “I’ve done what I was told,” she said. “I’ve briefed you. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at eight A.M. sharp. We have set up a command post at FBI headquarters. If you have additional questions, then you can ask them to my bosses tomorrow at the briefing.”
“I do have more questions,” he replied. “Since the restaurant is closing, let’s go upstairs to my suite so we can talk more.”
“I don’t think talk is what you have in mind.”
He grinned. “Depends on the kind of talk. At least let me walk you to your car.”
“I’m armed, and I think I can make it through the hotel lobby to the valet without your help.” Then, for the first time since they’d met, she actually smiled and said, “Besides, I think I have more to fear from you than I do from any strangers.”
“Ouch,” he replied, touching his heart as if he’d been shot. “Just trying to be gentlemanly,” he said, intentionally repeating her words.
“Then you can pay the check-Mr. Steve Mason.”
He watched her walk away from the table, admiring the dazzling results of her yoga routine hidden under her tailored slacks. As soon as he’d signed the bill with his room number and fake name, Storm followed her. But by the time he reached the lobby, she was already behind the wheel of her BMW. He stepped outside the hotel’s double doors just as she was driving away. As he watched, he saw a black Mercedes-Benz sedan pull from a side street near the hotel and begin to follow her.
Storm recognized the red, white, and blue license tag. It was a diplomatic plate.
Hurrying back to his suite, he used his portable computer to log on to the Internet. Diplomatic plates contained a two-letter code that identified which country had been issued the plate by the U.S. State Department. Periodically, the code letters were changed and reassigned. GB was never used on tags from Great Britain and IS was never used for Israel, because that would make it too easy for potential enemies to identify the car’s occupants.
Storm had seen the letters YR on the plate of the Mercedes following Showers. Within seconds, he’d broken the code.
What had Jedidiah Jones gotten him into? Why would a diplomatic car from the Russian embassy be tailing Special Agent Showers?
Chapter Five
The hotel phone in Storm’s suite woke him from an alcohol-induced slumber. Several jigger-sized whiskey bottles pillaged from the hotel’s minibar littered the nightstand. He’d stayed up late trolling for information on the encrypted computer network that the CIA and other federal intelligence services could access via the Internet. His searches had led him to several clues. But what he’d uncovered remained disjoined pieces of a puzzle that still needed to be assembled.
At around 3 A.M., Storm had gone to bed, but he’d found it difficult to sleep. He’d known why. It wasn’t the kidnapping. There were two reasons, and both had to do with his return to Washington, D.C. Clara Strike and Tangiers. Sometimes only Jack Daniel’s could help a man black out his past.
A woman’s voice on the telephone line said, “Senator Windslow is calling.”
Storm checked the clock next to the king-sized bed. It was a few minutes after 6 A.M. His head was throbbing. The next voice he heard was Windslow’s. “Those bastards left me another note-this one at my house.”
“Did they send anything else?”
“No teeth or body parts, if that is what you’re asking. But they raised their ransom demand.”
“How much?”
“Six million! I’m at my house in Great Falls. Get out here now!”
Storm jotted down the address and asked, “Have you called Agent Showers?”
The question was met with silence. Finally, Windslow said, “I don’t want her or the FBI involved. I’ll explain when you get here. Don’t call her, that’s an order.”
An order? That was something Storm would need to clear up with Windslow. Only Jones gave him orders, not a politician.
Storm went downstairs to claim his rental car. The valet brought him a white Ford Taurus. It was not what spies in movies used, but it was perfect for blending in around Washington and its suburbs. He drove to Constitution Avenue, turned right, crossed the Potomac River, and headed north on the George Washington Parkway until he reached the Capital Beltway, a major highway that encircled the city. Exiting west onto the beltway, he went farther into Virginia. It took him another ten minutes to reach Great Falls, a heavily wooded, rolling suburb dotted with multimillion-dollar Colonial estates. He assumed he was being tracked electronically-if not by the CIA then by the FBI. There was probably a bug planted somewhere in the Taurus, or they were using the cell phone that Jones had given him. At this stage, he didn’t care.
Senator Windslow’s driveway was barred by an ornate, monogrammed iron gate. Storm pushed a button on a speaker mounted at the driveway entrance, and when the gates swung open, he drove along a circular driveway bordered by a carefully manicured lawn. An older black maid answered the front door and escorted Storm into the grand foyer, which had an imported Italian marble floor and a massive Versailles chandelier made of crystal and oxidized brass. Rising directly in front of him was an elaborate double staircase. A portrait was hung next to the first step on each side. One painting was of Senator Windslow and the other was of Gloria Windslow. Because each painting was hanging next to the first step, it gave the impression that the senator used one flight of stairs and his wife the other. The artist, Storm noted, had been shrewd enough to recognize that his patrons placed a higher value on flattery than realism. Both of the Windslows looked like British royalty.
Senator Windslow appeared in a dark blue nylon workout suit with a curled up towel resting on his shoulders and his forehead beaded with sweat.
“I ride my stationary bike for an hour every morning,” he explained. “Gives me a chance to exercise while I read the papers and watch the news.”
Storm followed him through a side door into a wood-paneled study where the maid had placed a pot of coffee and two mugs on a table edged by three leather chairs. They matched the brown leather chairs in Windslow’s office. Storm spotted another pair of Longhorn steer horns mounted on the wall, just like the ones that he’d seen on Capitol Hill. Obviously, the senator’s decorating taste was the same whether he was at home or work.
“Hattie, our housekeeper, fetches me the newspapers each morning from the box at our gates while I’m exercising,” Windslow said, as he poured himself coffee and took a seat. He nodded at Storm, indicating that he could pour himself a cup, too, if he wished. “This morning,” Windslow said, “Hattie found this at the gate.”
Windslow nodded toward an opened manila envelope on the coffee table, along with a pair of yellow rubber gloves.
“Has anyone checked the note for prints?” Storm asked.
“No. Put on those gloves there before you handle it. I had Hattie get them from the kitchen.”
Storm pulled on the gloves. They were tight. He removed the letter and asked, “Does your wife know about this new demand?”
Windslow shook his head. “She’s still sleeping upstairs in her bedroom.”
Her bedroom. He hadn’t said “our bedroom.”Apparently using different staircases was not the only thing that the couple did separately.
This new note-the third from the kidnappers-looked much like the first ransom demand. It was handwritten in block letters and contained specific instructions.