“Ivy’s alive,” I said.
“Stop it!”
“I talked to her on the phone tonight!”
Kevin froze.
Olivia said, “Do you want to see Ivy or don’t you?”
“Michael, I don’t know what kind of crazy shit’s going on here, but we have a deal with the D.A. If you don’t show up, you will be a fugitive.”
“If you do show up, you’re dead,” said Olivia. “Don’t you understand, Michael? They only let you live because they think you can lead them to Ivy. If you’re in jail, you are of no use. They will kill you,” she said.
My mind was humming.
“Who are they?” asked Kevin.
I looked at him and said, “I think I know. And I have to go.”
I climbed in the car and slammed the door, my head snapping back against the headrest as Olivia burned rubber.
47
AT SIX A.M. ANDREA AND HER FIANCÉ WERE SEATED AT THE DINING room table for an emergency meeting with their operations supervisor.
Overlooking the old sheep meadow in Central Park, Andrea’s Upper West Side apartment was by far the nicest place she had ever lived. In February, when she’d moved in, she could watch the ice skaters in Wollman Rink from her window, and every night the Midtown skyline was a spectacle of lights. Of course, this ten-million-dollar dream apartment was way beyond Andrea’s personal budget. Formerly owned by a Colombian drug lord who’d fled the country and forfeited his U.S. assets in lieu of standing trial on racketeering charges, it was currently on loan from the Drug Enforcement Agency to the FBI for special assignment.
“We need to arrange protection for Mallory Cantella,” said Andie.
Special Agent Andie-“Andrea”-Henning was in the fourth month of her Saxton Silvers undercover assignment, and her tenth year as an FBI agent. Hardly a lifelong dream of hers, the bureau had been more of a safe landing for a self-assured thrill seeker. At the training academy, she became only the twentieth woman in bureau history to make the Possible Club, a 98-percent-male honorary fraternity for agents who shoot perfect scores on one of the toughest firearms courses in law enforcement. Her first major undercover operation had been the infiltration of a cult in central Washington. Her supervisors saw her potential, but she’d resisted doing more undercover work until the Wall Street assignment came up.
Since autumn, law enforcement had suspected that Saxton Silvers was being targeted by a particularly ruthless band of short sellers who would apply any means-legal or not-to bring the firm crashing down. Andie thought she’d be immersed in the high-stakes business world, trying to find out who was working on the inside. Instead, her undercover “fiancé” enjoyed the daily stimulation of sleuthing around Saxton Silvers’ risk-management division while Andie played the sometimes mind-numbing role of a Saxton Silvers significant other. “Wives talk” was the underlying rationale, and Andie had proved to be an effective plant.
So effective, in fact, that within a month, she’d managed to completely shift the chief focus of the investigation away from short selling and toward something far more evil.
Her supervisor, Malcolm Spear, drummed his fingers atop the mahogany table as he considered her request for protection.
“Our operations budget is not unlimited,” he said, his expression deadpan. “I can’t even get headquarters to approve full-time surveillance on Michael Cantella, and you want round-the-clock protection for his wife?”
“Have you listened to the tape of Michael’s nine-one-one call? He doesn’t know it, but the victim he’s describing is clearly Mallory’s lover.”
“Agreed,” said Spear. “Nathaniel Locke’s apartment was searched this morning. It would appear that he has gone missing.”
“Which only reinforces Michael’s conclusion,” said Andie. “Mallory could be in danger, too.”
“Sounds like you are taking everything Mr. Cantella said at face value.”
“I was standing right beside him when he called nine-one-one. I was sitting at his wife’s side when he literally pleaded with her afterward. In my judgment, yes, he was sincere.”
“You were also in the apartment when a search warrant turned up an envelope with Tony Girelli’s phone number written on it. Local homicide detectives are beyond confident that the five grand inside was Girelli’s fee for shooting Chuck Bell.”
“To me, it smells suspiciously like a plant, especially if it’s true that Girelli is now dead.”
Spear shook his head. “Your undercover role has brought you too close to the Cantellas.”
“My judgment has not been compromised.”
“Really?” said Spear. “Just yesterday you called Cantella to tell him that the FBI was turning up the heat on his first wife. What was that about?”
“I wasn’t telling him anything he hadn’t already heard from his grandfather. That was a no-lose way for me to earn his trust, which I need to do if I’m going to play my role effectively.”
Spear seemed somewhat persuaded on that point, but he held his ground. “Look, we’re in agreement that Nathaniel Locke is the victim of foul play. But we have a fundamental disagreement as to the perp’s identity.”
“I don’t know who killed him.”
“Consider this possibility: Michael Cantella.”
“Why?”
“Two motives. One, the man was sleeping with his wife. Two, Nathaniel Locke was the anonymous source for Chuck Bell at FNN who brought down Saxton Silvers.”
The second point was news to Andie, and it took her aback. It was Andie who had picked up the telephone after Bell’s “Maybe it is, maybe it isn’t Michael Cantella” remark, dialed Malcolm Spear, and pushed to subpoena Bell-First Amendment issues be damned. But Bell’s death had derailed that plan.
“I thought the name of Bell’s source died right along with Chuck Bell,” she said.
“Turns out that Chuck Bell kept a file on his source,” said Spear. “FNN shared it with us after his death, thinking it might help find his killer. In it we found e-mails and photographs that Locke had given to him, which made it abundantly clear that Mallory was sleeping with him.”
“I don’t follow the logic. Bell’s story had nothing to do with infidelity.”
“Apparently Bell had enough integrity not to broadcast rumors about Saxton Silvers unless he had a credible source. Locke’s credibility was tied to his status as Mallory’s lover. Michael trusted his wife enough to confide in her, and Mallory shared those confidences with Locke, who in turn shared those golden nuggets with Bell.”
“Why would he do that?”
“Bell may have paid him. We haven’t confirmed that yet.”
Andie considered it, but before she could speak, Spear closed the loop on the FBI’s analysis.
“It’s a fairly simple equation,” said Spear. “Sleeping with Michael Cantella’s wife gave Locke all the information he needed to be Bell’s source on Saxton Silvers. Bell was murdered after sending his lawyer an e-mail that said he was on his way to meet an even ‘higher source’ from Saxton Silvers. Now Locke-the original source-is also dead. Girelli, the trigger-man, is dead, too. The only logical step for the FBI at this point is to work with local law enforcement to bring Michael Cantella into custody immediately.”
“Your whole theory crumbles unless Michael made up the story about being abducted and taken to a garage in New Jersey where he saw Girelli’s body and witnessed a man being tortured.”
“Michael Cantella is a Wall Street liar,” said Spear. “That’s the worst kind.”
Andie shook her head. “I believe he was being truthful about what he saw. The same goes for his first wife’s being alive.”
“Whom he was suspected of killing,” said Spear.
“He passed a polygraph.”
“Many sociopaths do. Many of them also claim that their wives are still alive, even though they’ve been missing for years.”