Knox stepped closer to her. “And who told you that?”
“Nick, Nick Bradley, the man you just arrested.”
Knox’s mouth curled into a disparaging frown. “That man is a mole, Dr. Chambers, a spy. We’ve been after him for six years. He’s been using you to get to your husband. I wouldn’t trust anything he told you.”
Lauren’s eyes darted around the room, touching each of the men surrounding her in the periphery. Was this possible? Could Nick be a spy? Suddenly her mind was a flurry of thoughts…
all the inconsistencies in Nick’s stories…
the fact that Michael was not just her husband, but really an FBI agent and an assassin…
and now Nick — someone she’d come to know so well, someone she had come to trust — was actually a spy who’d been using her?
She looked up at the FBI director and forced certainty into her voice. “Nick Bradley is a small-time private investigator in Placerville, California.”
“That’s his cover. He was working with someone else here in Washington. That’s all I can tell you.”
“No, that can’t be right. You’ve got it all wrong.”
“Look, Dr. Chambers. I know that learning your husband is dead is a terrible shock. You came here thinking you were going to see him. We had to allow the situation to play itself out so we could get Bradley here. That’s why we chose this location as a rendezvous point. There isn’t a place much more secure than an air force base. Once Bradley was in here, there’d be no way for him to escape. It was a perfect plan, if you ask me.”
“Enough lies! Michael’s not dead and Nick’s not a spy.”
Knox sighed, shook his head, then folded his arms across his chest. “I’m going against my better judgment in telling you this, but maybe it’ll put your mind at ease that I’ve given you full disclosure. It’s absolutely essential you don’t repeat anything I’m about to tell you. Not ever. Do I have your word?”
“Of course.” She would have agreed to just about anything at this point to get at the truth.
“Okay. Yes, we did release disinformation to the press describing Agent Payne’s death in the shootout at Fredericksburg. Truth is, he was only superficially wounded. But this evening, while we were transferring him to this facility, he was engaged in an operation designed to assist us in apprehending a dangerous fugitive, the man you mentioned before — Anthony Scarponi. Against my direct orders, he leaped from our helicopter and attempted to subdue Scarponi, who was in a sports utility vehicle below us. Scarponi’s car went out of control and your husband was severely injured. A medevac helicopter was summoned at twenty-one hundred hours and he died en route, presumably from internal injuries directly related to the impact. I’m sorry.”
Lauren felt the life drain from her body. Her shoulders slumped and she was light-headed.
“I can arrange for you to get some counseling, if you would like. At the moment, I have to brief the president. Agent Haviland,” Knox called to a man standing off to the side, “can you please take care of Dr. Chambers?” He turned back to Lauren. “Agent Haviland will see to your needs.”
Lauren composed herself as Knox headed toward the door. She couldn’t let him leave, not yet, not without having some form of confirmation that what he had told her was true. “Wait,” she said, starting after him. “If Michael’s dead, I want to see his body.”
Knox stopped and swung his body around dubiously, as if it were a bother to have to continue dealing with her. “Fine, I’ll see if it can be arranged. Maybe sometime tomorrow afternoon.”
Lauren lunged forward with the alacrity of a cat, grabbing Knox’s lapels with both hands. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit,” she yelled. “I want to see my husband now!” Her eyes were blazing with anger, her skin clammy with fear.
Four men were upon her a split second later, instantly unlatching her grip on the director using a pressure point on her thumbs. She struggled with the agents, but was unable to break their hold.
“Let her go,” Knox said calmly.
The men instantly released their grips but did not move from where they stood: at the ready, poised to immediately neutralize another outburst.
The click of a door opening behind Knox drew everyone’s attention. A stocky black man walked in and nodded to the director, whose face appeared to brighten.
“Rodman,” Knox said to the man, “are we ready?”
“Yes, sir.”
Knox looked over at one of the agents off to his left. “Agent Haviland, escort Dr. Chambers to Hangar One-Nineteen so she can see Agent Payne’s body. I’ll meet up with her as soon as I’m finished with my call to the president.”
“Thank you,” Lauren said.
Knox turned and walked out of the room.
77
Lauren was transported by Agent Haviland to Hangar 119 in a small motorized vehicle. After being admitted through the Entry Control Point by a young, efficient guard, they drove along the flight line as fast as the small cart could carry them. Twelve-foot-high fences topped off with barbed wire were visible in the diffused lighting, while elsewhere red ropes hung at waist height clearly delineating restricted areas. A vaporous after-rain haze hung lazily around the security lights that sat like centurions atop tall metal posts, giving the base a desolate, lonely feel.
As they rode, Lauren tried hard to contain her swirling storm of thoughts. Finally, realizing this might be her last chance to extract a morsel of information that could provide some insight into the events surrounding Michael’s demise, she decided she had nothing to lose.
Unfortunately, Haviland stubbornly professed ignorance. “I can’t tell you any more than Director Knox has, ma’am. Off the record, though, I enjoyed working with Harper. Your husband was very good at what he did. You have my condolences.”
Lauren acknowledged his comments but told him she was in no mood for eulogies. “Just take me to see my husband, Agent Haviland. That’s all I want.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And it’s doctor. Enough of this ma’am crap.” Lauren was still angry, but she was proud of herself, too. None of the fears or overwhelming urges that had crippled her for so many years had stopped her. She had defeated them. She had turned the corner.
Lauren looked up and saw that Haviland had driven them into what appeared to be a maintenance hangar of some sort, judging by all the tools and dissected engine parts lining the west wall. Above the assorted machined fittings and painted pieces was fire-fighting equipment: extinguishers, hoses, axes, alarm bells. Across the way, an eye washbasin sat beside an unmanned Maintenance Control Booth. In fact, no one was around, something that struck her as odd.
Haviland turned along the painted lines and stopped in a yellow zone, behind a parked military ambulance. He nodded at the back of the vehicle. “Someone will take you to your husband’s body. Good luck, Dr. Chambers.”
Lauren climbed out of the small electric cart and walked over to the rear of the ambulance. Haviland made a U-turn and drove off into the distance, heading for the exit. Lauren turned back to the vehicle, took a deep breath, and pulled the door open.
78
Hangar 314 was cold and quiet. Knox completed his briefing call to the president and provided all the details at his disposaclass="underline" Scarponi’s fugitive standing, the plans under way to locate him, and of course, Harper Payne’s status. It was a tough call to make, but the charade had gone on long enough. He knew that at this time of night the president would not want to keep him on the line debating his tactics, lamenting what had gone wrong, or admonishing him for failing to disclose Scarponi’s escape months ago, when it had first occurred. Plus, Knox had the perfect excuse for not having delivered the news in person.