On the deck of the yacht, Richard Basque met the man who’d arranged for his new lawyer.
He could hear wet, strangled sounds coming from belowdeck. There was also the sound of two men talking in another language. It might have been Russian, Richard couldn’t be sure.
A body lay on the boat’s deck. Male. Broken neck.
Vanessa, the woman who’d met with Richard in the interrogation room at FBI Headquarters, sashayed up the stairs and stood beside the dark-haired man who’d been waiting for Richard when he arrived.
“Thank you for the information about the layout of headquarters,” Richard said to Vanessa. “It came in handy.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And for the paper clip.”
“Of course.”
“So”—now he addressed the man—“who are you?”
“Just call me Valkyrie.”
Basque looked at him doubtfully. “Valkyrie?”
Valkyrie didn’t answer him and for a moment they simply locked eyes with each other, then he said, “Come on belowdeck. It’s better if we talk down there.”
“Here is fine.”
“There’s a lot going on tonight. Being out in the open isn’t the best idea.”
They descended the stairs and Richard saw two other burly men standing quietly in the corner. He also saw the condition of the man who’d been making the awkward sounds. He was tied to a chair and was still conscious, which Richard found impressive, considering the extent and nature of his wounds.
“You have skills,” he told Valkyrie.
“I have experience.”
Richard gestured toward Vanessa. “When we met earlier, she told me that you wanted me to finish what I started with Agent Bowers.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he caught me once. He vowed to come after me. And he appears to be a persistent man.”
“He is.” Richard thought for a moment. “Can you track a cell phone?”
“I can. Who do you want to find?”
“One of Bowers’s sheep.”
Valkyrie offered a guess: “Agent Jiang or his daughter?”
Richard told him his preference.
“Good choice. Give me three minutes. I’ll find her. In the meantime, I’ve heard about what you do. Feel free to help yourself to the man in the chair.” He pointed toward the knives. “His name is Keith. Do whatever you like. He’s yours.”
“Actually, I think I’m going to save my appetite.”
Valkyrie nodded. “I completely understand.”
He pulled out his laptop, used the hacked password his GRU contact, Nikolai Demidenko, had provided him with, logged into the Federal Digital Database, and then set to work finding the person Richard had requested.
“You should know that if I can find her,” Valkyrie told him, “the Bureau will be able to as well.”
“I’ll take care of that when I get there. Just get me to her.”
“That, I can do.”
Ralph and I received a call from the CIA that they were cutting Nikolai Demidenko a deal.
Ten million dollars.
And immunity.
And a new identity if he would move here to the States.
But only if his intel led us to Alexei Chekov tonight.
Otherwise they would leak information to his associates that he was a double agent.
It sounded like a pretty persuasive offer to me.
They expected to get back to us in a couple minutes.
While we were waiting to hear from them, we got word that the HRT had finally breached the warehouse and found that it was clear. They were going to keep searching the area, but if they found nothing, they planned to leave a small contingent of agents at the site for the night and move the rest back to Quantico.
Richard Basque left the marina.
Valkyrie had given him just what he needed.
He had the location, as well as Valkyrie’s number so he could confirm that she was still there when he got closer.
He would pick her up and head to the third and final apartment that he had rented earlier and saved for a special occasion, the place in Fort Hunt, south of DC.
Keith wanted nothing more than to die. He would have done anything to make all this end, but he had no way to move, no way to get free, no way to kill himself.
And he knew it was going to go on for a long time before he would finally get what he wanted.
Demidenko informed us that Valkyrie had a boat in the DC area: the Diversion. That was all, but it was enough.
Lacey found it for us.
Unless Valkyrie had left the dock, the boat would be at Seaboard Marina.
Ralph and I called it in to get some cars dispatched, but we were close, only a couple of minutes out, and since Valkyrie had apparently gotten wind that we knew about the warehouse meeting, we didn’t want to wait at all before checking the marina.
I directed the car toward it.
Game on.
78
I pulled to a stop in the marina’s parking lot.
The yacht Demidenko had told us about was there with the name painted distinctively on the prow. The boat’s lights were on, no one was on deck.
Guns drawn, Ralph and I edged forward, trying to avoid moving through the pools of murky light cast down by the vapor lights perched high on the weathered telephone poles in the parking lot. Ralph took the lead. I studied the shadows for any movement, but saw nothing.
The night held a slightly fishy odor, that lingering smell of inlets and bays where there isn’t quite enough wind or current to ever clear it away.
Only three vehicles sat in the marina parking lot: two cars and a black SUV with diplomatic tags. Ralph checked the cars while I approached the SUV.
It was unlocked. A suicide vest lay in the backseat.
Okay.
So that’s where things were going.
“Cars are clear,” Ralph said quietly. I pointed out the vest to him and then memorized the identification number on the front of it.
At first, the night held no sound except for the anxious slap of water against the wooden supports holding up the pier, but when we were maybe ten meters from the boat I heard muffled cries coming from somewhere belowdeck.
My heart was beginning to slam hard against the inside of my chest.
We eased closer.
The cries were getting softer and weaker, but also more desperate, and I didn’t like that at all.
Then I heard voices on the boat, muffled by the ripple of water against the hull. Male. Impossible to make out the words or tell how many people were there.
No sound yet of sirens or backup.
Ralph and I proceeded, and when we were nearly to the yacht, a man emerged from the stairway to the area belowdeck.
Valkyrie.
“Do not move!” Ralph commanded.
Valkyrie stood motionlessly in the muted light, then slowly lifted his hands to the sides.
Ralph and I both had our guns directed at him. “On your knees.”
He knelt and we approached him, accessing the yacht quickly but cautiously.
“Lie down,” Ralph told him. “Hands to the side!”
Valkyrie said nothing, but complied, and as he did, the red-haired woman who went by the alias Deborah Moss emerged from belowdeck.
“Federal agents,” I yelled. “Hands out!”
She obeyed.
It struck me that they were giving themselves up too easily. Something else was up. There had to be more people hiding somewhere nearby or waiting belowdeck.
Not good. We needed backup and we needed it now.
Ralph was covering Valkyrie, I had my gun on the woman.
Two cell phones were on the deck’s control console, a dead man lay nearby. The angle of his neck told me all I needed to know about his condition. His jacket was untucked enough for me to see that he had a suicide vest on as well, although this time I couldn’t read any identification number.