Chapter 8 #2
Mark Richards took the seat next to him diagonally across from her and the two Homeland Security men stood behind them a couple of paces and stared down at her like they were ready to pounce.
“Where shall we begin? You all heard the story about the unfortunate kitten.”
Richards said, “What kind of weapons is Ivanov selling to Xavier and Cannelloni?”
She shrugged. “He’s not selling anything to them. That’s why they sent the unfortunate kitten.”
“Shut up about the kitten,” Tims blurted. She looked up at him and smiled. She thought of asking him how his hand was, but she knew better.
Croft said, “What’s your role in the deal? You hired muscle for Ivanov? You making the drop?”
“I am protecting his granddaughter Lara from the threat because—”
“Don’t say it. Damn it,” Tims said.
Her Special Agent Dinner Date spoke up then. “No one believes that Anatoly Ivanov would pass up a lucrative arms deal. Are you sure he’s not—”
“Lying? About the—”
Tims jumped forward and slammed a fist on the table in front of her.
He’d invaded Special Agent Smith’s space in doing so and Smith didn’t like that.
Smith jumped to a stand and shoved Tims back almost to the wall.
She hadn’t noticed before how big and strong her possible dinner date was until that moment.
He was taller and stronger and younger than Dane Blaise.
Too bad for him none of that mattered. He was not the legendary Dane Blaise.
He was not the man who sent a vibration of excitement through her every time he walked into the same room as her, who made her heart beat like a kettle drum when he came close and whispered in her ear, when he touched her.
Not the man who had the heart and soul of a lion and the tenderness of an eager boy with a handful of flowers.
“Get your man under control,” Richards said. He stayed seated and Croft put a hand on Tims’s arm. They were suited to their roles as good cop-bad cop. It wasn’t all an act if the pulsing vein in Tims’s temple was a tell for real anger.
Richards looked at her with a bland face, like he was going to ask a reasonable question.
She didn’t let him. She said, “Look, you know as well as I do that Dane is cutting a deal with your boss right now.”
“We’re not interested in any deals the FBI—” Croft said.
“We’ll find out, but for now—”
“You’re wasting your time,” she said. “Go talk to Ryan Murphy.”
“You’re right, Ms. George,” Agent Croft said. “We’ll get a copy of this interview and then we’ll drag you in for our own private interview in our own offices.”
That didn’t make her feel swell.
“Let’s find out what the SAC decides,” Smith said.
“He’s your boss—not ours,” Tims said. He and Croft were headed for the door.
“He won’t make a deal without calling your boss and reading him in on it,” Richards said.
That made the two men stop at the door. Tims glowered and Croft shrugged.
“Our boss knows how important this operation is. We’re not derailing it over—”
Shana stood. “This interview is over.” She’d decided to make the signature Dane Blaise bold move. She wasn’t a criminal. They couldn’t hold her. Dane had told her to get up and leave and see what happened.
What happened was that Mr. Dinner Date stood and acted as if they were on a date by escorting her to the door. She glanced at Mark Richards to see him frown, but he didn’t stop them.
“Wait in my office until your boyfriend is finished with his meeting with the SAC.” It wasn’t her imagination that Richards had emphasized the word “boyfriend.” It wasn’t her imagination that Derek suffered a slight blush of embarrassment at the reminder.
She wasn’t so sure he wasn’t smitten beyond reason.
She would need to enlighten him of his status because she couldn’t afford to have this kind of relationship messiness with an FBI man.
He nodded at his boss and took her by the arm to escort her out.
They didn’t get far.
The door swung open and they were joined by the two Homeland Security agents who had accompanied Dane. Reinforcements.
“Come in and join us,” Croft said. “Let’s everyone have a seat and try this again—that means you, Ms. George.”
She stood where she was and flicked a gaze in the direction of the FBI SAC. He was busy frowning in Croft’s direction and measuring his words before he spoke. She felt Derek’s hand slide from her elbow to the small of her back.
“Isn’t anyone here interested in speaking with Ryan Murphy?” she asked.
One of the new Homeland Security men spoke up. “He had nothing to say.” He turned to Croft and frowned. “You forgot to mention he was an attorney.”
Shana decided it was time for her to leave and she hoped Derek would let her go. She hoped to hell he didn’t leave with her. She didn’t want to be responsible for him going out on a limb.
“Where the hell is Dane Blaise?” The other unidentified Homeland Security beef asked. That was her cue.
She turned toward the door and out of the grasp of her unfortunate dinner-date-never-to-be and took a step toward the door, ready to push it open.
The unidentified Homeland Security agent who stood nearest to her lunged past Special Agent Smith and grabbed her shoulder.
His over-the-top reaction surprised her.
Before she caught her breath, he got in front of her and shoved her back inside the room until she hit the wall, knocking the wind out of her.
Special Agent Smith jumped in and yanked him back shouting in the way the FBI usually reserved for takedowns.
Shana managed to pull herself free from the crazy HS man and stood in the standard defensive Krav Maga pose with her left foot forward, knees slightly bent, elbows close to her side, hands up, and head bent ten degrees forward.
HS agent Croft jumped in and separated his fellow feds, saying urgently, “Not here. Not now.” He was smart and remembered they were in the FBI offices and not on home turf and that such a commotion might be used against them.
In fact, Shana wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been observed and some armed special agents were on their way.
The door swung open then. But instead of a band of FBI agents wielding guns, Dane and SAC Owen Evans stepped into the room.
Dane swung his eyes around the room, landing on Shana, and in an instant realized the situation.
She was fine and HS had made a misstep. She sensed a smile under the granite mask of his face.
“Leave the room,” Dane said. He stepped away from the door. The man took a step, backing away from the FBI agent he had almost assaulted. After a quick sideways glance at his fellow agents and exchanged nods, he glared at Dane as he left the room.
“Wait in my office,” Evans said.
Dane pushed the door shut behind the man with an unrushed but solid click.
“Let’s all have a seat,” he said. As Shana, Smith, Richards and the more reasonable or smart HS men Croft, Tims and one of the HS men she was never introduced to, took seats at the table—the FBI man siding with Shana.
Dane and SAC Evans remained standing. Shana realized she’d seen the HS man before—he was one of the two men outside the Vineyard Haven Marina.
Owen Evans slipped a phone from his breast pocket and tossed it on the table towards Trevor Croft. “Call your boss. Tell him I’d like to talk with him.”
“Why should—”
“I know who he is,” the SAC said. Dane stepped around the table to stand behind Shana. She felt him even though he hadn’t touched her. Relief of tension swept through her. She hated herself for it.
The Homeland Security man picked up the phone and tapped a few numbers. Without speaking, he handed the phone to the FBI SAC.
Before he and Shana stepped on the elevator to leave the FBI offices Croft caught up with them and took Dane aside.
The Homeland Security man’s angry scowl didn’t bother Dane. It was what he’d expected. He didn’t change his bland expression.
“We will be on you forever if your plan doesn’t work—if Max and Sal find another source instead of going revenge,” Croft said. “Although I can see why they’d want to go for revenge. But if they don’t and you blow this up, it’ll put our operation back to square one.”
“Not to mention a dangerous terrorist cell will remain in operation.”
“Don’t be a wise ass.”
“The plan will work,” Shana said. She wore a Mona Lisa smile that gave her a supremely confident air.
Croft looked at her a beat. “Your boyfriend better be ready to guarantee that with his life.”
“There’s nothing you can do to me,” Dane said. “I don’t care if you throw me in jail.”
“We wouldn’t throw you in jail. We’d make you our indentured servant for the rest of your life.” Croft looked back at Shana. Dane didn’t bother asking about what leverage they would use. He’d been transparent about his Achilles heel. They’d own him and they’d hold Shana’s future over his head.
She’d be lost to him, but he’d do anything to keep her whole and they knew it.
Dane knew he faced tough odds to get Homeland Security to back off. He wanted them to leave him and Shana the hell alone and forget they ever existed but after that fiasco they were as in danger of revenge from HS as they were from Max and Sal.
Dane was at his best when the stakes were high.
Now he had a lot at stake. HS would be watching him closer than a scientist on a microscope.
He decided to make the most of it and invite them in for a drink at the beach shack next time they were in the area.
Which he expected would be as soon as they all landed back on the island at Martha’s Vineyard Airport.
“There’s three watchers,” Acer said. Dane barely heard him. He had the water running in the kitchen sink. “That I know of. Could be more.”
They got home late last night. There were only two days left until the staged wedding sting and a long list of logistics to take care of. Shana had gone early, leaving Dane with Acer and guard duty until they moved Lara and Paulette.
“Who are they? HS or Max and Sal’s men?”
Acer shrugged. “At least one of them belongs to Sal. I found his picture in a federal pen alumni album.”
That made him smile. He didn’t show his enormous relief that they had hooked their opponents, that it looked like they could draw Max and Sal in to take revenge—and catch them in for sting. But there would be an extra step between their men and them and they needed to play it carefully.
“Why are we camouflaging our conversation with Niagara Falls?” Dane gestured to the sink.
Acer shrugged, but he held up a note, obviously anticipating this question.
It said that there were potentially high-powered listening devices in the area.
One or more of the watchers may be equipped, depending if they were HS and depending on how sophisticated Max and Sal were taking this operation.
“Let’s go out for a walk,” Dane said. He knew Acer wouldn’t like it. He was skittish about exposing himself ever since the sniper incident a year ago.
Acer raised his brows.
“Hold on,” Dane said.
He went to the basement and retrieved a Kevlar vest from one of the lockers hidden in the floor and brought it upstairs. He handed it to Acer and motioned for him to put it on under his shirt.
“It’s the latest fashion rage.”
Acer slipped off his loose fitting T-shirt with a bright yellow smiley face emblazoned on a black background and put on the vest. “What about you?”
“I’m a VIP.” No way was anyone taking him out. Not at this point. Everyone wanted a piece of him. Alive. He thought of Toly.
“Let’s go.”
Once the beach shack door slammed shut behind him and with any luck shattered some listener’s eardrums in the process, Dane headed for his Jeep.
“I thought we were walking?”
“Change of plans.” Dane waited until Acer did a turn around the car and checked everything, including the undercarriage, for all manner of surveillance equipment. And bombs too, while he was at it.
“All clear,” he said as he jumped into the car.
Dane turned the key and pulled out of the drive.
“Is there a purpose to this drive besides you want to get away from the shack?”
“You know me. There’s always a purpose.”
“Sure. How about sharing. You’re a stingy shit when it comes to sharing whatever’s on your nasty plotting mind.”
“What makes you think I’m plotting something?”
“I know you.”
“How do you know it’s nasty?”
Acer laughed and in spite of the fact that the Jeep had no air conditioning he rolled up his window. Dane did the same.
After a looping and quick tour through some heavy traffic during which he lost their one tail—Dane wasn’t sure if it was HS or FBI—he drove them to a narrow side street off the beaten tourist path and pulled into the driveway of a small blue-shingled storefront sporting a display of a dozen pie plates filled with every crazy concoction he’d never heard of, according to the cards.
“What the hell is this place? You have a hankering for pie?”
“We’re meeting in the basement.”
“Who?”
“Everyone.”
“Shana? Cap? Toly?”
Dane nodded and got out of his car.
“Who’s not here?” Acer looked around like he expected to see a crowd. There were a lot of cars parked along the narrow road, making two-way traffic impossible. This was one of the reasons Dane had chosen the pie shop as their meeting place.
Dane led Acer to the rear of the building and said, “Lara and Paulette. Viktor drove them to Oak Bluffs.”
“Where are you stashing them?”
“The one place no one would dream of looking—home.”
“Boston?”
“No. My home.”
“Your—”
“My mother is taking care of them for me.”
“Who’s taking them from Oak Bluffs to the Berkshires? I assume they’re flying and I assume they’re not flying commercial.”
“David Young and his lovely wife. You ask a lot of questions.”
“I’m shocked you’re giving me a lot of answers.”
“This a test?”
Acer shrugged. “I guess it is.”
“Now that I’ve passed with flying colors, it’s time we got ourselves some pie.
” He turned the corner at the back of the building and came to a screen door emanating the irresistible scent of apple pie.
The door produced a loud screech when he pulled it open.
Once inside the small back room filled with storage shelves, he turned away from the open door to the kitchen in spite of the temptation to steal a pie.
Taking a right, he headed toward a dark dingy stairwell.