Chapter 10 Ingrid
Ingrid
Sunday
They agreed to meet at the trailhead at the base of Mount Cameron, where they could be assured of privacy.
It had been a long time since she’d felt the need to be so furtive, but there were too many new faces in town, too many chances of being seen or overheard.
This was about more than national security; she also did not want Lloyd to know about this meeting, because he’d have questions, and she couldn’t deal with those right now.
The one person who’d understand her concerns, the one person she could confide in, was Rodrigo.
He was also the last person she wanted to be alone with, but here she was, pacing among the fallen autumn leaves as she waited for him.
This morning, a thick fog bank had settled over the coastline, and here in the woods, mist clung to the ground.
She was the only one at the trailhead this morning, and the forest was eerily quiet.
She heard no chirping birds, no squirrels rustling among the leaves, and the silence magnified the sound of her own breathing.
Once again, she checked her phone for messages. Nothing from Rodrigo.
She was still focused on her screen when suddenly, magically, he was right there, emerging from the mist. Rodrigo still walked with the stride of a young man, his shoulders unbowed by the passage of seven decades.
He did not call out a greeting but merely nodded to her, an acknowledgment that whatever they were about to discuss should not be announced to the world.
“Does anyone else know?” he asked.
“I shared some of the details with my friends. And Lloyd.”
“Why?”
“They’ll learn about the stiletto soon enough, from the police report. I want to bring them into this, Rodrigo. They can help. And I trust them to stay silent.”
“What if we’re forced to take extreme measures? If we deal with this ourselves, it can stay between us. No one else has to know.”
“They’d never betray me.”
“No matter how far we take this? How many rules we break?”
“Rules?” She laughed. “You’ve always been good at breaking those.”
“When it’s necessary. When it’s needed to complete the mission. This may be one of those times.”
She turned and walked a few paces away, just to put distance between them. Their shared past was clouding her judgment. She knew him well enough to know his talent for persuasion, and she needed the next decision to be hers, and hers alone.
“Twenty-eight years ago,” he said, “I didn’t believe you.”
She turned to him. “What?”
“That day they attacked the safe house, you told me there was a fifth man in the vehicle. When I found you, you were barely conscious, so I didn’t trust your recollection. I thought you were just confused, after the blast. But now I think you may have been right.”
She shook her head. “I just don’t know anymore.”
“Ingrid, I think you do know. Isn’t that why you called me?” He moved toward her, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. “You called because you felt something. You sensed the truth, even if you’re trying to back away from it now. Be honest.”
She stared down at the forest floor. At the brilliant carpet of fallen leaves. “When I saw the woman in the trunk of her car,” she said quietly, “it all came back to me. The day in Provence, standing in the garden where Gordon died. I saw that stiletto in his eye . . .”
“Tell me what else you remember about that day.”
She paced around the clearing as she recalled the terrible details of that summer day in the valley of lavender.
Some of it was a blur, because the explosion had knocked her backward, blacking out part of her memory.
She remembered the seconds before it happened, crouching behind the bed, which had cushioned her from the worst of the blast, and had probably saved her life.
She remembered aiming her weapon at the barricaded door, waiting for the enemy to break through. Waiting for the end.
Then came a blank spot, a gap in her memory, followed by the sound of Rodrigo’s voice, calling her name.
She turned to him. “You found four dead men at the safe house.”
“And you told me you saw five in the SUV.”
“If one of them escaped—if he’s still alive—”
“He’d be getting up in years.”
“So are we, Rodrigo. That doesn’t mean we’re decrepit.”
He smiled. “Certainly not you.”
“Where has this fifth man been all this time? What’s he been doing?”
“Well, he hasn’t been idle. He’s still active.”
“What?” She frowned. “How do you know?”
“Do you remember what I told you, about Argus? That we have collectors in thirty-three countries, gathering intel? We also have sources inside Interpol, British intelligence, and agencies around the world. After you told me about the stiletto, I reached out to those sources. Asked if there’ve been similar killings in the last three decades, anywhere in the world. ”
“You found others?”
Rodrigo nodded. “Eighteen years ago, a Bulgarian journalist in Sydney. Thirteen years ago, a Russian businessman in London. Six years ago, another Russian, this one a banker, in Bangkok. All the victims had angered Moscow, in one way or another. And that symbol engraved on the handle? The circle with the dot inside? It seems to be a Vory symbol. Russian organized crime, hired by the GRU. These killings were clearly state sponsored.”
“Why is this the first time we’ve heard about these other stiletto killings?”
“Because we weren’t looking for them. Because I never believed there was a fifth man. And because these incidents were so spread out, both in time and geography, that I didn’t make the connections. Now I have a client who’s eager to pursue the matter.”
“Which client is that?”
“When I reached out to my contacts about stilettos, it caught the attention of a certain agency I’d rather not reveal. They require absolute secrecy, so this needs to stay strictly within Argus. But trust me, this is a legitimate ally.”
“Yet you won’t tell me who the client is?”
“I can’t. They demand complete deniability, so we can’t talk about this to anyone.
But this client is ready to throw resources behind it.
” He came toward her, placed his hands on her shoulders.
“The truth is, I never really believed in your fifth man. Now I think he’s real.
I think he’s alive, and he’s still killing. ”
And he’s in Purity.
She paced the clearing again, her shoes rustling through the fallen leaves as she struggled to see through the concussive fog that blurred her memory of Provence.
From the trees came the chirp of a red squirrel, alarmed by two humans so close to its nest, but the birds were strangely silent.
The forest itself seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for her to speak.
She sagged against the trunk of an oak tree.
So solid, so reliable, unlike memories, which can twist and deform, as untrustworthy as smoke.
“This conference was a target-rich gathering,” she said. “Retired spies. Diplomats. Journalists . . .”
“Yes, you mentioned that.”
“So why would he kill a forty-eight-year-old waitress from Maine? Or is there something we don’t know about her?”
“It could be a case of mistaken identity.”
“Or . . .” She went still. “It was a matter of necessity, and she wasn’t the real target. Maybe she saw something. Or someone.”
“You see? This is why I need you, Ingrid. We made a fine team. We still do. I have to leave tomorrow, for a meeting in London. Join me, and let’s track down this fifth man together.”
“Where would we even start? By now he could be anywhere.”
“That’s where Argus comes in. The giant with a hundred eyes, remember? I trust my sources to deliver.”
“Tell me when they do. Then I’ll think about it.”
“And London? There’s a seat for you, on my plane.”
“What am I supposed to tell Lloyd?”
“Whatever you used to tell him when you left for an op. ‘Goodbye, dear, don’t ask where I’m going.’”
She shook her head. “I’m retired, Rodrigo.”
“Yet here you are, back in the game. Fretting over puzzle pieces.”
“Because it scares me. This shouldn’t be happening, not in my town.”
“Then let’s work together.” He moved closer. “Don’t you miss it, just a little? The challenge. The thrill.”
She looked up at eyes that once had watched her with hunger in their hotel bedroom. Eyes with the same dangerous glint that had reeled her into his arms.
She stepped away from him. “There’s too much happening right here, in Purity. This is where I need to be.” She turned to leave. “Let me know what you find out in London.”
“There’s no way I can convince you to join me?” he called out as she walked away.
“Did you really think you could?”
“One can always hope.”
“Goodbye, Rodrigo.”
“Since you’re staying in Purity, there’s something you might want to pursue.”
She stopped and looked back at him. “Yes?”
“What if the doctors are wrong? What if Dr. Maslov doesn’t have Ebola?”
“I’ve already thought of that,” she said.
“And?”
“I’ve set the wheels in motion.”
He laughed and gave her a jaunty salute of farewell. “I knew you would.”