Chapter 18 Maggie
Maggie
“What the hell is going on?” Ben said as he and Maggie and Declan huddled together in the kitchen, out of Lloyd’s earshot.
“Ingrid will tell us when she’s ready to,” said Maggie.
“Are you sure about that?” Ben leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. “We’ve never had any reason to doubt her. But this—her jumping on a plane and heading off to God knows where? It makes her look guilty.”
“Guilty of what?”
“I don’t know. But with polonium now in the picture, this almost certainly involves our old friends in Moscow.”
“I don’t like what you’re suggesting,” said Maggie.
“‘Inductive science.’ Remember that old Agency term?” said Ben.
“It’s how we’re supposed to approach this.
We look at the evidence and try to understand it, no matter where it takes us.
Not like cops, who use evidence to prove what they think they already know.
And what we do know is that the Russians are involved in this. Which makes me wonder . . .”
“Wonder what?” Lloyd said.
The three of them turned to see Lloyd standing in the kitchen doorway. He’d already had three drinks this evening, all on an empty stomach, but his gaze was steady and coldly focused on Ben.
“Are you accusing my wife of being compromised?”
“No. Of course not,” said Ben.
“But that’s what it sounded like. Ingrid, working for the other side?” Lloyd threw his head back and gave a bitter laugh. “Oh, sure. All these years together, and I didn’t know my wife was a Russian spy? How stupid do you think I am, Ben? How completely blind would I have to be?”
“Lloyd.” Declan placed a calming hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “We’re just struggling to understand the situation. Like you, we want her home, safe and sound. And we’ll do whatever it takes to bring her back.”
“Then start by identifying who poisoned Maslov,” said Lloyd. “It’s almost certainly the same person who killed Karen O’Brien.”
“Unfortunately, the FBI will be all over this,” said Ben. “They’ll be taking a good look at everyone who attended the conference. Including us.”
“And they’ll be asking me about Ingrid,” said Lloyd. “Before I talk to them, I need to know what I’m dealing with. I have to be ready to defend her against whatever malarkey they accuse her of.” He straightened and looked Ben in the eye. “Whatever you accuse her of.”
“We’re not accusing her of anything,” said Maggie. “We’re all in this together, Lloyd. The way we’ve always been.”
“Thank you, Maggie. Ingrid’s counting on us.” Lloyd looked at Ben. “All of us.”
“Lloyd, maybe you should eat something,” said Declan, frowning at the empty glass in Lloyd’s hand. “That’s your third drink. Man cannot live on martinis alone.”
“Has anyone ever confirmed that?”
“Well, let’s not try to prove it tonight, okay?” Declan turned to the refrigerator. “Let me make you a sandwich. In fact, we could all stand to eat something . . .”
Maggie felt her phone buzz with an incoming message.
She took it out of her pocket and saw two words on her screen: Eyes Only.
She glanced at the men, but they were busy pulling deli meat and mayonnaise out of the refrigerator.
No one was paying attention to her. Quietly, she slipped out of the kitchen and into the living room.
Eyes Only. Which meant this communication was meant for her, and only her.
She hesitated before opening the message. Even before she clicked on it, she knew she was about to open a one-way door. Once she stepped through it, there would be no turning back.
She opened the message, and nine words appeared on her screen.
Will explain later. Keep him safe. Counting on you.
Short and to the point. There was no signature, but she knew who’d sent it.
Even as she stared at the words, they flickered out, leaving only a blank screen.
The message had been on ten-second self-destruct, meant to ensure that only one pair of eyes would read it.
A message that the sender did not want anyone else to see, not even Lloyd.
Keep him safe.
Those were not the words of a woman who’d abandoned her husband, a woman who no longer loved him. No, they were written by a wife who was walking into dangerous territory and wanted to keep her husband out of harm’s way.
“Maggie?” said Declan, who’d just walked into the living room. “Ham or turkey?”
“What?”
“Your sandwich. Ham or turkey?”
“Ham.”
He eyed her. “Everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine.” Maggie slipped the phone back in her pocket, where it felt like a hot coal trying to burn its way out.
She said nothing about the message when she returned to the kitchen.
As much as she wanted to blurt it out to the men, she could not ignore Ingrid’s demand of Eyes Only, which she had to respect, even if she did not understand the reason for it.
The Agency had taught her that some secrets weren’t meant to be shared, not even with your nearest and dearest. But it was secrecy that had undermined Maggie’s own marriage, secrecy that had ripped her husband Danny from her.
She hoped that Ingrid had weighed all the possible consequences of her actions.
Maggie and the men sat down to sandwiches and pickles—a sadly prosaic meal compared to the culinary marvels that usually emerged from Lloyd’s kitchen.
Lloyd had lost his appetite, and as she watched him listlessly pull apart his sandwich, she thought: why not tell him about Ingrid’s text?
Why not share it with Declan and Ben as well?
Decades of friendship bound them together in a circle of trust, and she hated seeing Lloyd so miserable when she could easily relieve his pain.
She helped clear the table and wash the dishes.
As the evening grew late, as martinis gave way to whisky, Lloyd sank deeper into a boozy stupor in front of the family room hearth.
They couldn’t leave him alone tonight; certainly she couldn’t leave him alone, not with Ingrid’s directive weighing on her shoulders.
She pulled Declan and Ben into the kitchen. Said, quietly: “You two go home. I’m going to stay with him tonight.”
“I’ll stay too,” said Declan.
“No, we should trade off shifts. I’ll take the first one.”
“You don’t have any of your things here.”
“I can borrow what I need from Ingrid. I’m sure there’s a spare toothbrush somewhere in this house.” She glanced toward the family room, where they’d left Lloyd slumped in an easy chair. “I’ve never seen him like this. He’s completely lost without her.”
“To be honest,” said Ben, “so are we.”
She found a neatly folded nightgown in Ingrid’s dresser and a new toothbrush, still in its packaging, in the guest bathroom.
Also in the bathroom vanity was a variety of sweet-smelling little bars of soap, their wrappers labeled with the names of hotels around the world.
Souvenirs that Ingrid must have collected over a lifetime of travel and work abroad.
The Slocums’ guest suite had been maintained in a state of perpetual readiness, with clean sheets on the bed and fresh towels in the bathroom.
That was classic Ingrid, prepared for any contingency, including an unexpected guest turning up on her doorstep.
Did you plan an escape contingency as well, Ingrid?
Maggie wondered. Was that how she’d managed to so swiftly and effortlessly vanish into thin air?
Such an escape would require preparation—again, something Ingrid was known for.
Lloyd had signed into their joint bank and credit card accounts, and he’d found no recent withdrawals, no new charges on their credit cards.
Did Ingrid have a secret account, and was she now operating under a new identity?
Ingrid 2.0. It was not impossible if you knew how to do it, and she certainly would know, but such an escape plan would require that the essentials be prepared in advance: cash, passports, burner phone.
Maggie picked up her cell phone to check for messages, and found one from Declan: Good night, sleep tight. But there was nothing new from Ingrid.
She set her phone back down. Turned off the lamp and lay awake, thinking: Ingrid, what the hell is going on?
She surfaced from a deep sleep straight into alertness.
Felt her heart pounding as she lay in the unfamiliar bed and stared up at the darkness.
The clock on the nightstand said 3:13 a.m. Why am I awake?
What woke me up? She had left her past career behind, but she had not shed the old instincts that had kept her alive during those years, the instincts that now told her to pay attention. That something was not right.
She heard a muffled thump. Someone was moving downstairs in the Slocums’ house.
She rolled out of bed and cracked open the door.
Saw a faint glow of light from below, funneling up the stairwell.
Not a burglar, then. No self-respecting thief turns on the lights when robbing an occupied house.
In her bare feet, she made her way downstairs and followed the glow down the hallway, to the study.
Seated in front of the desktop computer was Lloyd, so focused on the screen that he did not realize Maggie was standing in the doorway behind him.
“Lloyd? What are you doing?” she said.
“I couldn’t sleep.” He didn’t turn to look at her, instead keeping his gaze on the computer. “I kept thinking, she wouldn’t leave me without some sort of reassurance. Some indication that she’s all right. There’s got to be a message. Something I’ve missed.”
There had indeed been a message, one that Maggie was sorely tempted to reveal to him, seeing how disheveled and heartsick he looked.
“Lloyd . . .”
“I think I’ve found it,” he said.
“What?”
“The message. A message, anyway.”