The Eyes of Others Page 23

  “Garrett Turner was an egocentric ass, but he didn’t deserve this. I want to get Hollinger and his friends as bad as you do.”

  I’ve had my reservations all along about Hollinger and his whole role in this mess that has consumed the almost undivided attention of the country’s politicians and intelligence agencies. With the media stoking the fires, everybody is now calling for his head without asking why. Now might be as good time a time as any to ask that question.

  “Unless Hollinger had nothing to do with this.”

  “Have you been drinking?” Grimman asks.

  “Not recently, but I could use one right now.” I’m not kidding about that.

  “I spoke with forensics when I arrived. The detonation was caused by an explosive device under the bumper and triggered by a cell phone. Hollinger and his friends blew up your car in the exact same way. He’s had it out for Garrett for getting him suspended from the DIA. Hell, he’s probably the mole we’ve been looking for all along. How can you possibly think it wasn’t him?”

  “Because it’s too convenient.”

  “Otherwise known as an MO. You must have forgotten your training when you hit that wall. Listen, Zach, I don’t really care about your car or who killed Turner. Metro Police can handle those investigations. You need to step back and remember how this all started. There is a mole in the DIA. Do you think it’s a coincidence that there haven’t been any reports of leaked information since Hollinger was removed from his job?”

  “Yes, a whole three days. It’s shocking to think a traitor would lie low until the worst of the storm blows over while we’re chasing the wrong guy.”

  “He’s the mole, Zach. He’s passing information to ISIS. He got the VP’s son killed. That much is becoming clear. It’s why he’s on the run.”

  “On the run? Yeah, he’s running real far. If you were a mole, and no longer in a position to pass along information because half the federal government was looking for you, would you stick around? I mean, the longer he stays, the more chance he has to get caught. Why risk it?”

  Grimman glares at me but doesn’t have an answer. With all the pressure being applied, everybody stopped asking questions, including him. They want to make it all go away, and catching Boston is the solution.

  “You said you knew Turner?”

  “Yeah,” he confirms.

  “Did he tell you why he had me watching Hollinger? There was no proof at all that he was the mole.”

  “No, but Turner was in his supervisory chain. I assume he somehow suspected it.”

  “And didn’t bother telling any of the dozen FBI agents walking around his office? Come on, Tom. You have to admit something’s not right there.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “Maybe we have this thing reversed. Maybe it was Garrett who was the mole and Boston suspected him.”

  Grimman gets an impatient look on his face. He looks to the left and right and then takes a step closer to me. I guess that was the last straw.

  “Yeah, sure, Zach, and our mole just blew himself up. Try explaining that to Director Weisz. Look, don’t make waves on this one, okay?” Grimman says, leaning into me. “Mole or not, Hollinger needs to be brought in, and that’s your only mission. The rest will get sorted after that. Now, go to hospital and get checked out.”

  I have no confidence that anything will get sorted once he’s in custody. The pressure to catch this mole is intense, and everyone is pointing the finger at Hollinger. His actions aren’t helping his cause, but there’s no chance of anyone doing due diligence on this with the burning need to get this issue put to bed so the media stops talking about it.

  “One last thing, Tom.”

  “What?” he asks, stopping and turning back to me.

  “Garrett got a call on his cell right before his car went up. There was something … off … about the conversation. I want to know who he was talking to.”

  “I can put some people on it to track that down,” Grimman assures with a measurable lack of enthusiasm as he walks away.

  “Do you think Hollinger called him?” Remsen inquires.

  “I think the bomber might have. Maybe it was him and maybe it wasn’t. Either way, I need you to find out who that was.”

  “You just asked Grimman,” Remsen points out.

  “Yeah, and he’s already forgotten my request. His focus is on catching Hollinger. Nothing else matters.”

  “Roger. I’m on it.”

  “Good, I’m going to go get us a car.”

  “Zach, I’m sure the paramedics can take us to the hospital,” Remsen points out, a thumb pointed over his shoulder for good measure.

  “I’m sure they will, but they won’t be willing to make a stop first.”

  “Grimman said―”

  “He said go get checked out. Not how to get there and when,” I clarify for my perplexed partner.

  “I think it was implied,” Remsen says with a half smile.

  “Then he should have stated it outright,” I reply, matching his grin.

  “Remember when I told you I was happy to have you back? I lied,” he smirks, pulling out his phone to call the office.

  .

  ~ chapter 51 ~

  director colby washington

  “That’s absolutely tragic, sir, I am at a loss for words.”

  I’m not at a loss for words at all. I just can’t tell Vice-Admiral Troxsell what I’m actually thinking. Making bold statements about a deceased colleague, as the head of your agency is giving you your job back, is not something most would call shrewd. The truth is, the bastard had it coming to him and I hope he burns in hell.

  “Colby, in the interests of full disclosure, I’m not reinstating you back to your position by choice. I still have reservations about your leadership and decision-making over the past months,” the admiral explains. “That hasn’t changed.”

  “Then why are you, sir?”

  “Because powers higher than me thought differently. We have kidnapped Americans still missing, the death of the VP’s son dominating the news, and now Garrett Turner’s murder to deal with. ISIS is hitting us hard, and they want our most seasoned intelligence professionals leading the effort to help defeat them. Despite my reservations about you, there is no doubting your track record.”

  Higher powers. The senator must have made good on his promise. As chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, he wields considerable influence, even in an unofficial capacity. Couple that with his long friendship with Admiral Troxsell, and securing my reinstatement once Garrett was out of the way was inevitable. I had to cash in all my chips to get him to make the call, but it’s worth it. The slate between us may be clean, but now I’m in a position to start doing him favors again. Everybody wins in the end.

  “I understand, sir. I will do everything within my power to earn your trust and confidence back.”

  “I expect nothing less. You can start by assisting the FBI in finding out once and for all if there is a mole at the DIA, and whether or not it’s this Hollinger guy as everyone seems to believe.”

  “I will get to work on it as soon as I’m reinstated,” I tell him confidently.

  “The paperwork will be processed tomorrow. I need you back at your desk Friday morning.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Another thing,” he adds. “The work quality within our agency has dropped significantly since the existence of this leak was exposed. The products your teams are putting out are not up to their usual caliber. I need you to get everyone to refocus their efforts and try to ignore the distraction of what’s going on. We have troops in harm’s way and a war; we

  need to provide them the tools to win. Our analysis of the enemy is a key to securing victory.”

  “Yes, sir. Performance will become my top priority.”

  Admiral Troxsell talks just like almost every officer who spends any time in the Pentagon. How can anyone work under the stress the FBI is exerting in the office? Nothing can get
done under those circumstances, and now he expects me to fix it fresh after being fired?

  “Very well then. See you Friday morning.”

  “Good night, sir,” I tell him a moment before the call disconnects.

  He made his expectations clear. He needs everyone back on task. How the hell is that going to work? I need to get the FBI out of our office and everyone’s hair. The jobs my people do are stressful enough under normal conditions.

  I pour another glass of the Remy Martin Louis XIII cognac I pull out to celebrate special occasions. At three thousand dollars a bottle, it’s too expensive for every day drinking. This bottle was a gift from a friend who works at a high-priced lobby firm in Arlington. Getting my job back is the perfect reason to savor every sip.

  There is no way Hollinger is the mole. If they believe he is, then they are no closer to finding the real perpetrator than they were when they started the investigation, or when Hollinger started doing his own in the background.

  I think back to the day I hired him when he told me about his suspicions of a leak in the agency. I dismissed it because I didn’t want any unfounded allegations reflecting negatively on me or my directorate. It seemed a logical course of action at the time, considering he never offered a shred of evidence to support his theories. It was a gut feeling, and I treated it as such.

  What would have happened had I listened to him? He wouldn’t have convinced himself he had cause to conduct his own inquiry behind my back. It was that violation of directives that Garrett used to convince me to have him watched. How he reacted to that surveillance has made him into the prime suspect of the mole he thought we should have been looking for in the first place.

  I swirl my cognac in the glass and take another sip, marveling at the irony of the situation. The admiral is right. I should have made better decisions in those situations. I valued Hollinger’s work so much that I turned a blind eye to what he was actually up to and almost paid a steep price for that ignorance. I swear I won’t let that happen again.

  Maybe I’m staring at the solution to all my problems. If the FBI thinks he’s the mole, maybe I should be willing to let that run its course. They will end the investigation and I can get on with the work my director needs me to do. My team will be free to do the jobs they were hired for. Our forces need the intelligence analysis they provide. It literally could be the difference between life and death.

  If Hollinger turns out to be innocent of any wrongdoing, that will come out eventually through interrogations or in the courts. That is the system I believe in. He got himself into this situation, and he will have to find his way out of it. He will be afforded every opportunity to exonerate himself. In the meantime, with him out of the picture, I will have the time I need to make things right.

  I need to ensure the FBI catches him. His incarceration will significantly reduce the pressure on my whole directorate. There has to be a way to help that along. I smile and take another sip of this luscious cognac. Garrett isn’t the only one who knows how to play politics.

  .

  ~ chapter 52 ~

  gina attison

  “I’m still trying to put this place together after the last time you guys were here, so if you’re here to search again, you’re out of luck,” I tell the agents at the door after I answer it and the men show their FBI badges.

  “We’re not here to search anything, Miss Attison. We know it’s late, but may we come in?”

  “You’re right. It is late. Can this wait?”

  “Unfortunately, no. We may be predisposed in the morning,” one of them says, eliciting a confused face from me.

  “We’re supposed to be on the way to the hospital,” the beefy looking sidekick informs me with a mischievous grin. I give them a quick once-over and can understand why.

  “You both look like you got your asses kicked.”

  “We did, in a manner of speaking.”

  “So you just thought you’d swing by on your prime suspect’s woman? How sweet.”

  “I’d rather not have this conversation on your front stoop. Please, may we come in?”

  I step aside and let them cross the threshold into the living room. I’d rather not, but I don’t think I have much of a choice in it. These two don’t strike me as the types that take no for an answer.

  “My name is Special Agent Zach Bruhte. This is Agent Remsen.”

  “Agent Bruhte?” I confirm, recognizing the name.

  “Yes.”

  “I see. I assume you had to take a company car to get here.” He doesn’t look amused at my pointing out that I’m aware of what happened to his own vehicle.

  “Your fiancé and his friends will answer for that eventually, but that’s not why I’m here.” A shiver runs up my spine.

  “Okay, it’s been a very long day for me. If this isn’t about Boston, what is it about?”

  “Have you heard about the explosion at the gas station on Pennsylvania Avenue a few hours ago?”

  “It’s all over the news. I didn’t think anything could cut in on the twenty-four-hour coverage of the death of the vice-president’s son. What does that have to do with me?”

  The two just stare at me and I put two and two together. The fresh cuts and bruises, beat-up suits, and smell of smoke leads me to an unnerving revelation. They were involved in the explosion and suspect Boston is the reason why.

  “You were there,” I conclude.

  “Yes, ma’am, we were,” Remsen answers.

  “We were talking to the man killed in the explosion. He was a high-ranking official in the DIA named―”

  “Garrett Turner,” I interrupt to their surprise. “The agents who were here earlier already told me.”

  “What they didn’t tell you is that the victim received a phone call right before he died,” Agent Bruhte relays.

  “Good for him.”

  “The call was from a disposable cell phone,” he continues, ignoring my obstinance.

  “Those things must drive you guys nuts.”

  “Not in this case, Miss Attison. We were able to get the records from the phone carrier and determined that this cell phone had only dialed two numbers in its history. Have you heard of this one?”

  He tells me the number. When he first mentioned a disposable cell, I was afraid it would be one of the two I purchased to communicate with Boston. Fortunately, the number doesn’t sound like the one for either of them, not that it realistically could. He would never use that phone to call anyone except me. The last thing he would do is contact someone like Garrett Turner using it.

  “I’m sorry, I don’t recognize the number.”

  “We didn’t think you would. The second number that was called you ought to know. It’s yours.”

  “Mine?”

  “Yes. A call was made from it early this morning to your cell phone. Can you tell me who the caller was?”

  “Do you have a warrant?”

  “Miss Attison, as you said, it’s late. If you want us to get a warrant, I can promise you that your night is going to get a whole lot longer.”

  I purse my lips and walk over to the cell phone sitting on the coffee table. After entering the code, I scroll back through the call history. Now that I’m not at work, the list is far shorter than usual. I find the number they told me and look at the time. There was only one person who called me at that hour. I look up at them.

  “Colby Washington.”

  .

  ~ chapter 53 ~

  eugene “boston” hollinger

  “I’m surprised to hear from you. Hold on one second. Let me take this, Zach. I’ll get back with you later,” I hear myself say, staring at a man a few feet away. The hazy and fogginess is gone, and it’s bright. Very bright.

  I know this guy. I can make out his face. It’s not sharp and completely in focus, but is unmistakable. It’s the guy from outside of Tara’s apartment. He was the one shooting at us.

  “You shouldn’t use that thing while fueling up,” he says, walking away slowl
y.

  I wave my hand and turn my head. There’s a digital display. It’s a gas pump. I’m reading the numbers and they increment upward.

  “Our business is done,” I say into the phone. “I sat across from you at your desk and told you everything you needed to know. You didn’t act on it. Now it’s costing you.”

  “You sat across from my desk and told me what I wanted to hear while you plotted against me to take my job. You played me, and did a masterful job pulling it out. But let me tell you something. You shouldn’t bother moving your things into my office.”

  “It’s too late for that now, isn’t it? Hollinger―”

  “Hollinger is only being set up to take the fall. We both know the truth.”

  “So what are you going to do about it?”

  “Soon he’ll be permanently out of my way and then it will be your turn. I’m going to destroy you, Garrett, and it’s going to happen far sooner than you think.”

  There’s a ringing sound. Where is that coming from? It sounds like it’s in the trunk―then everything goes completely black. No fuzzy white haze. Just black.

  My eyes open to complete darkness. A moment later, a soft light from the lamp in the corner of the room pierces the darkness. What the hell? I blink twice, confirming I’m still in the room at the sleep center.

  The door opens and Tara comes in wearing a pair of shorts and fitted T-shirt. Her hair is in a ponytail and, without even trying, she still manages to be sexy. I can’t help but be distracted.

  “Tara? What are you―”

  “Shh! Everyone is still sleeping. I couldn’t, so I got up and was monitoring your brain waves from the other room when you experienced the memory. Don’t ask any more questions. Focus on the dream. Tell me what you saw,” she commands as she sits on the edge of the bed next to me.

  The drugs must have helped just as Steven thought they would. The fogginess of the dream was gone. I could see everything that was going on. Now if I can only remember it long enough to describe what I saw.