Blood Trust

THIRTEEN

MARTIAL DRUMMING sounded in Andrew Gunn’s dream. A long gray line of skeletal people with fire-bombed faces was marching toward him along the banks of a snaking river. The river was on fire, bright flames and crackling sparks shooting upward. The clouds of heat were palpable. Blackhawks whirred and banked precipitously, bristling with weaponry in the brassy sunlight, but not a single helmet was visible. The trees overhanging the river were full of flame, the skin of the skeletal people curled and blackened and fell off. Oblivious, the long gray line advanced to the beat of the invisible drum, which became more and more insistent, until …

Gunn started awake to the pounding on his front door. For a moment, still enmeshed in the dream, he sat still in a rumple of bedclothes. The pounding became more than insistent—it seemed frantic.

Rolling out of bed, he pulled on a pair of paint-smeared jeans and a cotton shirt, not bothering to button it as he passed through the living room, into the short entryway, where he pulled open the door.

“Jesus Christ,” he said, “didn’t I tell you never to come here?”

“Fuck you, too.”

Vera Bard pushed past him. She wore a wide-belted iridescent black trench coat that came down so far the hem almost concealed her black high-heel shoes. She didn’t look like any FBI recruit he’d ever seen.

Sighing, he closed the door and walked after her into the living room where early morning sunlight poured in through the south-facing windows. Far below, Washington and the Potomac glimmered in a flat, hazy light patterned in grays and faded browns.

“What are you doing here, Vera? How did you get out of Fearington?”

Alli’s roommate looked a good deal better than she had when Jack had visited her in the Fearington infirmary yesterday. Her long, dark hair had regained its extraordinary luster and her upswept chocolate eyes were again bright with a fierce intelligence.

“I’m on a week’s medical furlough.” Her nostrils flared. “I got a visit from a guy named Jack McClure. You know him?”

“By reputation only.” Gunn shrugged. “What of it?”

“I think he suspects something.”

Gunn laughed. “How could he suspect anything?”

“How the fuck should I know? You’re the brainiac of this little venture.” Vera Bard’s cherry mouth turned sullen. “I don’t like him. I don’t want him anywhere near me. It feels like he’s crawling around inside my head.”

“That must be painful.”

“Joke all you want,” she said hotly. “Just make sure he stays the hell away from me.”

Gunn sighed. “You could’ve told me this using the encrypted cell phone I gave you.”

“True enough.” Her hands were at the trench coat’s belt. “But then I wouldn’t be able to show you this.”

The belt fell away, the trench coat gaped wide open, and Vera Bard’s gleaming naked body stood revealed it all its peach-skinned glory.

“Well, now,” Gunn said as he came toward her, “there’s an offer I can’t refuse.”

“YOU’RE NOT getting cold feet, are you?” Gunn said to her some time later.

“I’m not capable of getting cold feet. You know that.”

She lay on top of him, tangled in the sheets, perfumed by the musky scents of sex and sweat. Her nipples were still hard; the feel of them against his skin sent quivers through the muscles of his thighs.

“McClure sure spooked you,” he said quietly.

“One man, one spook, under God.”

Vera laughed in that way of hers that sent his pulse racing. Actually, almost everything about her set his pulse racing, especially her smell, which drew him as if he was magnetized. The moment he had first set eyes on her, he knew he had to have her. He knew he’d move heaven and earth to make it happen.

As it turned out, nothing so drastic was required of him. They had met some years ago—three, four, in the heat haze after sex he couldn’t recall—at a fancy D.C. ball given by the ambassador of Kenya. He had been invited because he had done important work there; she had been someone’s date—a fairly ordinary-looking DoD functionary. What she had been doing with him, he never discovered. Frankly, he hadn’t cared. Nor had he cared when he’d cut the functionary out of his own territory. Suffice it to say, hours later, he had taken her back to his place. Long before that, the DoD dud had faded into the scenery, the swirl of people, the babble of multi-culti voices, the endless layers of stiff Washingtonian protocol that was the hallmark of such affairs. She had been twenty-two, then, and twelve years his junior, a rose on the cusp of opening. He saw the potential in her and, to her credit, she saw it, too. They needed each other, like flowers need the rain.

Gunn threaded her thick, lustrous hair through his fingers. The weight of it thrilled him, and the vulnerable heat at the nape of her neck set his groin to throbbing. “It’s absolutely essential to know I can trust you.”

Vera snaked her arm down, her fingers reaching between his thighs. “When have I ever let you down?” She smiled. “When have you ever let me down?”

He grabbed her wrist before her fingers brought him past the edge of coherent thought. “No joke now, Vera. Don’t fuck with me.”

“I would be insane to jeopardize what you’ve taught me, what we have.” Her chocolate eyes probed his like searchlights. “I’ll never find anyone like you.” It was she, now, who guided his hand between her legs. “No one else has ever done this to me, no one else ever will.”

Feeling her wetness set Gunn’s heart to raging in his chest. He felt like he was on fire, like he couldn’t catch his breath.

“I’ll keep Jack McClure away from you.” His tongue was thick in his mouth. He rolled over on top of her. “But remember the most difficult part is just beginning.”

“How could I forget?” Vera said. “Your instructions are drilled into my brain.”

“Now all that remains is for both of us to do our jobs.”

Their lips met, tongues probing just as the doorbell rang. Gunn wasn’t thinking straight and he ignored it, until the bell became one long, uninterrupted burr in his side.

“Godammit to hell!”

Pushing off her moist heat, he rolled out of bed, jammed on his jeans, and padded out through the living room and into the foyer.

“I’m coming!” he yelled, so at least the noise would cease reverberating through the apartment. Putting his eye to the view hole, he immediately drew back. Is it that time already? he asked himself. Well, it must be.

He unlatched the door, pulled it open, and let Henry Holt Carson into his residence. Carson looked around, taking everything in. Then he sniffed twice and said, “Go wash that stink off you, Andrew.”

Gunn nodded mutely, padded into the bathroom, and shut the door. As soon as he heard the shower start to run, Carson stole silently across the living room. At the threshold to the master bedroom he paused, peering in.

“I thought it might be you.” He stepped into the darkened room, heading for the figure in the rumpled bed. “Jack McClure threw the fear of God into you, didn’t he?”

Vera raised her sullen, sex-swollen face. “How did you know?”

“He has that effect on people.” His eyes never left her face. “For God’s sake, put some clothes on.”

“I didn’t bring any clothes.” She sat on the edge of the bed, legs dangling, toes playing with the cuffs of his trousers. She made no attempt to hide the dark patch between her thighs.

Carson studiously kept his eyes on her face.

Vera laughed. “Look at you.” She stood up, brushing against him, and watched him take a staggering step back.

By now, Carson was red-faced and shaking. Each time he saw her he promised himself that he wouldn’t allow her to get under his skin, and yet somehow she always did.

She parted her thighs. “Don’t you want a better glimpse of the honey pot?”

“You have a foul mouth and a vulgar mind.”

She swung her hair away from her face. “Don’t we all.”

He looked away. “Not all.”

“Don’t play the hypocrite with me. I know you too well.”

Carson took an involuntary step toward her. “Where is she, Vera? Where’s my daughter?”

“I have no idea.”

“Someone has to know.”

“Yes, but who? It wasn’t Alli Carson.”

“Maybe you fucked up with her.”

“Impossible.” Her eyes locked onto his and wouldn’t let go. “I had the best teachers.”

His gaze broke away from hers. “You mistake me.”

She searched through the rumpled sheets for her thong, then remembered she hadn’t worn one. “The cruelest people are the deniers, HH. Delusion is a major component of cruelty: You convince yourself that the situation calls for certain measures. And self-delusion, well, the cruelty becomes extreme because you’re certain you’re doing what’s best.”

“And you think that applies to me?”

“No, HH. I know it applies to you. Our history is just chock-full of examples.”

He wanted to turn away, to dismiss every word she said, but he couldn’t. She had for him the dreadful fascination a serpent holds for a rodent. There was a strange strength inside her that made him want to weep.

“Keep your mouth shut,” he said with the dangerous feeling, a shortness of breath he knew too well.

“Hit me.” She leaned toward him, thrusting out her chin. “That’s what you want to do, isn’t it?” Her smile was knife-sharp and shadowed. “All that power, HH, and you can’t do anything with it. How does it feel to be hog-tied and helpless?”

Carson’s eyes looked wounded. “Why do you need to taunt me so?”

Vera’s laugh was deliberately cruel. “Who knows better than you?”

Carson gave a quick look over his shoulder. Gunn was nowhere in sight. “What have you found out?”

She contemplated him for a moment. “You’re a man who’s never satisfied with what he’s given—you have to take it all. You always want to know more, and more, and more. It never ends.” Her smile grew tiny white teeth.

“Answer me, please.”

Her bantering tone evaporated. “There’s someone, I’m certain of it.”

“I was right, then.”

“You’re always right, you know that.”

He frowned. “You’re referring to something, but I don’t know what.”

“Yes, I know. With your powers of perception you’ve blotted it all out. It’s like it never happened.”

He stared at her until she said, “Andy’s very secretive.”

“His life, it seems, is one huge secret.”

“As you said.”

“Who is running him?”

“To be determined.”

“Still.”

She turned to him. “So you want to do this yourself? No? I thought not.” She shook her head. “People are complicated, an affair is complicated.”

“We don’t have time for this, Vera. I need to know—”

“You always need to know. Where is Caroline? Who is Gunn working for behind your back? Where will it stop?”

“It can’t stop, Vera. This is my life.”

“Sadly.” She walked past him into the living room.

“We’re not finished. Come back here.”

When she ignored him, he strode after her.

“Be careful, Vera,” he said.

She seemed incredulous. “You’re worried about my safety? Now?”

His eyes searched hers. He seemed to want to say something, then changed his mind. “You’ll never hear it coming.”

“Who ever does?”

“Who ever does what?” Gunn said. He had a bath sheet wrapped around his middle and was rubbing his hair dry with a matching towel. He looked from Vera’s expression to Carson’s half-shadowed face, and nodded. “You two are at it again.”

“He can’t help himself.” Vera moved aside as Gunn went into the bedroom to dress. She plucked at the puddle of her trench coat. While she was at it, she gave Carson a good view of everything. Hearing him expel a breath, she smiled to herself.

“I’ve showered you with gifts and favors.”

“And what do I have to show for it?”

“What is it you want?”

“A family,” she snapped as she whirled on him. “But all I have is you and Andy.”

“Poor you.”

She bared her teeth as she slid on the trench coat and belted it up.

“Aren’t you going to shower?” Carson said.

“Why should I?” She stepped into her shoes. “I love the smell of sex in the morning.”

She left without turning around or saying another word. It was as if the world she had just inhabited had vanished in a puff of smoke.

By this time, Gunn had dressed himself in midnight blue trousers and a crisp pin-striped shirt. A pair of shiny, expensive loafers were on his feet.

“Jesus, Andrew, she’s young enough to be—”

“Not quite.” Gunn guided an alligator-skin belt through the loops of his trousers and buckled up.

“You’re taking quite a risk.”

“Ah, now we come to the crux of your displeasure.” Gunn went through the living room, into the kitchen, and took a bag of coffee beans out of the freezer.

Carson followed him into the bright lights of the kitchen. “She didn’t even stay long enough to make coffee.”

“And you wonder why she hates your guts.” For the next few minutes he busied himself with grinding the beans, heating the water, then combining them in a Pyrex presspot. He took out a pair of cups from an overhead cabinet.

“I want to kill her.”

Gunn arranged a container of half-and-half and a canister of raw sugar. “No, you don’t. You want what she won’t give you.”

Carson reached out and swung Gunn around. “Listen, you, it’s fucking dangerous to go exploring in here.” He tapped the end of a forefinger against his temple. “More dangerous than you can imagine.”

For a long moment, the two men stared at each other. Then, without a word, Gunn turned back to the coffee and depressed the plunger all the way to the bottom.

“Cream and sugar,” Carson said.

Gunn stared down at the two empty cups. “You don’t have to tell me a second time.”

“THERE’S NOTHING here,” McKinsey said.

Naomi wrinkled her nose. “Nothing but the ammonia stink of an industrial-strength cleaner.”

“The manager of First Won Ton upstairs said they had a vermin problem.”

Naomi, playing the beam of her flashlight over the bare concrete floor and walls, said, “I heard him, Pete.”

“But you don’t believe him.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t.”

His own beam swung back and forth. “Maybe McClure was mistaken.”

Naomi glanced at him. “Are you kidding me? Mistaken about a white slave trade clearinghouse, mistaken about the body of Arjeta Kraja?”

“Do you see any evidence of those things?” McKinsey squinted. “He said he was calling from where?”

“He didn’t say.” Naomi walked into the back room, which was no bigger than a good-sized closet. “He was with Dennis Paull and Alli.”

“GPS?”

“He disabled it on his cell and his signal is being bounced, so he can’t be traced. But he must have been on the move because the signal kept cutting out.” She was staring at the painting of blue and gray mountains, whose ragged tops seemed to shred the blue sky. “What the hell is this doing here?” She glanced around. “No other paintings, wall hangings, calendars, zippo. But Jack said there was another room with Arjeta Kraja laid out in it, dead as a doorpost.”

“I don’t see anything of the sort,” McKinsey said. “Ever occur to you he was full of shit?”

When she gave him a dirty look, he added, “Between the two of you, Alli Carson could be a serial killer and she’d never get arrested.”

“Don’t be a dick.” She went over to the painting and felt behind it. “There’s something here.”

McKinsey came over and unhooked the painting, setting it down. They both stared at the one-way glass, then, cupping their hands, tried to peer into the other side.

“What the fuck?” McKinsey said.

Naomi flipped the wall switch, but nothing happened. “Go get the manager,” she said.

While he was gone, she checked around the tiny room, trying to find a way into the space beyond the one-way glass. She found nothing, which puzzled her so much that it was the first question to put to the restaurant manager.

He was a slender Chinese man in his midfifties, with a flat face and eyes that darted about like a pair of frightened mice. He licked his lips continually and his clasped hands made washing motions.

“I don’t know,” he said nervously. He frowned, clearly puzzled. “I didn’t even know the room existed.”

“But you own this space,” she said.

He nodded. “But it’s not used by the restaurant. I rent it out.” He looked around. “At least I did.”

“Who rented it?” McKinsey said.

“A company. Qershi Holdings.”

“Who the hell’re they?”

The manager spread his hands. “I have no idea.”

“Who is Qershi Holdings’ representative?”

“I only dealt with a voice over the phone.”

“And that was enough for you?” Naomi said skeptically.

“He sent cash over as a binder. Two months’ worth.” The manager shrugged his negligible shoulders. “Before that, this space just gathered dust. Though I advertised heavily, I couldn’t give it away. In my business when cash speaks, I listen.”

McKinsey looked around the space. “So what was going on down here?”

The manager shrugged.

McKinsey stared at him. “You’re a real font of knowledge, aren’t you?”

“You never got curious?” Naomi said.

“I was paid a lot of money not to be curious. A stipulation from my tenant.”

Naomi tapped a pen against the side of her smartphone. “So, basically, they could have been auctioning off little girls down here and you wouldn’t know about it.”

The manager gave no indication that he knew anything.

“We came down here through the restaurant,” McKinsey said.

“There’s a back entrance,” the manager replied. “I was told to keep the lights off in that area.”

“So where is everyone?” Naomi said.

“They must have moved out late last night. I was here until closing—around midnight—and I didn’t see anything.”

“Of course you didn’t,” McKinsey muttered.

The manager leaned forward. “Pardon?”

“How do we get into this space behind the glass?” Naomi said.

“Like I said—”

A little yelp exploded from the manager’s mouth when McKinsey smashed the glass with his elbow, then began to pick out the remaining shards from the frame. Naomi trained her flashlight on the interior. It was a perfect square, small, airless. A faint but unmistakable sickly sweet scent came to her.

“It smells like death in there,” she said.

The manager whimpered. He held up his hands. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Too late for that,” McKinsey said as he watched Naomi carefully climb through the shattered window. “What have we got?” he asked her.

“A whole lot of nothing.” The beam of her flashlight lit up the corners of the space. “Odd, though, the floor in here is wooden planks.”

“An older part of the subbasement,” McKinsey offered.

“Right.” Then the beam came to rest. “Hold on a minute.” Crouched down, she snapped on a pair of latex gloves.

McKinsey leaned in. “Whatcha got?”

“One of these boards has something on it.” She played the beam directly on it. “I think it’s blood, Pete.”

Lifting an adjacent board, she played the beam of light into the space beneath. She bent her head down for a better look, and coughed heavily. “Fresh blood.”