Long Road to Mercy

Chapter 33

Pine pulled the Mustang to a stop at the curb across the street from Simon Russell’s large town house near Capitol Hill. Like Old Town Alexandria, the area was definitely high dollar. Pine had worked in DC for two years at the WFO. The only thing she’d been able to afford on her GS-13 salary was a one-bedroom roach motel apartment a ninety-minute commute from downtown.

Whatever Russell did for a living, it paid well. She wondered if his home inside was as Spartan as Priest’s. She might not find out tonight. While there were a lot of windows in the place, not a single light was on inside, at least that Pine could see.

She got out of the car, walked across the street, turned left, and then turned right at the next block. She reached an alleyway halfway along the block and walked down it. Another right and a short stroll brought her to the back of Russell’s home. There was also a one-car garage back here. This resembled an old-fashioned mews, like they had in England.

The wall around the rear of Russell’s home had a high brick wall and a tall wooden gate. She tried the gate, but it was locked.

She checked both directions, gripped the top of the wall, and hoisted herself up enough to where she could see over. This simple movement almost made her cry out in pain, as every injured body part she had screamed in protest.

As she clung to the rim of the wall she observed a small garden, with a stone wall water fountain emblazoned with the figure of a lion, some chairs and a matching wrought iron table, a few flower pots with well-tended plants, and a solid wood back door. Soothing, well-organized, and of no help to her whatsoever.

No lights in the house were visible back here, either.

She dropped back down to the pavement and retraced her steps, deciding along the way to take a direct approach.

She walked up to Russell’s front door and knocked.

Nothing.

She knocked again, looking around to see if anyone was paying her the slightest bit of attention. She was also checking for the umbrella-carrying ninja.

She knocked again.

No one came to the door. She peered through the sidelights. It was too dark to see much.

Okay. What was Plan B?

She didn’t relish breaking into another home. Her luck had almost run out on the last one.

She walked back to her car and got in. She decided to perform that most tedious and sometimes most valuable of all police work.

The stakeout.

She settled down in her seat and kept her eyes peeled on the house.

At a bit after midnight, her vigilance paid off.

A tall man came walking down the street from the direction of the U.S. Capitol. He had on a trench coat and a felt cap, and he was carrying a leather briefcase.

He walked up the short stack of steps to the front door to his home, fumbled in his pocket, and pulled out his keys.

He was at his door inserting the key when Pine reached him.

“Mr. Russell?”

He whirled and looked down at her. “Who are you? What do you want?”

Okay, normal paranoia or something more?

She slipped out her shield. “I’m with the FBI. I’m here about your friend, Ben Priest.”

His features turned even more suspicious. “Ben? What’s going on with him? Why is the FBI interested in him?”

“Can we talk about this inside?”

Russell hesitated but finally nodded. “All right.”

He let her inside, then turned off the security system and shut and bolted the door. He took off his hat and coat and hung them on a wall rack in the small foyer.

Pine saw that his hair was indeed thinning, and the little he had left had been allowed to grow in any direction it chose. As Father Paul had said, Russell possessed a trim beard and mustache, perhaps to balance out the loss on top. He was quite lean, and she gauged that his feet were about a size fifteen, which made sense for a man nearly six seven. His nose was long and spindly. His eyes were brown and darting. Right above them were a pair of eyebrows that, like the hair, roamed helter-skelter over his compact forehead.

She looked around. Russell’s digs were a lot nicer than Priest’s. The furniture looked antique, well-worn, and comfy-cozy. There was a fireplace in the room right off the foyer. It had a limestone surround in the design of something one might see in a church. The walls were covered with original-looking oil paintings.

The rug she was standing on looked to be at least a century old. Down the hall she could see colorful and costly wallpaper along with elaborate crown moldings. The ceilings and walls were solid plaster. Outside, she had noted the gutters and downspouts were copper and the roof was slate.

They didn’t make them like this anymore. Not unless you had the dollars to pay for it.

His words interrupted her observations.

“Would you like something to drink? Or are you on duty?”

“What are you having?”

“A G and T. Blue bottle Bombay is my preferred choice of weapon.”

“I’ll just take the T. Thanks.”

He led her down the hall to a large oval carved wooden door that looked like it belonged in a castle. He opened it and showed her into a sizable room outfitted as a library or study.

Three walls held shelves that sagged with books. A large partner’s desk sat in the middle of the room under which lay a square of faded Oriental carpet. There was a fireplace. Comfortable leather couch and chairs. And a small credenza with bottles and glasses topping it.

“On the rocks?” he asked as he prepared two glasses. “For your T?”

“Why not?”

He opened a paneled door built into a cabinet next to the credenza, revealing an icemaker. He cut up a lime he’d taken from a bowl on top of the credenza, put slices in each glass over the ice, then poured gin and tonic into his tumbler and only tonic into hers, while she watched to make sure.

He stirred the drinks and handed one to Pine, then picked up a remote and pointed it at the fireplace. There was a click, a whoosh of fired gas, and bluish flames popped alive in the hearth. He sat down on the couch and pointed to one of the chairs.

“Nice room,” said Pine as she took her seat and looked around the space.

“I do a lot of my work in here, actually.”

“And what work would that be?”

He sipped his drink. His features, never inviting to begin with, turned instantly chillier.

“‘None of your business’ is the answer that first occurs to me. Unless you have a warrant. And even then, it would still be none of your business. Now tell me about Ben.”

“He’s missing.”

Russell said nothing to this. He slightly turned his head and studied the gas flames.

“You don’t seem surprised by that.”

He shrugged. “Ben routinely goes missing.”

Pine decided to take a chance in order to get the man to open up. “Does he routinely get kidnapped and taken away in a chopper?”

This got Russell’s attention. He looked at Pine. “Is this a mere hypothetical or are you being factual?”

“He’s in trouble. Big trouble. Let’s leave it at that for now.”

“I’m prepared to leave it right here.”

Pine looked around the room. “If I were to profile you from what I’ve seen in your home, I’d say you came from money, were well traveled, had an interest in geopolitics, were security conscious, and cared about what happened to your country.”

“I won’t extend this talk by asking how you came by those deductions.”

However, Pine plunged ahead. “The silver set on the table over there is a Tiffany original. The monogram shows it was probably a family heirloom. I’d wager that set is older than your grandparents. That means you inherited it. People who get handed down things like that are usually well cared for in other respects. The rest of my deductions come from your books, the multiple locks and security system, and those detailed maps of China and the Middle East on the walls over there.”

“And my caring about my country?”

“The framed letter over there from a past president thanking you for your service.”

Russell seemed to appraise her in a new light. He sipped his drink and nodded. “All right. I may be all of those things. What do you want from me tonight?”

“Do you have any idea what Ben was working on that could have led to his being in trouble?”

“We didn’t work together.”

“That’s not what I heard.”

“Then you obviously heard wrong.”

“You never discussed work matters with him?”

“There was no reason.”

“And he never did with you?”

“I thought I just said that.”

“He lives in Alexandria and you live here. How did he come to get you to join the church league?”

“Probably some dreary party where we ran into each other and were bored enough to talk about church and basketball.”

“So, I guess you have no idea about the other guy then?”

“What other guy?” he said sharply.

“Or about the password-protected message Ben left behind.”

Russell was now watching Pine closely as he softly jiggled the ice in his tumbler.

“What happened to your face?” he asked.

“Ran into a door.”

“You ran into something. Maybe a fist.”

“Comes with the territory.”

“How did you come to be involved in this, may I ask?”

“It’s my job.”

Russell cleared his throat. “Are you in the National Security Branch at the Bureau? Or the Intelligence Branch?” He paused. “But if I can make a deduction, you don’t strike me as the type. I mean National Security or Intelligence.”

“So you know those types. And you’re aware of those branches within the Bureau. At least that’s some information you’ve shared.”

When he said nothing to this, she added, “What type do I strike you as?”

“Rogue,” he said immediately.

Pine pointed to the bookshelves. “You’ve got books there written in Russian, Chinese, Korean, and Arabic. Do you speak all of them?”

“As do many people in this town.”

“I came to you as a shortcut. I take those when they present themselves.”

“Sorry to disappoint.”

“So you’re just casual b-ball teammates?”

Russell took a long drink before answering. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand he said, “He’s a good small forward. Can pass effectively off the dribble and create his own shots. Midrange jumper is like clockwork. I’ll give him that. With my height, I live in the paint. Turnaround jumpers, hooks, pound the boards, and grab the rebounds. I used to be able to dunk. Now my knees no longer cooperate.”

Pine put her drink down and rose. “Well, thanks for the tonic.”

Russell looked up at her. “Are you even really with the FBI?”

She took out a piece of paper and wrote something down on it. “Here’s where you can reach me if you have a change of heart.”

Russell took the paper without looking at it and set it down on a table next to the couch.

“You’ve actually given me a lot to think about,” he said, once more jiggling the ice in his glass while the gas flames threw his sharp-edged features into stark relief.

“I wish I could say the same. I’ll see myself out.”

She didn’t walk back to her car because she knew he would be watching her from the window. Instead, she turned left and walked briskly down the street and turned right at the next corner. Then she took up a position by a tree that allowed a sight line of his front door.

She had gotten nothing from Russell except the weirdest of vibes.

Twenty minutes later the possibility arose that that status might change.

The man came out the door and walked off in the opposite direction.

Pine walked quickly to her car, pulled out onto the street, and followed.