Path of the Assassin

CHAPTER 31

Harvath’s ride into downtown Chicago wasn’t as fancy as it had been a couple of days before. He grabbed a Continental airport shuttle, which dropped him across the street from the Ambassador East Hotel. Once he was settled, he put in a call to his contact at the Chicago FBI field office. Nick Wilson was an old friend whom Harvath had worked with several times in the past. Wilson explained that Meg Cassidy was at her cottage in Lake Geneva and that he had new information he was sure Harvath would be interested in hearing. They made plans to meet for drinks, and then Harvath hung up and dialed Meg’s number in Wisconsin.

A few moments later, he had her on the phone. “You’re back in town?” she asked.

“Yes, and I need to see you,” replied Harvath.

Meg was guarded and realized he probably had not come back just to see her again. This was business. “I take it this isn’t a social call.”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Were you sent here to try and change my mind about things?”

“Believe it or not, my instructions were to explain to you what my motivation is, but for what it’s worth, I’m not sorry I got sent back.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I love Chicago. It’s the one town that won’t let you down.”

“Uh-huh,” she said, disappointed that he hadn’t cited her as the reason he was happy to be back. This was ridiculous. What was she doing? He was here to try and persuade her to team up with the CIA. He had been sent on official business, and she needed to get that through her head.

“How about dinner? It’s on me. What time will you be back in the city?”

“I’m spending the night up here. I won’t be back in the city until tomorrow morning.”

“Well,” said Harvath as he scribbled on the pad on his desk, “that’s going to make dinner a bit difficult then, isn’t it?”

“How about breakfast?”

“That would work. Do you want to eat here at the hotel? I’m staying at the Ambassador East.”

“Let’s meet at Mitchell’s on the corner of North Avenue and Clark Street around eight. This way I can drop my car at my place and meet you over there. It’s an easy walk for both of us.”

“Great, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“I wouldn’t be too excited about it if I were you. I’ve already made my position on this very clear.”

“I understand, and whatever you decide, I’ll respect. I just want a chance to talk with you about it. I think we see eye to eye in many ways on this subject.”

“I don’t think you know the half of it.”

“Well, you can fill me in tomorrow morning. Okay?”

“Fine then. I’ll see you at Mitchell’s around eight,” and with that, Meg Cassidy hung up the phone.

Harvath was already sitting at a table in the Ambassador East’s famed Pump Room when Nick Wilson entered. They made small talk while waiting for their drinks, and then, once the waitress had left the table, Wilson got straight to the point. He removed a large manila envelope from his briefcase and spread several grisly Chicago Police Department crime scene photos on the table in front of them.

“This guy’s been torn apart,” said Harvath as he sifted through the pictures.

“Just his throat,” replied Wilson as he took a sip of his drink and used the straw to draw Harvath’s attention to the wounds.

“Who the hell was he?”

“Serial rapist the Chicago PD had been after for some time.”

“What’s this have to do with Meg Cassidy?”

“She’s the one who did that to him.”

Harvath couldn’t believe it. As he picked up the photos to study them more closely, Wilson held up his empty glass and signaled the waitress. “You want another?” he asked.

“No,” answered Harvath. “When did this happen?”

“A couple of years ago. Apparently, Ms. Cassidy had been jogging through Lincoln Park one night a little bit later than she should have. It was dark and she got jumped by this scumbag. According to the report, she screamed, but nobody was around to hear her. He pinned her down and shoved something in her mouth to gag her. She fought back, though, hard. Clawed at him and everything.”

“What happened?”

“What happened? She went for his windpipe, dug her nails in, and ripped the guy’s throat out. That’s what happened.”

“You’re joking, right?” said Scot.

“Hell, no. She killed the guy.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Believe it. The cops did DNA testing on the stiff and found that he was the serial rapist they’d been looking for. She was lucky. He’d put most of his victims in the hospital. One even died.”

“Nick, why wasn’t this in her file back in D.C.?”

“It never saw the light of day. Her father was a career cop and well liked to boot. He obviously had some pretty good juice with the department to hush this all up. The only thing that ever got announced was that the police had found the body of their serial rapist, and that it was suspected he’d been killed in some sort of drug deal gone bad. That was it.”

“How’d you get your hands on it?” asked Harvath.

“Headquarters was pretty intent on us finding out everything we could about her. We were told to leave no stone unturned. Why they were so interested in her, I don’t know, but mine is not to reason why, you know?” Wilson waited for the waitress to set his fresh drink down and depart before he began speaking again. “I’ve got a friend at the Chicago Police Department. He’s been there a long time and has an even longer memory. He owed me a couple of favors. You know how the game works.”

Harvath nodded his head. He did know how the game worked. As he studied the crime-scene photos yet again, a lot of things about Meg Cassidy became clearer. The question now was, with everything she had been through, how in the world could he convince her to team up with the CIA?