Spilled Blood Read online

  “Thomas,” said Strachey, “why don’t you take this hellion out to the back yard where he can throw his ‘hammer.’ With any luck, you’re slow enough these days for him to hit you.”

  Thomas Jefferson twisted his mobile mahogany face into a mock frown. “I ain’t slowed down that much.”

  Always on the alert to be helpful, Robert Thomas piped, “You shouldn’t say ‘ain’t,’ Papaw. It’s bad grammar.”

  Thomas Jefferson beamed, “Now ain’t that my smart little boy. I guess that fancy school’s good for something. C’mon, let’s go out back and play like your papa says. I’ll give you a run for it.”

  Strachey chuckled. He had to admit the old boy was still pretty spry.

  When they were gone, he settled back into the chair and unfolded the paper again. He was half-way through an article about the upcoming golf tournament at Quail Hollow when the phone rang. To answer he would be forced stand up and walk across the room. He considered just letting it ring, but then got up, thinking it might be Krystal. But he didn’t recognize the number from the caller i.d. and again considered not answering. If it was important, the caller could leave a message. But he was already out of his comfortable chair standing beside the phone. He lifted the receiver. “Hello.”

  A man’s voice emerged from the earpiece. “Is this Robert Strachey?”

  He thought it must be a telemarketer. “Who’s calling, please?”

  “I’m going to assume you are Robert Strachey,” the man said. “This is Tony DeLorenzo, Bob. Do you remember me?”

  Of course, he remembered DeLorenzo. He’d worked with him a few times at the Agency. More importantly, he was one of the two men they’d spotted leaving police headquarters the other day, the one from Russia House. No one from the Agency had contacted him in years, and it felt a little strange, but when he thought about it, it was not entirely unexpected. “Sure, Tony, I remember you. Why are you calling?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “About what? I don’t have anything to do with the Agency anymore.”

  “It’s not something we can discuss on the phone. I know you’re retired, or quit, or whatever you did, but I hope you still feel some loyalty to the outfit.”

  “That depends on what the outfit is doing.”

  Frustration, or maybe it was urgency, colored DeLorenzo”s voice. “Look, Bob, can we meet and talk, or what?”

  Strachey said nothing for several beats, enjoying the idea of increasing DeLorenzo’s anxiety. “Sure, Tony, we can meet. Where and when did you have in mind?”

  “You know this town better than me. I’ll go anywhere you say.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  “Embassy Suites, uptown.”

  “They have a bar, don’t they?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “I’ll meet you there at one o’clock.”

  “Thanks, Bob. See you at one.”

  Strachey replaced the receiver and stood there tapping his foot as he thought. Whatever DeLorenzo wanted to talk about related to the Padruig Nessmith case, he had no doubt, but he suspected it had more to do with Gregory Davis. He thought about calling Krystal with the news but decided to wait. Krystal had a weekend guest, her boyfriend from Miami, and he saw no reason to disturb their weekend until he knew more.

  Embassy Suites Uptown had been open only a few months. The bar was a modern affair with bottles displayed in lighted glass cases and a strange, green glow surrounding the bar itself. DeLorenzo was easy to spot as no one else was in the place. He’d selected a stool at the end of the bar near the floor to ceiling windows. The spook was wearing a dark suit with no tie, and when he saw Strachey he stood and produced a welcoming smile, the kind of smile old comrades offer when seeing one another after a long absence. “Hi, Bob, it’s sure good to see you again. I couldn’t believe you’d gone into the private security business down here. How’re Amy and your boy?”

  Strachey reciprocated the smile and answered, “Everybody’s fine, Tony.” DeLorenzo was doing what the Agency referred to as ‘establishing rapport.’ “Charlotte is almost my hometown, you know, and it’s nice to be away from Washington and the Beltway.”

  They both mounted barstools. Strachey glanced around and said, “I don’t see a bartender.”

  “Yeah,” nodded DeLorenzo, “sorry about that. The bar doesn’t open until four. I forgot.”

  “Well,” said Strachey, “that should suit us just fine. Enough small talk; what do you want?”

  DeLorenzo lost his smile at Strachey’s directness. “I understand you have a nosy female ex-cop working for you, someone known to rock the boat.”

  Strachey hid his surprise. Why would the CIA have its sights on Krystal? “And …?”

  “And, we want you to keep her on a leash.”

  “‘We’ being … ?”

  “The Agency and the FBI.”

  “And why would I want to do this, Tony?”

  DeLorenzo reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew a sheet of paper which he unfolded and laid in front of Strachey. The document was familiar; it was a standard government confidentiality agreement.

  “What’s this?”

  DeLorenzo’s adopted an official mien. “You know what it is, Bob. What I’m about to tell you is highly confidential information that must be protected.”

  Strachey shoved the paper back to DeLorenzo. “I’m not going to sign anything.” He resented the Agency’s assumption that they still had some sort of hold over him and decided to push back.

  “It’s important, Bob.”

  “I don’t care. I’m not going to sign it, and if that ends our conversation, so be it.” He started to stand up, but DeLorenzo placed a hand on his arm.

  “Come on, Bob,” he said, “you know how these things work. It’s standard fare.”

  “Maybe for you, Tony, but not for me. I’m not in the secrecy business any longer. I’m a private citizen running a private business, and I don’t need any of your secrets to do my job.” Strachey suspected the document was a ploy; if he signed it, great, if he didn’t DeLorenzo probably had another option. He wondered what it might be.

  Something in Strachey’s voice convinced DeLorenzo that it was a lost cause. “I’m sorry you feel that way, but it doesn’t change anything. We want you to stand down on the Nessmith case.”

  What would he do, he wondered, if he were dependent on a government pension that someone like DeLorenzo could snatch away? Fortunately, he was now independently wealthy. “Padruig Nessmith has nothing to do with the government. He’s my client, and I most certainly will not abandon him. If you have some information you think I need to know, you’d better spill it now because, if not, we won’t be seeing one another again.” He stared hard at the spook.

  DeLorenzo caught the incipient anger in Strachey’s eyes and silently retrieved the unsigned confidentiality agreement from the bar and replaced it in his pocket with a heavy sigh. “Well, it was worth a try,” he said with a wry smile.

  Strachey relaxed and essayed a shot across the bow. “This isn’t about Padruig Nessmith, is it? It’s about Gregory Davis.”

  DeLorenzo pulled a long face, then gave Strachey a lopsided grin. “You’re smarter than the average bear, Bob.”

  Strachey leaned forward, his elbow on the bar. “Who is he, Tony, a defector?”

  “So, you figured that out, did you?”

  Strachey waited.

  DeLorenzo heaved another heavy sigh and continued, “His real name is Grigoriy Pushkin. He kept the books for a very important oligarch who is close to Putin. The mistake the oligarch made was to hire an honest man. After a year moving the guy’s ill-gotten money around the world, Grigoriy defected with his wife, and the result was major damage to the Russians’ illegal financial network. You’ve seen what the Russians are up to these days with defectors …”

  A light bulb went on. “You mean you think this was a Russian hit on a defector, like in the UK?”

  DeLorenzo nodded. “That’s w
hat the FBI thinks. There has been some clandestine reporting about Russian illegals in the States. No one in Washington wants the bad publicity that would appear if we started having people killed in America the way they have been in the UK. It would mean a real shit storm, and the FBI has been taking a lot of hits lately. They’re desperate to keep a lid on this.”

  “At the expense of Padruig Nessmith.” Strachey got a bad taste in his mouth.

  The CIA man nodded again. “If needs be. It’s good cover. Matter of national security. Nessmith’s arrest was just to make the Russians think they can relax.”

  Strachey was doing a slow burn. “So, in the interests of national security the government is willing to sacrifice an innocent man?”

  DeLorenzo had the grace to look sheepish. “Until the real killers are in custody, anyway. That’s our plan. The FBI has mounted a massive manhunt all over the Southeast.”

  “But you’ve shared the stuff about the illegals with the police?” Strachey already knew the answer.

  DeLorenzo spread his arms. “You know how local cops are. Captain Curry’s not buying it entirely. He’s garnered too much good publicity by arresting the prime suspect. He doesn’t want to give away his prize. But he is cooperating.”

  “And you guys won’t permit any publicity about the possible Russian connection.”

  “The FBI sure as hell won’t. If there’s a leak, they’ll throw a big hissy fit, and woe to the leaker.”

  “Speaking of the FBI, what exactly motivated you to have this friendly chat with me? ‘

  “It’s about your girl,” said DeLorenzo. “She paid a visit to the Bureau’s Deputy Director for Counterintelligence, and it set off alarm bells. Seems like she has a certain reputation in Washington. Phone calls were made. Discussions were held. Shit hit the fan. And someone had the idea we should ask you for help.”

  This was logical. Washington counted on old loyalties to insure people kept their mouths shut. Trouble was, Strachey had never considered himself an old boy, and he wondered how Krystal would react to someone calling her his ‘girl.’ “What do you think about this Russian illegal idea?” he asked.

  “Like I said, it’s an FBI thing,” said DeLorenzo. “The reporting has been vague. If you’ve been reading the papers, you know we’re short on inside sources these days. But the feebies have the bit between their teeth. It’s really their game.”

  “Seems like it could be a wild goose chase.”

  “Well, then,” said DeLorenzo, “that would put the ball right back in your client’s court, wouldn’t it. Seems to me you should be hoping the Bureau is right and they bring the assassin to ground.”

  He had a point. As fantastical as the Russian assassin idea sounded, it did offer hope to clear Padruig despite Curry’s obstinacy.

  Strachey stood. “Thanks, Tony. You’ll let me know if anything turns up?”

  “Sure.”

  Strachey didn’t believe him.

  CHAPTER 16

  Monday morning’s sky was threatened by a distant procession of slowly moving dark-rimmed clouds promising some rain to temper the summer warmth of the Queen City. But they were no match for the storm clouds that swirled through Krystal’s thoughts. She arrived at the PSI offices just before noon, having come straight from the airport where she’d dropped Ray Velazquez to catch his flight back to Miami. Strachey had been waiting impatiently to tell her his news but must have seen that something was off with her as soon as she walked into his office. “Hey, kid, are you OK?”

  She sank into the chair in front of his desk and laid her head back to face the ceiling. Strachey remained silent. Finally, she raised her head, took a deep breath, and brought her hazel eyes to focus on him. “I’m OK,” she said, her voice unusually soft as though she were speaking from a great distance. “What’s up. Ruth said you wanted to see me.”

  Strachey’s concern could be read on his face, but he evidently decided not to probe, for which she was grateful. He said, “Um, yes. It appears that your visit to Washington stirred things up.”

  With an effort she turned her thoughts to the non-productive meeting with Enoch Whitehall. The only thing she remembered stirring up was the quick brush-off he’d given her. It had disturbed her at the time. Whitehall had never acted like that in the past. In fact, he’d been more than friendly and almost always helpful. She worried that she had spoiled their friendship. “What do you mean ‘stirred things up?’”

  “It turns out that you have a reputation in certain circles in Washington. It’s not a bad reputation, as far as I’m concerned, but it’s the kind that make people nervous because they can’t predict what you’ll do. It’s one of the things I like about you, as a matter of fact.”

  “Uh-huh.” She was having a hard time concentrating on what Strachey was saying. “Listen, Bob, could we talk later? I have some things to think about.”

  “Um, sure. Take all the time you want.”

  She wanted to push the events of the weekend out of her mind but was helpless to do so. Ray Velazquez’s visit had been a disaster from beginning to end, and by the time she dropped him at the airport that morning she was feeling uncharacteristically fragile. She’d invited him to visit her in her new digs in Charlotte, and he’d agreed. She’d hoped he would be enthusiastic about her improved lifestyle and that it would somehow give a lift to their flagging relationship. But when she picked him up at the airport his mood was anything but enthusiastic. His embrace was light, and a perfunctory peck on the cheek replaced their usual passionate reunion.

  Their long-distance romance had survived five years now, but with each passing day, Ray grew more dissatisfied. If Krystal was not happy in Arlington, why wouldn’t she move to Miami where a position in the Dade County Police was all but guaranteed? But now, when she finally was leaving Arlington, it was to move to North Carolina.

  “I just can’t understand why you’re doing this. You’re throwing away a career you’ve spent years building, and you know you could easily transfer down to Miami and work with me. But North Carolina?”

  His attitude was not improved by Krystal’s response. “I’m making three times what I did as a cop, Ray, more than I could make here in Miami, too. What’s so hard to understand?”

  She had spoken in haste and instantly regretted it. Ray’s problem was not what she was doing, but where she was doing it.

  She tried again. “I liked being a cop, Ray, but in the end, there was just too much bureaucracy for me. It was just too frustrating. And if I came to work with Dade County down here, it would just be jumping from one bureaucracy to another.”

  “But why North Carolina?” he persisted.

  “Because I’ll be working with Bob Strachey who is as far from a bureaucrat as you can get. We work well together, and he respects me.”

  “So, you like Strachey, do you?”

  “He’s a married man, Ray, and his wife is my best friend.”

  “But you’re still just an employee.”

  This raised her hackles again. “Much closer to partner than employee,” she shot back. Despite her protestations she could not escape a feeling of guilt. Her first serious relationship in years was slipping through her fingers.

  Total dedication to the job had long ago pushed any hope of a normal life into a tiny, dusty corner, maybe into a closet. Ray Velazquez had changed all of that, and she had known real joy with him, the kind of comfort with another that had been rare, nearly non-existent, in her life. Now she was losing it. She was accustomed to facing facts and acting accordingly. Decisions must be made, but right now she wanted to push them as far as possible into the future, but she couldn’t.

  Ray had come to issue an ultimatum - either she come to live with him in Miami, or the relationship was over. It was a stark choice, and they debated it for two days and nights, interspersed with bouts of glum silence. Ray slept on the sofa.

  Nothing she said would change his mind, and as he rebuffed every idea, she could feel the anger smoldering inside and fo
ught to repress it. Her “Irish” would do her no good in this instance.

  She could not bring herself to submit to his demand and hated herself for it, suspecting her reaction was somehow perverse. Was his ultimatum so unreasonable, after all? He wanted something more permanent, marriage, children. Maybe it was some sort of Hispanic thing. But she could not see herself in that role as much as she had fantasized about it in the past. Did that mean she and she alone was to blame if they broke up for good? She thought it was spectacularly true that it did.

  The drive to the airport that morning was as uncomfortable as it was anti-climactic. They embraced before Ray turned and walked into the terminal, neither of them able to speak.

  “Krystal, are you sure you’re OK?” Strachey’s voice startled her, and she realized she had not moved from the chair in front of his desk.

  She looked at him, embarrassed. “Yeah, sure, I’m OK.”

  It was a total lie.

  Strachey looked at his watch. “It’s afternoon, and I’m hungry. And you look like you could use a drink. Let’s finish this over lunch at Fitzgerald’s.”

  She settled into the seat in Strachey’s car struggling to clear her mind. “Um, you were saying that I stirred things up in Washington?”

  “I think you must have scared old Whitehall out of his britches. The CIA contacted me Saturday morning, but I’m almost certain the orders came from the Hoover Building. They want us to stand down on the Nessmith case.”

  “What the fuck does that mean?”

  “It means, or so my old CIA pal told me, that they think the real target was Gregory Davis, that he and the others were killed by a Russian hit team.”

  “Like in England?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Well, why don’t they say so. It would save us a lot of trouble.”

  “That’s where it gets complicated. The feebies are afraid of more bad publicity if it comes out that the Russians are running around under their noses assassinating defectors in the US.”

  “Defector? So, Davis was a defector like you thought?”