Chapter Fifteen
The next morning, Zoey found Lieutenant Louden lurking outside her office. “They’re waiting for you in General Bloomfield’s office.”
Zoey held back a curse. She’d arrived an hour early, hoping to have a few minutes to make a list of bullet points about what she’d seen at Mitchell’s place before she had to face what was certain to be a dressing down. “How pissed off are they?”
“Hard to tell. I heard loud voices, but I couldn’t make out if it was both of them or just one. Care to share what happened?”
Zoey briefly considered whether the details of Mitchell’s death were something she should keep private, but decided Louden, in his capacity as Sharp’s assistant, would see every report that was filed anyway. “I guess you know by now, Colonel Mitchell committed suicide.” Louden nodded and she continued. “He came by to see me day before yesterday. He was pissed off and he tried to get me to agree to leave him out of our investigation.”
“Ballsy.”
“I guess,” Zoey said, although she thought desperate was a better descriptor. “He left a note for me in his study where he…you know…Anyway, it was very cryptic and I’m not sure what to make of it.”
Louden nodded. “I’m sure you’ll sort it out. Do you have the note? I bet the general is going to want to see it.”
“I left it at the scene.” She started to say with the men in suits and Rook’s team but then realized how that would sound to two generals who were used to running their own operations. The full extent of how much trouble she was in settled squarely on her shoulders. Not wanting Louden to witness her meltdown, she said, “I hate to say this, but do you mind showing me the way to Bloomfield’s office? I swear I’ll learn my way around at some point, but it’s only my first week and there’s been a lot going on.”
The walk to Bloomfield’s office took about ten minutes—enough time for Zoey to sort through the events of the last two days. The volume of activity—the initial review of the case file, the trip to the White House, the interviews both here and at McNair, and her confrontation with Mitchell and his suicide—had been overwhelming even before she added the push and pull with Rook. She wondered what Rook was doing right now. Was she getting an earful from Julia about the status of the investigation? Had sharing the story of her brother’s death exposed emotions she’d preferred to have left buried? Did Rook regret their kiss or did the memory still linger, despite the brewing conflicts between them?
“Come in,” Bloomfield barked when Louden rapped on his office door. With a look of sympathy, Louden peeled off and left her to enter the lion’s den on her own.
Zoey drew in a breath and shoved all other thoughts to the corners of her mind where they belonged. “Good morning, General.”
“Not as good as it could be,” he said. “Major, is there some reason you decided to traipse all over Colonel Mitchell’s house without contacting anyone in your chain of command?”
Zoey stood in front of his desk and glanced around the room to see if she could get a boost from Sharp, but he was seated across the room with his arms folded over his chest and a blank expression. She had no desire to tell either of these men that she’d arrived at the scene with Rook, but she had to find a way to explain how she’d found out about the shooting and why she’d ceded authority to Rook once they’d arrived at Mitchell’s house.
“I was told we were to work directly with the White House on anything related to this investigation.” She cast about for a tactful way to say what was on her mind. “Respectfully, sir, we should keep you out of this as much as possible to avoid even the appearance of impropriety.”
“Are you telling me Mitchell is wrapped up in this stupid situation out of McNair?”
“I have a feeling even answering that is a minefield you don’t want me to cross.”
Bloomfield turned to Sharp. “You were right about this one. She doesn’t hesitate to speak her mind.”
Zoey couldn’t quite tell from his tone whether he considered that a good thing, but she was beginning not to care. If they didn’t want her in this position, the solution was easy—send her back to Fort Bragg where she could work on arm wrestling her CO into assigning her another deployment. Of course that would probably mean her promotion would be stalled indefinitely. And they’d have to assign someone else to work with Rook Daniels or leave Dixon in charge. She was confident Rook would hate that, but would Rook miss her if she were reassigned?
Ugh. What was she thinking? She’d never considered her career in terms of another person. One kiss and she was losing all sense of practicality. But it had been one very hot, addictive kiss.
Zoey shook off the memory of Rook’s lips on hers and focused on the generals who held her future in their hands. “Respectfully, sirs, you put me in this position because I speak my mind. I’m as good as any other soldier when it comes to following orders, but when it comes to righting a wrong, I can’t help but speak out, and if that’s a problem, I’m not the right person for the job.”
Bloomfield’s laugh was a loud roar. He punched Sharp in the arm and pointed at Zoey. “Oh, you’re the right person for the job. When this mess is all cleared up, I want there to be no doubt that every stone was turned to make sure I wasn’t involved in any wrongdoing. My son never should have gotten involved in this mess, but I’ll be damned if that boy is going to muck up my career when he can’t even handle his own, no matter how many opportunities are handed to him.” He raised his hands in the air. “That’s all I have to say on the subject. Go with General Sharp and talk about the rest out of my presence. Fair enough?”
“Yes, sir.” Zoey saluted him and followed Sharp from the room. Despite the early hour, she spotted plenty of people in the halls and wondered how many of them had been called in to deal with a crisis of their own. Sharp walked briskly, without talking until they were back at his office. They passed Louden. Did he ever go home? He shot her an encouraging smile, and she filed it away for comfort as Sharp closed his office door behind them.
“I heard Rook Daniels was at the scene,” he said without preamble. “Is that how you knew about Mitchell eating his gun?”
“Yes, sir.” No sense lying since he probably already knew the answer. “She and I were going over interview notes when she got the call.” Partly true since they’d intended to do just that. She prayed he didn’t ask for more details, certain she wouldn’t be able to conceal her whirling mix of emotions where Rook was concerned.
“Who called?”
Again, she hesitated and felt silly for it. “Julia Scott from the White House.”
“Tell me what you saw at Mitchell’s.”
Zoey thought fast, but couldn’t come up with an excuse not to tell him what he likely already knew. She relayed the details in a sharp and concise manner. Mitchell’s wife and kids escorted from the house. No signs of foul play. Mitchell shot with his own gun.
“Did he leave a note?”
And just like that, her matter-of-fact recollection stalled. There was no practical reason not to tell him about the note, but it felt like a betrayal somehow. Mitchell had told her to trust no one, but he’d meant the people directly involved with the case. Right? Telling herself she just wanted to find out more details before mentioning the note, she settled on a half-truth. “The agents on scene were still investigating when we left. I’ve requested a full report of their findings.”
“Agents? What agency? Were the DC Police there?”
“I don’t know and no.” She dreaded saying the next part. “I assumed the agents at the scene were either FBI or Secret Service, but I don’t know for sure. It was pretty clear they’d been notified by the White House.” She stopped talking since all she had to offer were suppositions, and at this point Sharp was shaking his head.
“I’m not telling you how to run this thing, but this is not a situation like Nine Tech. Innocent people aren’t getting ripped off. Some soldiers couldn’t be bothered to keep a lid on their libidos and they embarrassed the service. Not only that, but their stupidity could cost a good man from achieving a post that could benefit the mission of this administration and the Joint Chiefs. I think you know what needs to be done, so I’m leaving it to you to take care of things and get this wrapped up pronto. Are we clear?”
They were as far from clear as they could possibly be, but Zoey knew she’d exhausted the tolerance of her commander and there was only one correct answer. “Yes, sir.”
Louden stopped her on the way out of Sharp’s office. “Everything okay?”
She looked back at Sharp’s door. “It will be. Did you ever get hold of Colonel Mitchell’s personnel file?”
He shook his head. “No. It’s still showing restricted, and I’m pretty sure that’s not going to change anytime soon.”
“Of course.” She should’ve known there would be a hold on the file until the circumstances regarding his death were officially certified. “Thanks for checking.” She started to walk away, but a thought popped into her head. “Do you happen to know if Colonel Mitchell was a Ranger?”
Louden raised his eyebrows and she quickly added, “Strange question, I know. It’s just…” She faltered for a moment, not wanting to share the contents of the note with him when she hadn’t yet told Sharp. “I’d heard somewhere that he was and I may have had a friend who served with him.” Lame response, but it was all she could come up with on the fly.
“I have no idea,” Louden said. “I didn’t know him, but maybe you could ask General Bloomfield’s son. He was enrolled in one of Mitchell’s classes at McNair.”
Zoey filed that information away as she made her way back to her office. The reference to the US Army Ranger’s motto in Mitchell’s letter—Rangers lead the way—had been scratching at the edge of her mind since she’d read the words. It was such an odd way to sign off any kind of letter, let alone a final missive, and she wondered if Mitchell had been trying to send her some sort of message with those last words.
She did plan to talk to Donny Bloomfield again, but she didn’t want to ask him questions about Mitchell’s suicide with Dixon sitting next to her. Sharp had said Dixon was assigned to help her find her way around, but that she was in charge. After her whirlwind start, she knew her way around well enough. It might be time to ditch Dixon and do the interviews with just Rook.
No, not a good idea. She needed to figure out the meaning of Mitchell’s message on her own. She rummaged in her desk for a pen and paper to make some notes and she uncovered a business card. Major John “Jack” Riley, Intelligence. She remembered his words from her first day, which seemed so long ago. This place can be a little crazy to get used to when you’ve been out in the world. Understatement of the universe.
Zoey stared at the phone and considered her options. Her first instinct was to call Rook and talk to her about what they should do next, but she couldn’t decide if she was letting desire eclipse duty. Rook didn’t trust the military, and Sharp had made it abundantly clear he didn’t trust Rook. Zoey glanced again at Jack’s card and, before she could change her mind, picked up the phone and dialed.
* * *
Rook started at the sound of a door opening, and it took her a moment to figure out she was in her office and she’d been fast asleep with her head on her desk.
“You look like hell,” Lacy said as she shut the door behind her.
“What time is it? And please tell me that’s coffee in your hand.”
“It’s eight a.m. and this is indeed coffee. I’ll give it to you if you tell me why you worked here all night.”
“I didn’t work all night,” Rook said, reaching for the mug. “I just got here very early.”
“Are you doing solo work on the side?”
Rook had the good sense to look sheepish. She’d worked hard to foster a team approach on the cases that came into the firm, but aside from calling them out to Mitchell’s house last night, she hadn’t shared much on this one. “I guess it’s time to have a meeting.”
“Already on it. Drink your coffee and take a shower. They’ll be in the conference room in thirty minutes.” Lacy shut the door behind her when she left, and Rook reached for the coffee. It would have to do double duty today because she was exhausted. She’d spent the balance of the night after Zoey left sorting through everything she knew about the McNair case, including the preliminary findings from Mitchell’s house, but so far she hadn’t been able to make sense of Mitchell’s death. It was time to brainstorm, and there was no better group to do it with than her team.
When she walked into the conference room she found Harry, Blake, and Eric already assembled, reviewing the information gathered at Mitchell’s house, she briefly considered calling Zoey and inviting her to join them. Another brain could only help, right?
She dismissed the thought as fast as it came. The White House had hired her to make sure this scandal was contained. Zoey had failed to tell her about her encounter with Mitchell, and if she’d gotten wind of Mitchell’s death first, she probably would’ve alerted the local police and her superiors, no doubt letting the ambiguous letter Mitchell had left behind leak into the public domain before they’d had a chance to decipher its meaning. Zoey wasn’t part of her team; she was the arm of a bureaucracy Rook had been hired to work around. The searing kiss they’d shared last night was proof she had become a distraction.
Pushing all thoughts of Zoey aside, Rook took her seat at the head of the table and pointed at Blake. “Tell me everything you have.”
Blake consulted one of the tiny Moleskine notebooks she always carried. Rook used to give her crap for using pen and paper to keep case notes when she’d come from the high-tech CIA, but Blake insisted she’d be the only one with any good intel in the event of a terrorist attack on the power grid or a simple power outage. “Not much to tell. Gun was registered to him. We found an aging box of the same caliber ammo in his desk missing only one bullet. His were the only prints on the gun and the angle of the shot was consistent with a self-inflicted wound.”
“And the note?”
“I’ll take this one,” Harry said. “I showed it, along with some confirmed samples of his handwriting, to an analyst I know. Best in her field. She says he wrote the note. There are a few letters and words that are shaky, but that’s to be expected considering the circumstances.”
“Okay, we know two things for sure,” Rook said. “He shot himself and he left a note. Here are the things I want to know: what does the note mean and what was his involvement with the Lorraine Darcy Agency?”
Eric raised his hand. “My turn. I examined the computers at the house. The one in the main study appears to be for family use and it was clean, but the one in his study was a treasure trove of inappropriate material.”
“Let me guess. He used that computer to hook up with ‘escorts’ from the Darcy Agency?”
“More than that.”
“Really? You’re telling me he had even deeper secrets?”
“The deepest, for a high ranking military officer.” Eric punched a button and the images from his laptop were projected onto the built-in screen at the front of the room. The display showed a cascading series of emails, but many of the sentences contained in the messages had words redacted. Rook squinted at the strings of incomplete sentences and tried to make sense of them.
“What are we looking at?” Blake asked.
Eric set his cursor on the first sentence and pointed at the blacked-out spaces. “I haven’t had a lot of time to analyze this, but at first glance it looked familiar so I started working on a theory.” He divided the information on the screen into two sections. “Over here,” he said, pointing to the left side of the screen. “There are three emails Mitchell exchanged with the Darcy Agency. Notice the dates.”
“Two years ago.”
“Yes. Just FYI, I found some chatter online saying that was the same time the Darcy Agency started renting space at the address you and Major Granger visited yesterday.”
Had it only been yesterday? “Okay,” Rook said. “So, he’s like a charter member of Escorts-R-Us. I’m not getting where you’re going with this.”
“Read the text of these three emails and give me your first impression.”
Rook started to tell Eric to blurt it out or she was moving on, but she held her tongue in the face of his earnest expression. She’d indulge him for five more minutes, but then she was pulling the plug on this little detour. She shifted her attention back to the screen and started reading. “The language is stiff, broken. Like the author is not a native English speaker.”
“Exactly.”
“So what you’re saying is the escorts at Lorraine Darcy might be well skilled in other areas, but drafting emails in English, not so much.”
“I’m saying way more than that.” He pointed again at the redacted words. “There’s a pattern here with the missing words. I’ve seen something like this before.” He started banging on the keyboard. “Hang on.” More typing. “Here it is. Take a look at this.”
Rook stared at the screen, the right side of the screen showing the emails from Mitchell’s computer and the left a letter on some official looking letterhead with a scattered series of small redactions. The pattern didn’t make sense to her, but it was eerily similar. “What is this?”
“Bear with me because this is going to sound crazy.” Eric pushed his laptop to the side and faced them. “It’s code.”
“I’ve seen something like this before too,” Blake said, her eyes trained on the screen.
“I bet you have,” Eric replied. “I heard the CIA still trains their operatives in old-style Soviet coding systems, you know, for historical perspective. Betcha didn’t know they were still using it.”
Harry struck his knuckles on the table. “Hold up. Are you two trying to say Mitchell was working for the Russians?”
Rook kept staring at the screen while the rest of her team started talking all at once. If Eric and Blake were right and they’d uncovered messages utilizing a Russian coding system, then this case had suddenly mushroomed into way more than her firm was equipped to handle. She let them talk for a few more minutes then held up a hand to signal it was time for her to talk. “Eric, can you break the code?”
“Yes.”
“How long would it take?”
“I can write a program—a few hours, tops. But if you want me to do that, I should get an air-gapped computer.”
“I have no idea what that means.”
“It’s a computer that’s never been connected to the Internet. That way we can be sure that no one will get access to the information once the code is broken unless they have physical possession of the computer.”
Rook paused, her mind spinning through a list of options. She could call Julia right now, set up a meeting and tell her what Eric had found. They’d turn over the emails and NSA hackers could break the code and let the White House know if there really was some kind of Russian meddling with the Pentagon. And the Daniels Agency would be free to go back to dealing with Senator Newman’s public relations nightmare and whatever new scandal was due to hit the evening news.
That’s what she should do. But once she turned the information over, she’d never know what the messages were or what they meant. Her other option was to have Eric break the code here at the office. Once they knew what the messages were, they could notify Julia and assist with managing the fallout. The practical choice was option A. But then you might never know if Zoey was involved or in danger.
Did Zoey know about any of this? Why had Mitchell mentioned her specifically in his suicide note? Rook didn’t think she could let this go until she had more answers, but depending on what this information was, hanging on to it could constitute a federal offense. She looked at the three faces staring at her and made a snap decision. “I want to know what these messages say, but I have a feeling our client would prefer that we turn over the information we’ve got so far and let them sort it out. Whatever decision I make impacts all of us, so let’s take a vote. All in favor of stopping now and handing this off to whatever agency the White House wants to involve, raise your hand.”
She waited, but every one of them—the hacker, the lawyer, and the former CIA agent—sat perfectly still, hands flat on the table. “Okay, then.” She pointed to Eric. “Someone go buy this man a new computer.”