ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA
It was early evening when Ryan finally pulled into the Alexandria Detention Center’s parking lot after having battled the reams of rush-hour traffic on I-95. He locked his car and walked toward the building’s entrance. Adam North was already there, waiting on the steps and smoking a cigarette. He smiled as Ryan approached, and the two men shook hands.
“It’s about damn time,” North said. “What happened?”
“The traffic around here is a killer. I don’t know how people put up with that every day.”
“Hey, the money’s in the city. People will suffer anything for a pay-check every couple of weeks. Listen, I have bad news.”
“Tell me.”
“Elgin’s found himself a lawyer, and he’s recanted on waiving his Miranda rights.”
Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have seen this coming. Court-appointed, right?”
North took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. “No, he’s actually managed to get somebody decent, probably on the smallest retainer possible. Elgin’s assets have been frozen, and I guarantee that his attorney isn’t aware of that little fact.”
The DEA agent paused and turned his face up to the dim light, breathing in the damp, heavy air. “The government’s moving fast on this one. He’s already been indicted, and the A.G. is seeking three Federal counts. Conspiracy to murder U.S. nationals tops the list.
Maybe if they weren’t in such a hurry . . . I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll never talk to you one-on-one now. You want to leave it, see if we can cut a deal?”
“We don’t have time for that. Besides, he had a knife to Naomi’s throat, Adam. He’ll give us the information, one way or another, and then he can rot in jail. What does the conspiracy charge carry, anyway? Twenty years? If he doesn’t feel like talking, he’ll be lucky to see day one of that sentence.”
With most people, Adam would have dismissed these words as an empty threat. Instead, he was immediately reminded of Elgin’s screams in the dark back room of the Waterfront Bar. “Where is she anyway?”
“Naomi? I told her it got pushed back a few days. I’m hoping that she doesn’t call me on it until then.”
A small smile replaced the bigger man’s uneasy expression. “I wouldn’t want to see her face when she finds out . . .”
Ryan caught the intentional change in subject and sensed North’s lingering apprehension. “Listen, you’ve seen this guy’s sheet, right?”
He received a hesitant nod in return. “Elgin raped a thirteen-year-old girl, okay? Not to mention that ninety-two people died at the Kennedy-Warren, and he could have stopped it. Think about that, Adam.
Ninety-two dead, hundreds of lives ruined, all so Elgin could clear . . .
what? A couple thousand dollars, maybe? He doesn’t deserve any sympathy, especially from us.”
They were asked to turn in their weapons. North obliged, handing over his Glock, but Kealey shook his head and held up empty hands. After they moved through a metal detector, North signed the register while Kealey looked on impassively. Ryan was required to show the deputy identification to get a temporary pass, but that was all. It was the one thing on which he had insisted, and Harper had come through for him; there would be no record of Ryan Kealey’s visit to the prison.
He wondered if Harper had already realized his mistake. For Kealey to be held responsible for any unfortunate incident that might befall Thomas Elgin, there would have to be an official record of his arrival at the detention center.
The interior of the structure was not at all what he had expected.
Most of the walls were painted powder blue, and the floors were covered by cheap government carpet, but carpet nonetheless. He thought that was an unusual thing to see in a prison. The most surprising thing, however, was the lack of noise. It took him a while to notice the absence of sound, if only because it was such an obvious disparity.
North noticed his confusion. “This is what they call a ‘New Generation’ prison. Everything is controlled from a single operations center, and the deputies move freely among the prisoners. Inmates who get loud or try to fight are removed immediately, and noise suppression was taken into account when they chose the building materials.”
“It seems like all that would be pretty expensive,” Ryan said.
“I guess the benefits outweigh the cost. Anyway, I don’t know what you know about the Bureau of Prisons, but Elgin has already been placed into the CIM system. I thought it would happen eventually, but—”
“Hold on, you’re going to have to explain that to me.”
They were passing through an open lounge, filled with wooden tables and comfortable-looking armchairs. Several inmates were crowded around a television, set at a low volume, absorbed by a basketball game while a deputy sheriff looked on with a bored expression. Ryan was struck by the guard’s casual stance, and he couldn’t get over the relaxed atmosphere that seemed to blanket the detention center.
His attention snapped back to North as the acronym was explained: “CIM is the Central Inmate Monitoring System run by the Feds. It applies to pretrial prisoners as well, and Elgin earned a place due to the publicity his case is already getting in the media.”
A small frown spread over Kealey’s face. “I hope he’s not getting any special treatment.”
North shook his head. “No, nothing like that. He is getting some special attention, though. That’s what I’m saying . . . I can’t guarantee that I can get you in the room alone with him.”
Ryan gave him a sharp look. “I can’t do this without your help, Adam.” A moment later he spoke again, but in a much lower voice.
“More to the point, I need you to keep your mouth shut when it’s done. We’ve already talked about this. If you want out, just say the word.”
The tone of his voice left North with little doubt that leaving was no longer an option. “I’ll get you in there,” he said.
Ryan smiled with relief. “Good.”
They were cleared through an electronic door that led into the operations center. Seconds later, the watch commander walked up and extended a large hand.
“Louis Jackson. Pleased to meet you, gentlemen.” Jackson was a heavily built black man who looked to be just shy of fifty. His bald head gleamed in the low light of the watch center. Despite his age, Jackson’s strength was clearly visible beneath the immaculately pressed uniform that he wore. Ryan didn’t need to see it to know it, though; his hand was still stinging from the man’s powerful grip.
“You boys carry a lot of sway,” Jackson said in a low rumble. “I got a call this morning from Harper over at Langley, as well as Nance at DEA. Both of ’em told me they’d have my balls in a vice if I didn’t get you access to Elgin.”
North gave a friendly chuckle. “We’re not trying to cause you any inconvenience, sir. Believe me, if we had it our way, we wouldn’t have to talk to this piece of shit again.”
Jackson laughed as well. “Yeah, he is a piece of shit, all right.” The watch commander quickly turned serious again. “All the same, he’s a high-profile prisoner under my roof, and the man’s counsel could make trouble for me. The lawyer is even more annoying than Elgin, but she knows her business.”
“She?” Kealey asked with obvious surprise. Why the hell would a woman want to represent Elgin? “Who’s the lawyer?”
“Her name is Alex Harris,” Jackson said. “This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with her. She runs her own little firm in Richmond, and her track record is pretty damn good. Tell you the truth, I’m amazed that Elgin was smart enough to hire her.”
He held out his right hand and punched a warning finger in their direction. “Anyway, the point is this: I’m happy to accommodate you, but if Harris decides to bring down heat on my command because you two fucked up somehow, then my attitude’s gonna change real quick. Just so we’re clear.”
North and Kealey nodded contritely, and Jackson waved over a deputy standing by the door. “This is Matthews. He’s gonna show you boys the room we’ve set aside for this little venture. He’ll wait outside while you talk with the prisoner.”
Ryan didn’t want the guard, but he sensed that Jackson’s cooperation was sketchy at best. More to the point, the watch commander looked like he wouldn’t mind dismissing orders from a higher authority. Kealey didn’t want to push his luck.
He saw that North shared his apprehension, and shot him a restraining look. “Thank you, Lieutenant. Let’s get this over with.”
As they walked several steps behind the guard, Ryan saw lingering concern in the DEA agent’s face. “I know,” he said, leaning in to speak in a low whisper, “it’s not ideal. Get the lawyer out of there, Adam.”
“What do you mean, ‘Get the lawyer out of there’? Where the hell am I gonna—”
“Just get her out of there. As soon as you can.”
They stopped at an unmarked door with a Plexiglas window tucked neatly into the gray steel. Matthews turned to face them.
“Okay, gentlemen, I was told—”
“Hold that thought, Matthews. I’m going to go grab a cup of coffee. You guys want one?” Ryan asked.
North shook his head, discreetly shooting him another questioning look. Matthews nodded his head in the affirmative.
“Right back.” Ryan moved off down the hall as North pushed his way into the interrogation room and Matthews took up station outside the door.
“I still don’t understand why this meeting is necessary,” Alex Harris said. She was glaring angrily at North while Thomas Elgin slouched in his chair, fingers interlaced with his hands resting on his paunch. He made no attempt to hide the smirk plastered on his face.
Adam ignored the prisoner, choosing instead to focus his attention on Harris. She was a stunningly attractive woman who tried very hard to play down her looks. Her efforts were largely unsuccessful; her figure was draped in a formless gray business suit that ended in a long skirt, but shapely calves hinted at what lay beneath the uninspiring attire. Her glossy auburn hair was tied back haphazardly, and she wore heavy glasses that kept slipping down her long nose. The thick lenses could not hide her bright blue eyes, though, or the anger that they currently contained.
“What are you staring at?”
A small grin played over his face. “Nothing.”
“I’m sure you’ve already been made aware of this, Agent North, but my client has offered his statement to the Attorney General, and that offer was declined. So unless—”
“Did you really expect the A.G. to grant immunity for a statement that may or may not lead to additional arrests?” North asked her. The amiable smile was gone, replaced by a level stare that reduced most people to silence. He was surprised when it failed to faze the experienced trial lawyer. “I mean, let’s not forget that part. It wasn’t a free offer. In our opinion, your client is seriously jeopardizing any chance of cutting a deal by withholding information.”
“Hey, buddy—”
“Shut up, Thomas.” Harris held out a warning finger and managed to cut her client off before he got started. She met North’s penetrating stare, but it was several moments before either of them spoke.
It was Adam North who finally broke the silence. “Could we speak in private, Ms. Harris?”
She shook her head violently, several strands of hair coming loose and drifting around her face in the process. “My client has the right to hear anything you have to say.”
He stood abruptly and started toward the door. “Then it looks like I’ll just have to report to the A.G. that your ‘client’ has once again failed to cooperate with this investigation. If you’re pushing for a deal, lady, you’re gonna be pushing for a long time.”
He had the door halfway open before she called out. “Hold on, Agent North.”
A moment later she was following him out of the room, closing the door emphatically behind her. She turned to the guard standing by the entrance.
“I don’t want anybody coming in or out of this room until I return.
Is that understood?”
“I got it, ma’am . . . No one in or out.”
Satisfied with that response, Alex Harris stalked toward the visitors’ lounge with Adam North following reluctantly behind.
It took nearly five minutes of wandering around, but Ryan finally found what he was looking for.
The registration desk was built in a large semicircle with an elevated counter facing out toward the lobby, much like the reception area in a hotel lobby. Four computers sat behind it, as did a number of telephones. An open doorway could be seen beyond all of this equipment, but the person manning the desk was nowhere in sight.
He leaned over the counter and studied one of the phones, taking the time to scan the handwritten markings beside each button.
When he found the right one, he looked up at the fire plan posted on the wall. The faded paper provided a vague description of the facility’s layout. Ryan pressed the button and lifted the receiver as the intercom crackled to life.
“Deputy Matthews, please report to Processing. Deputy Matthews to Processing.”
Matthews looked up and frowned as the message was snapped out over the public address system. Damn . . . Processing was on the other side of the building, and he didn’t have the keys to the interrogation room. At the same time, he couldn’t afford to slip up with the watch commander. Jackson had already cut him down three weeks earlier for what he had done, or rather, for what he had not done in breaking up a fight in the housing unit that left one man slightly wounded and another in critical condition.
He weighed his options carefully. He knew that the big man was with the lawyer, and Elgin wasn’t going anywhere in leg irons. Jackson had instructed him to remain outside the door, and counter-manding one of the lieutenant’s orders was usually grounds for termination.
However, Matthews also knew that Jackson and the head of Processing played basketball together in Arlington Mills on most Saturday afternoons. He was largely dependent on his knowledge about budding alliances within the prison hierarchy to counteract the effects of his own ineptitude. Matthews was keenly aware of his lowly status at the detention center.
The last of his indecisiveness melted away. He couldn’t afford another poor fitness report in his file.
The smaller visiting agent, the quiet one with the black hair and gray eyes, was already forgotten.
Matthews moved away from the door and down the long hall toward Processing.
“So what exactly is on offer here anyway?”
Harris waited impatiently as North stirred his coffee and counted the seconds.
“I’m waiting . . .”
“Ms. Harris, we both know that your client is looking at some serious time here. Even if you somehow manage to get the conspiracy charge dropped, we still have him for supplying materials to Al-Qaeda and for assault on a Federal officer.”
“This isn’t news to me, North. What’s your point?”
He took a deep breath and a long sip of coffee before answering.
“The assault charge is a lock, okay? I’ll testify myself, if the prosecutor asks. Hell, I’ll probably volunteer my services. But I can deal on the other stuff. You know who the key witness against Elgin is, right?”
She nodded. The impatience began to dissipate, replaced by a mild interest. “Your CI.”
“You got it. He’s pretty sharp, a hell of a lot more reliable than most of the people we’re forced to work with. And I think he’ll make a good witness. That said, his memory could get a little fuzzy if your client decides to cooperate.”
Alex Harris spread her hands out on the table, palms up in a conciliatory gesture. “I think we have something to build on here, but that just isn’t good enough. I need a retraction from your informant, and I need it in writing. That’s the only way that Elgin is going to talk.”
North didn’t respond immediately, but his mind was working away. You might be surprised, lady. Your boy might be talking sooner than you think. His eyes involuntarily moved to the clock mounted on the wall of the lounge. Five minutes had elapsed since they left the interrogation room.
Never before had five minutes felt so long to the young DEA agent.
Ryan was walking away from the desk when a voice reached out behind him. “Sir? Excuse me, sir . . . What were you doing in here, just now?”
He kept walking, and the voice got a little louder. “Sir, please answer my question.”
Ryan turned his head to answer but kept moving forward. He wasn’t really concerned; the words were authoritative, but the voice itself was tinged with indecision. It was a woman speaking, and not in the tone typically used by a deputy sheriff hardened from years of guarding prisoners. “I’m a Federal agent. Take it up with Jackson, he’s the one who ordered the call.”
Ryan realized that his last sentence didn’t really make any sense, but it did what he intended. The receptionist was confused as she stared after him with worried eyes. She reached for the phone. She knew about Lieutenant Jackson, had heard in the break room the whispered rumors of his legendary temper. Why bother him without good cause? Besides, the man walking away from her desk was obviously not a prisoner.
What harm could be done?
The receiver was returned to its cradle as the receptionist sat down at her desk and resumed her work.
After three hallways and two turns, Ryan was once again standing outside the door. He was relieved to see that Matthews was gone, but felt a sudden streak of anger, mostly directed at himself, when he realized that the guard had probably locked the door before leaving.
If so, then that was it. He didn’t have time to get through the lock; it was only a matter of minutes before North and the lawyer came back down the hallway, or before Matthews realized what had happened and returned with reinforcements. If only the guard was as stupid as he looked . . .
And it appeared that he was. Kealey breathed a soft sigh of relief when the knob turned easily in his hand.
He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
“You have to be realistic here,” North continued. He was hunched over the table, staring intently at Alex Harris. “A full retraction in writing is not going to happen, because that translates into immunity on the conspiracy charge and providing aid to a foreign terrorist organization.”
“I thought that’s what you were pedaling,” she said in exasperation. “You just expect me to take your word for it and then get Elgin to hand over his statement? Is that it?”
He stared at her for a long time. Seven minutes had passed. He hoped that Ryan was moving fast. “Ms. Harris, are you aware that the Treasury Department has already frozen your client’s assets?”
Her face changed, and she tried to hide it by lifting her cup and taking a long sip of cold coffee. From the way her cheeks burned, North knew that the news had come as a surprise to her. He decided to tighten the screws.
“There’s no reason you should have known about it, since it wasn’t initiated by the presiding judge. From what I hear, you run a pretty small firm. I don’t imagine that you have a lot of time for pro bono work—”
“So what are you saying?” she asked, cutting him off in midsentence. Her voice followed her temper and began to rise. “That I should file a motion for withdrawal? Hand it off to a court-appointed attorney fresh out of night school? If that was your plan, Agent North, then you’re wasting your time. And mine.”
She stood up and snatched at her briefcase, angrily pushing up on the bridge of her glasses as they slipped down her nose. As she moved to leave the lounge, he called out to her one last time.
“Why are you representing him then?” She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “You’re not getting any money out of it, and this is a pretty reckless way to earn a reputation as a defense lawyer, because he’s looking at twenty years any way you cut it.” A lingering pause as North debated whether to ask the next question. The indecision resolved itself quickly, though, as he was genuinely interested in her response. “You have access to his criminal record. You know what he did. As a woman, why would you want anything to do with helping a man like that?”
When she finally smiled at him, North saw a cold, detached intelligence that gave him the answer before she even opened her mouth. “Come on, Agent North. Don’t be so naive. This trial is going to be headline news all the way up until the verdict. For that kind of attention, I think I’m willing to set aside the feminist agenda, at least temporarily. After all, principles can’t buy air time, can they?”
She winked at him, actually winked at him, and then spun on her heel to leave the room. North leaned back in his chair. Well, that was that. Good luck, Ryan. Better you than me, pal.
Especially if you have to deal with her.
When he stepped into the room, Ryan didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look in Elgin’s direction. He shut and locked the door behind him, then checked for a camera in the upper right-hand corner near the ceiling. Seeing nothing but bare walls, he turned to face the prisoner. Elgin was already up and cowering at the far side of the room.
His movements were awkward because of the handcuffs and leg irons that bound him, as well as the heavy brace on his left knee that served as a reminder of their last encounter. The smug look was long gone, replaced by a mask of pure terror.
“What the fuck! What are you doing here, man? Where’s my lawyer at?”
Kealey advanced with startling speed, kicking a metal chair out of the way before reaching the prisoner. His right fist moved in a blur, slamming up into Elgin’s solar plexus. As Elgin slumped and choked for breath, Ryan lifted him up and pinned him against the wall, wrapping his left hand around the man’s windpipe and squeezing hard.
“I don’t have time to fuck around anymore, Tommy. You told me a half truth once. It won’t happen again. There was another name on that bill of lading, wasn’t there? You’re going to—”
“I don’t know! I don’t know anything, I swear!”
Pulling back a few feet, Kealey pushed his weight forward and slammed the injured man hard into the wall. This was immediately followed by another violent blow to the stomach. The second was less powerful than the first, as Ryan struggled to keep the man up-right and maintain his own leverage at the same time.
All the same, it was enough. Elgin retched and continued to slump to the ground. Ryan let him go, then reached around and pulled an object from underneath his jacket at the small of his back.
Elgin’s eyes grew wide when the knife was produced. He leaned away from the weapon, which only made Ryan’s job easier as he reached to pull Elgin’s head back by grabbing a handful of greasy hair, leaving the man’s throat unprotected.
“Do you remember this?” Kealey waved the ceramic knife in front of Elgin’s bulging eyes. “I’m sure you do. That was a bad move, by the way. You really pissed me off with that little stunt. She still got the drop on you, though, didn’t she? I guess you’re not as tough as you thought . . . There was another name on that bill of lading, wasn’t there? Otherwise, it wouldn’t have gone missing from the harbormaster’s office at NIT. Last chance— What was the name?”
Another violent shake of the head. Ryan’s fist was like a stone around the tape-covered handle. He was taking it too far, and he knew it. The knife was on Elgin’s throat, and he pushed it down until the blade began to sink and a thin red line appeared, little rivulets of blood running down and pooling on the cold tile. Elgin was screaming, muffled screams until Ryan realized that he was holding his hand over the man’s mouth. He pulled it away and tried to collect himself.
He realized that his hands were shaking.
“I’ll tell you! I’ll tell you anything! Please stop! Just . . . Jesus, just stop!” Elgin continued to ramble on, although the words were twisted and made incomprehensible by fear and pain.
“The name, Tommy. Right now.”
It was a long hallway, but Alex Harris was in no particular hurry, still fuming at the DEA agent’s arrogance and her own wounded pride. His jab about money was especially painful because it was true. She had spent the better part of the last decade in a prominent Chicago-based firm, but her own firm was in its fledgling years, and she didn’t have the time or resources to represent a client who couldn’t pay, even a client whose case enjoyed broad publicity.
Despite what she had said in the lounge, she had no choice: she would have to file a motion for withdrawal. As she walked, she found her anger at this new development focused on the agent who had brought her the news. What a waste of time, she thought. That guy pulls me away to offer something that he can’t possibly have the authority to deliver, and then—
The realization hit her with the force of a sledgehammer: It was a sham. That guy couldn’t have been more than thirty, and he clearly had no legal training whatsoever. Why would they send someone to deliver a phony offer, though? There was nothing to gain from it, unless . . .
She realized with a start that the guard was no longer stationed outside the interrogation room. In fact, she couldn’t see anyone in the hall, though she could hear a distant conversation to her rear.
She began to run, the heavy briefcase banging against her leg, 100 feet away and closing. The deputies trailing her called out in surprise at the sudden movement.
Ignoring them, she reached the door and burst into the room, looking down into her client’s panicked eyes.
Down until she saw that the blood followed the cracks in the tile beneath her feet.
She stumbled back and screamed in fear and shock, and then in rage as the deputies rushed toward the room.
Ryan turned the corner toward the exit, cursing inwardly when he saw what awaited him. Naomi Kharmai was arguing in loud tones with Adam North, who was sliding his pistol back into its holster after receiving it in exchange for his pass.
Naomi saw him and turned her fury away from the DEA agent.
“What the hell are you doing here, Ryan? I was supposed to be part of this, remember? This is bullshit! Just you wait until the deputy director finds out . . .”
She went on and on as Ryan flashed his identification and slapped his pass down on the counter. The deputy who scooped it up was wearing a wide smile, clearly amused by the scene Naomi was making.
Ryan was less enthralled. Seconds from now he knew there would be a sharp crackle of static, followed by an urgent radio transmission.
This would result in a second call to the watch commander, who would quickly determine what had transpired.
The door to the parking lot was less than 15 feet away.
“You have to stop, Naomi. Okay?” Ryan grabbed her outstretched wrist and pulled her close, whispering harsh words into her ear. “We need to get out of here right now.”
She pulled away, but her face was still only inches from his. She fell silent as he guided her toward the exit. North was already stepping out into the freezing air. He held the door open as they followed him over the threshold.
Ryan was paying attention to everything while he held the door open, Naomi’s hand warm in his own, sounds assaulting him from every direction: a distant conversation in the street, a car horn sounded by an angry motorist. The scrape of their shoes as the tile gave way to damp asphalt, and the crackle of the deputy’s radio as the door eased shut behind them.