“Interesting?”
“I have to go. I have to run.”
Laughing to herself, Kayla ran out to her van.
Interesting.
Chapter 92
AFTER SOME MUCH-NEEDED R & R I went back to work and found that I was still assigned to the extortion/terrorism case, which apparently now involved chasing down whoever was responsible, whoever had the money. I was told that I was picked because I’m relentless.
In a way, I was glad it wasn’t over. I was still in touch with several of my contacts on the case: Martin Lodge in England, Sandy Greenberg with Interpol, Etienne Marteau in Paris, but also police and intelligence in Tel Aviv and Frankfurt. Everybody I talked to had possible leads, but no one had anything hot, or even what I would consider lukewarm.
The Wolf, or maybe al Qaeda, or some other clever, homicidal bastards were out there with close to two billion dollars in their coffers. Among other things, three city blocks in Paris had been destroyed. Political prisoners had been released. There had to be some slipup, some way to find them, or at least some way to discover who they were.
My second day back, the analyst Monnie Donnelley and I made a paper connection that interested me enough to drive all the way out to Lexington, Virginia. I arrived at a two-story contemporary on a back road called Red Hawk Lane. A Dodge Durango was parked in the driveway. A couple of horses grazed in a nearby paddock.
Joe Cahill met me at the door of the house. The former CIA agent was all smiles, just as I remembered him from past meetings about the Wolf. Joe had told me over the phone that he was eager to help the investigation in any way he could. He invited me inside and had coffee and a store-bought crumb cake waiting in his den. The room had views of an outlying pasture, a pond, and the Blue Ridge Mountains off in the distance.
“I guess you can tell I miss the job,” Joe said. “Some days, anyway. You can do only so much hunting and fishing. You fish, Alex? You hunt?”
“I’ve taken the kids fishing a couple of times,” I said. “I hunt some, yeah. Right now, I’m hoping to bag the Wolf. I need your help, though, Joe. I want to go over some old ground. Something has come up.”
Chapter 93
“ALL RIGHT, YOU WANT to talk about him again. How we got the Wolf out of Russia? What happened once he arrived in America? How he disappeared after that? It’s a sad but well-known and documented story, Alex. You’ve seen the files. I know you have. Almost ended my career.”
“Joe, I don’t understand why nobody seems to know who he is. What he looks like. His real name. That’s the story I’ve been getting for over a year now, but how can it be? How could we work with England to extricate an important KGB guy, and not know who he is. Something bad happened in Paris—but nobody knows what. How is it possible? What am I missing? What has everybody missed so far?”
Joe Cahill spread his large workingman hands, palms up. “Look, I obviously don’t have all the pieces, either. It’s my understanding that he was undercover when he was inside Russia. Supposedly, he was a young, very cagey agent, which would mean he’s still only in his early forties. But I’ve also read reports that he’s in his late fifties or sixties now. That he was actually pretty high up in the KGB when he defected. I’ve also heard that the Wolf is female. I think he spreads the rumors himself. I’m almost certain that’s what he does.”
“Joe, you and your old partner were his controls once he got here.”
“Our boss was Tom Weir, who wasn’t the director yet. Actually, the team included three other guys—Maddock, Boykin, and Graebner. Maybe you should talk to them.”
Cahill rose from his easy chair. He went and opened French doors leading out to a stone patio. A cooling breeze swept into the room.
“I never met him, Alex. Neither did my partner, Corky Hancock. Or the rest of the team—Jay, Sam, Clark. That’s the way it was set up from the beginning. It was the deal he brokered when he came out of Russia. He’d help us bring down the old KGB, name names there, and here in the U.S. But nobody got to see him. Believe me, he delivered names and information that helped bring down the evil empire.”
I nodded. “Right, he keeps his promises. But now he’s on the loose, and he’s established his own crime network—and a whole lot more.”
Cahill took a bite of his coffee cake, then talked with his mouth full. “Apparently, that’s exactly what he did. Of course, we had no idea that he would go bad. Neither did the Brits. Maybe Tom Weir did. I don’t know.”
I needed some air. I got up and walked to the open doors. A couple of horses were hugging a white wooden fence under the shade of oak trees. I turned to face Joe Cahill.
“Okay, so you can’t help me with the Wolf. What can you help me with, Joe?”
Cahill frowned and looked confused. “I’m sorry, Alex, not much. I’m an old plow horse, not good for much of anything anymore. Coffee cake’s good, right?”
I shook my head. “Not really, Joe. Trust me, store-bought’s never the same.”
Cahill’s face sagged, then he grinned but his eyes weren’t smiling. “So now we’re gonna be honest, I guess. Why the hell are you here? What’s this about? Talk to Uncle Joe. What’s going on? I’m kind of lost. You’re playing way over my head.”
I stepped back into the room. “Oh, it’s all about the Wolf, Joe. See, I think you and your old partner can help us a lot—even if you never met him in person, and I’m not so sure that you didn’t.”
Cahill finally threw up his hands in frustration. “Alex, this is a little crazy, you know. I feel like we’re running around in circles. I’m too old and ornery for this shit.”
“Yeah, well, it’s been a tough couple of weeks for everybody. A lot of craziness going around. You don’t know the half of it.” But I’d had enough of “Uncle” Joe Cahill’s crap. I showed him a photograph.