Convicted
Page 19
“Now”—Agent Jackson completed Brent’s sentence—“Now your client is gone, disappearing in the middle of the night?”
“No.” Brent shut the door. “Well, yes—because he left with your agents.” When the FBI remained silent and exchanged quizzical looks, Brent added, “The men from your office who came here last night. He left with them.”
“I assure you, we didn’t send agents here last night.”
“What?” Brent ran his hands through his bed-messed hair, struggling with the new information. Could Claire’s threat have been real? Did someone take Tony?
“Mr. Simmons”—Brent focused as he attempted to subdue his impending fear—“A plane left Boston airspace, a private plane, contracted by one Anthony Rawlings. That same plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains approximately an hour ago. No survivors were found.”
Brent collapsed onto the sofa. “As in dead?” The words hurt exiting his lips. Yes, there were times he hated Tony for what he’d done or said—that didn’t change the fact—the controlling asshole was his best friend.
“No, sir, as in missing. The plane was empty. A FBI forensics’ team is investigating. So far, no signs of struggle or injury have been found and”—Agent Jackson emphasized—“no signs of anyone.”
“But...the FBI took him. I saw their credentials and badges.”
“Do you remember the names of these agents?”
Brent shook his head. “No, it was late. Jesus... I didn’t really look. I assumed it was legitimate. I don’t remember.”
“Mr. Simmons, the FBI didn’t come here last night.”
“What does this mean?”
“For right now, it means you’re coming back with us to the Bureau. We’re going to review hotel footage and discuss your late night visitors.”
Sitting in the familiar office of SAC of the San Francisco FBI, Agent Baldwin listened attentively to his supervisor. “Anthony Rawlings was in FBI custody. Now he isn’t.”
“I’m sorry...what do you mean he isn’t?”
“Due to persuasion from unnamed political sources, Agent Easton, SAC in Boston, was unable to keep him detained.”
Harry’s blood boiled. “So, sir...” Although, well engrained, the title left a bad taste on his tongue. “You’re saying—he did it again? Anthony Rawlings played his political cards, flashed a little money, and got himself out of FBI custody?”
“Agent, despite the Deputy Director’s request, you clearly aren’t interested in pursuing your career in the service of—”
“I apologize. Sir, please go on. Claire Nichols. Where is she?”
“The last direct communication was from Geneva, Switzerland. That was over a week ago. We have local field agents who’ve confirmed her departure from Switzerland.”
“She left..? Where did she go?”
“This is a briefing son—I inform; you listen. Agent Baldwin, you seem to have forgotten the protocol. If you choose to honor the Deputy Director’s request and assist in this ongoing investigation—your duty is to say, Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If that duty is too difficult for you to fulfill, I’ll gladly inform our director, and your duties can be reassigned.”
Harry bit his tongue. Working undercover had a way of removing the bureau formalities from an agent’s vocabulary. Harry had enough problems with his future in the service of the FBI; he didn’t need to add insubordination to the list. Sitting taller, Harry said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever the bureau wants me to do.”
“The bureau wants you to travel to Italy. We have two possible sightings of Ms. Nichols—one in Venice—the other in Rome. We have pictures of the woman suspected of being Ms. Nichols. You’ll see she’s always in disguise.” SAC Williams pointed toward a large screen on the wall of his office. Still pictures projected. Some were grainy, as if taken from a distance and enlarged. Others were much more clear and detailed. Harry studied the woman in each photograph. The last time he’d seen Claire, in person, was in June. That was four months ago. The woman in question could be pregnant, or just heavy. Her hair color and length varied from photo to photo, yet there was something about her—in a few of the photos—when she smiled—Harry’s chest tightened.
“Sir, I believe that is Ms. Nichols.”
“This man has been seen with her on numerous occasions. Can you identify him?”
“No.” Brent shut the door. “Well, yes—because he left with your agents.” When the FBI remained silent and exchanged quizzical looks, Brent added, “The men from your office who came here last night. He left with them.”
“I assure you, we didn’t send agents here last night.”
“What?” Brent ran his hands through his bed-messed hair, struggling with the new information. Could Claire’s threat have been real? Did someone take Tony?
“Mr. Simmons”—Brent focused as he attempted to subdue his impending fear—“A plane left Boston airspace, a private plane, contracted by one Anthony Rawlings. That same plane made an emergency landing in the Appalachian Mountains approximately an hour ago. No survivors were found.”
Brent collapsed onto the sofa. “As in dead?” The words hurt exiting his lips. Yes, there were times he hated Tony for what he’d done or said—that didn’t change the fact—the controlling asshole was his best friend.
“No, sir, as in missing. The plane was empty. A FBI forensics’ team is investigating. So far, no signs of struggle or injury have been found and”—Agent Jackson emphasized—“no signs of anyone.”
“But...the FBI took him. I saw their credentials and badges.”
“Do you remember the names of these agents?”
Brent shook his head. “No, it was late. Jesus... I didn’t really look. I assumed it was legitimate. I don’t remember.”
“Mr. Simmons, the FBI didn’t come here last night.”
“What does this mean?”
“For right now, it means you’re coming back with us to the Bureau. We’re going to review hotel footage and discuss your late night visitors.”
Sitting in the familiar office of SAC of the San Francisco FBI, Agent Baldwin listened attentively to his supervisor. “Anthony Rawlings was in FBI custody. Now he isn’t.”
“I’m sorry...what do you mean he isn’t?”
“Due to persuasion from unnamed political sources, Agent Easton, SAC in Boston, was unable to keep him detained.”
Harry’s blood boiled. “So, sir...” Although, well engrained, the title left a bad taste on his tongue. “You’re saying—he did it again? Anthony Rawlings played his political cards, flashed a little money, and got himself out of FBI custody?”
“Agent, despite the Deputy Director’s request, you clearly aren’t interested in pursuing your career in the service of—”
“I apologize. Sir, please go on. Claire Nichols. Where is she?”
“The last direct communication was from Geneva, Switzerland. That was over a week ago. We have local field agents who’ve confirmed her departure from Switzerland.”
“She left..? Where did she go?”
“This is a briefing son—I inform; you listen. Agent Baldwin, you seem to have forgotten the protocol. If you choose to honor the Deputy Director’s request and assist in this ongoing investigation—your duty is to say, Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. If that duty is too difficult for you to fulfill, I’ll gladly inform our director, and your duties can be reassigned.”
Harry bit his tongue. Working undercover had a way of removing the bureau formalities from an agent’s vocabulary. Harry had enough problems with his future in the service of the FBI; he didn’t need to add insubordination to the list. Sitting taller, Harry said, “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. I’ll do whatever the bureau wants me to do.”
“The bureau wants you to travel to Italy. We have two possible sightings of Ms. Nichols—one in Venice—the other in Rome. We have pictures of the woman suspected of being Ms. Nichols. You’ll see she’s always in disguise.” SAC Williams pointed toward a large screen on the wall of his office. Still pictures projected. Some were grainy, as if taken from a distance and enlarged. Others were much more clear and detailed. Harry studied the woman in each photograph. The last time he’d seen Claire, in person, was in June. That was four months ago. The woman in question could be pregnant, or just heavy. Her hair color and length varied from photo to photo, yet there was something about her—in a few of the photos—when she smiled—Harry’s chest tightened.
“Sir, I believe that is Ms. Nichols.”
“This man has been seen with her on numerous occasions. Can you identify him?”
