When Wolf opened the Town Car door, the brisk spring wind carried the mushroom scent of the forest that surrounded the AGS. Rhododendron bushes jostled the sides of the low, rain-stained building, the first blossoms sodden pink in the watery morning sunlight. Overhead the clouds still clung to the hilltop, but southward the trees gave way to allow a distant view of Mt. Rainier.
All the signs of a good day, a bright future. He filled his lungs with the fresh scent and turned back to Fitzsimmons, who climbed out of the car as if he were an old man. Even power didn’t stop the advance of age. Which meant it was high time the man stepped aside in place of younger leadership.
“Did it ever occur to you that Gleason and his agency could wipe you off the face of the earth without even drawing a sweat?”
A cloud crossed the sun and left Wolf in shadows as he turned back to Fitzsimmons. The big man looked at him intently, waiting. Almost as if he knew Wolf’s thoughts. Wolf kept his face smooth. He smiled.
“It has, actually. I have never trusted them, regardless of Gleason’s assurances of their defense of the natural order. No one with that much power can be trusted.”
“My sentiments exactly,” Fitzsimmons said, and looked at the bunker of a building with its lack of windows.
Leaving Wolf wondering whether the power comment was pointed at him. But there was no way Fitzsimmons could know what he planned.
Quelling the ill-ease, he followed Fitzsimmons toward the bunker. The place seemed intent in sinking into the earth instead of enjoying the view the hilltop afforded.
He used his ID card to open the door and suspected that somewhere an alarm would be sounding to alert to their presence. They strode in and sure enough, Gleason’s familiar appeared as they reached the T intersection of the halls.
“Director Fitzsimmons. Chief Amundson.” The woman, Moore, inclined her head in a vaguely oriental motion. “Chief Gleason is waiting for you. Please follow me.”
She was a cool thing. Inscrutable slit eyes. Skin of ivory. She turned them away from the operational center of the AGS toward a bank of doors at the other end of the building.
“Where are we going?” Fitzsimmons barked.
“Chief Gleason thought perhaps you would prefer a quieter venue. The war room is under reconstruction.”
“So quickly?” Doubt in his voice.
“Chief Gleason has many contacts he can draw on.”
“How fortunate for him.” Still the doubt.
“He has tremendous—foresight.”
The way she met Fitzsimmons’ gaze told Wolf all he needed to know, and there was no way he wasn’t visiting the war room.
“Perhaps we should take a look. As Liaison to the AGS, I will have to approve the expenditures.”
“Very well. Come this way.” Her heels clipped down the hallway, but another door opened. The white gnome poked his head out, and then stepped back.
“Director Fitzsimmons. Chief Amundson. What brings you here so unexpectedly?” His voice was its usual uncomfortably high-pitched tone, but there was a jittery tension in there too. He was Gleason’s creature, so it was not unexpected.
“Not unexpected, Snow. Not at all.” Fitzsimmons kept walking. Wolf passed the man by and felt him shift into the corridor to watch them go. Felt the little man’s fear.
What was the vernacular? Let him stew in those juices. Yes, let Landon Snow stew in his fear.
Moore opened the war room door and stood to one side to allow them to precede her.
A flurry of activity suddenly stopped. Agents at their desks looked up at their entry, then looked away. Fingers flew across keys. But no workmen worked at the devastated map pit. There were no workmen anywhere Wolf could see.
“Everyone stop what they’re doing, please.” Fitzsimmons’ voice boomed across the room.
Hands stopped on keys. A few hesitant key strokes.
“I said stop.”
Agents jerked under the lash of his voice.
“Amundson, Moore, get everyone out of here. Now. Find someplace everyone can wait.”
Fitzsimmons strode through the desks to Gleason’s door. It opened before he got there and Gleason stepped out.
“What the hell’s going on here?” Gleason stood toe-to-toe, glaring down at the Director.
“Come, Gleason, let’s go inside. You don’t want to do this in front of your Agents.”
Gleason scanned the waiting faces. “Like hell I don’t. Moore—everyone—stay where you are. You have jobs to do.” He turned back to Fitzsimmons, and Wolf had to admire the man’s balls to face down the Director. “Now what’s on your mind?”
“What’s on my mind is the fact your Agent Drake has apparently disappeared. Chief Amundson went to question her last night and she had left her home. Not quite as exhausted as you claimed, I’m afraid.”
Gleason looked like a thundercloud. His glare caught Wolf like a blow. “If you knew half as much as you thought you did, you wouldn’t be here acting like fools. We believe Agent Drake was killed last night. Her presence disappeared off our maps. The only way that can happen is if she dies.”
“Interesting.” Fitzsimmons cocked his head. “Explain that to me.”
“You know we track change phenomena through our maps? Well, we also track our Agents. Each one of the Gifted has a—I suppose you could say a signature—that other trained Gifted can track.”
“Why wasn’t I told of this before?” A low rumble of anger filled Fitzsimmons’ voice. It was one thing Wolf had learned about the man. He wanted to know everything and had a mind like a huge filing cabinet that kept everything categorized, everything readily accessible.
“I didn’t think you needed to know.”
Wrong thing to say. Wolf barely held back the smile as the explosion mounted. The room had gone deathly still, like the eye of a storm.
His cell phone buzzed too loud.
“Would you get that damned phone?” Fitzsimmons growled.
Wolf scrambled to respond. Did not want to be the focus of the Director’s wrath, but was sorry to miss the confrontation. He shifted across the room and juggled the phone to his ear. “Amundson.”
“Chief, Agent Cornwall here. I knew you’d want to be apprised immediately.”
“What’s happened? The cop?”
“Exactly. He got a call from a previously unflagged number. It was the Drake woman. The call wasn’t long, but it was enough we were able to unblock it and pinpoint the GPS coordinates. The northeast shore of Lake Washington. I’ve got men standing by.”
Wolf glanced back at Gleason. He had the bastard now. Right in the palm of his hand.
“Get them out there. Send me the coordinates and I’ll meet them there.”
“Sir, there’s one more thing. Your Seattle PD source, Detective Blacklock? He’s been leaving messages that he needs you to call him.”
Shit, he wanted to be there when the Drake woman was caught. He checked his watch. “What’s his number?”
He got it and signed off, then punched Blacklock’s number in and held his hand up for quiet. This was more important, even if he was making himself a target for Fitzsimmons’ wrath.
When the phone clicked he didn’t bother to wait for Blacklock to say who it was. “It’s me. You called. Make it quick.”
“She called.”
“I know.”
“She asked for a facial recognition scan of Seattle street cameras for a face she’s sent us.”
“That is a tall order.”
“How about for the last three months?”
Amundson laughed. “Better and better. But send the file. I’ll see what I can do.”
“She seemed to think this was life or death.”
“Fine. Send me the face.”
“Done.”
Amundson signed off and the email pinged on the phone. He checked the face and groaned. Everything was coming apart. No, everything was coming together. He knew where the face would be seen. It had already been picked up numerous times bec
ause they’d been tracking it themselves. He’d give Blacklock the info later, but now was the time to step back into Fitzsimmons’ good graces and to watch Gleason begin his dramatic fall. Aah, this would be good.
“Director Fitzsimmons, may I interject?” He crossed to the two men now immersed in tense conversation.
“What is it? Why aren’t these people out of the room?”
Wolf managed to keep the triumph off his face. “Sir, I think you need to hear this.” He leaned into Fitzsimmons’ ear. Whispered, and saw the other man’s face clear. Yes, this was the way to Fitzsimmons’ heart. Leave him the armament to go in for the kill.
When he was finished, Fitzsimmons waved him away, and turned to Gleason. “I believe you said you can track all AGS Agents. Is that correct?”
“I said it.” The AGS chief had a rod of steel up his back. Too proud, and Fitzsimmons would see him taken down a notch. Wolf held his breath, waiting for the trap to close.
“Then tell me, Chief Gleason. Why did my men just trace a call that had Vallon Drake very much alive?”
“What the hell are you talking about?” But Gleason’s face had gone pale.
“I mean she just telephoned the good Detective Bryson. How do you explain that? How do you explain that your supposedly failsafe means of tracking Agents has failed?”
Fitzsimmons’ voice was soft and as intent as a wolf pack surrounding its prey. He stepped closer to Gleason, looked up at the man, his large nose for all the world like a beak that would gut the AGS Chief. “Well?”
Wolf took pleasure in the way Gleason’s throat worked. Finally he shook his head and stepped past Fitzsimmons.
“Clark, Chavez, run a check on Drake. See if you can find her anywhere.”
The two agents scurried back to their desks. Soon screens flickered to life with maps, and Wolf shifted closer to see: topographic representation of Seattle. The screen seemed to pan across color-coded landscape. Nothing unusual. Nothing to even hint at the power of what these creatures, these ‘people’ could do.
The woman pushed herself back from her desk. “I’m not finding anything, Sir.”
“Try near Lake Washington,” Wolf ordered.
The woman glanced at Gleason, who nodded.
“Just do it,” Fitzsimmons roared.
“Yes, Sir.” She turned back to her computer, hunched over the keys, and the screen swooped away and honed in on the lake’s shoreline. She seemed to study—nothing that Wolf could see. Were they making a sham of this whole thing for his and Fitzsimmons’ benefit? He turned back to Fitzsimmons.
“Sir, I’d like to suggest that Chief Gleason be relieved of duty. It seems he’s held back information and frankly, as long as Gleason is in charge, I don’t think we can ever be sure that the AGS is aboveboard.”
Wolf caught Gleason’s glare, but didn’t acknowledge it. Let him be shamed in front of his people. Let him know what it felt like to be brought down to the realm of mortals.
Fitzsimmons’ predatory scowl was all Wolf needed to see. He’d fed his boss the required lines, now it was time to see Gleason brought low.
“A fair assessment, wouldn’t you say, Gleason? You’ve kept things from me, and you’ll continue to do so. Am I right?”
For such a big man, the nod he gave was incredibly small. “There are things about this operation you can’t possibly manage. Hell, ask Amundson. He can’t even see the Gifted on the maps. How the hell do you expect to oversee something you can’t even tell exists?”
“A challenge to be sure.” Fitzsimmons nodded and Wolf held his breath, because he could do this. He’d found ways to deal with recalcitrant Agents before. It would only take Fitzsimmons giving him carte blanche.
The Homeland Security Head glanced at Wolf and smiled so that Wolf’s skin crawled.
“I believe I have the solution. Amundson, as my right-hand man, you’re the new Chief of the AGS, responsible for bringing it in line with my expectations. Gleason, you’re his second in command, responsible for ensuring a smooth transition. Do you both understand?”
Not what Wolf wanted. He barely managed to breathe as he found the fortitude to nod.