Chapter 29

Nine Years Ago

Desiree looked at the blue passport with the crest of Mariner on it, right above the embossed gold words which said Diplomatic Passport.

“Cultural Attache,” she said. “Why didn’t they just print ‘spy’ on it.”

“Oh don’t carry on so,” her mother said. “The American intelligence services already know who you are anyway. This handy fiction will prevent them from arresting you.”

Desiree remembered how shocked she had been with the United States when she had first arrived at university a number of years ago. The clothing so different from the Mariner norm. The people so morally constrained. At sixteen she had been untouchable according to their mores. It had taken her years to find a decent man and most of a year to train him properly. Fortunately she found no shortage of girls her own age who were readily trainable. Now some years later here she was again.

Desiree took the Beretta M92FS from her mother and checked the weapon. “Who’s my support technician?”

“Sal Falcone, Do you know him?”

“Yes. He was an instructor in Britain when I trained there. I think he was on loan to MI6.”

Desiree finished her weapon check and slipped the pistol back into its holster and slipped the holster into her waistband, letting her jacket cover it.

“So has TEDAC got back to us with details on the bomb yet?”

Her mother shook her head, “Not yet.”

“Will they?”

“The Ambassador was most insistent.”
Desiree humphed. “The Americans are not known for playing well with others.”

“Jennifer Sutton is related to the Regent and the princess made it quite clear to the U.S. Ambassador how important cooperation is on this investigation. The Boston Police Commissioner tried to claim this was a mob hit. Fortunately the FBI doesn’t agree and have gone into full terrorist mode, at least they did after Princess Cecelia’s talk with the U.S. Ambassador.”

“I’m not sure whether having them nosing around will make things easier or harder.”

There was a knock on the door.

The middle aged man who entered was of average height, which made him five-seven, fully six inches shorter than the dark haired woman’s six-one. He was wearing a mid priced suit and even if she had not known him his look would have shouted ‘cop’ to her discerning eye.

“I see you’ve dressed for our visit to the American feds,” she said.

“It’s good to see you too Desiree,” he said stepping up to her and giving her a kiss on the cheek. She felt a slight rush as his natural pheromones reached her.

“I think you might want to careful about that Sal,” she said. “I think in that game you might come out the loser.”

He laughed remembering how strong her own bloodlines were.

“Hello Director Ormond,” he said to her mother.

“Good afternoon, Sal. I trust you’ll try to keep my daughter out of trouble.”

“Don’t worry ma’am. I won’t letter her hurt any of the locals. Not without knowing they’re the ones we’re looking for.”

“Good. You two run along now and get me something that will satisfy the Regent.”

As they walked down to the garage Falcone said, “I’m surprised they sent you Desiree.”

“Because I’m so young?” the woman shot back.

He shook his head. “I don’t think anyone doubts your qualifications, not in Mariner anyway, but these American feds can be really hard headed about things. They’ll look at you and see a university student or intern, not a harden agent.”

“I guess I’ll just have to impress them,” the girl said.

When they got to the car Falcone slipped into the driver’s seat. It was a late model black SUV.

“So where are we going?” Desiree asked as he started the car.

“Chelsea. That where the FBI Field Office is. The Special Agent in Charge is a guy by the name of Phillip Browly, but I expect he’ll palm us off on the Assistant Special Agent in Charge who’s running the investigation.”

“Any idea who that might be?” she asked as he pulled out into the road.

“Nope,” Falcone said as he hopped onto I-93.

The car passed the first exit marked US1 and crossed the Charles river. Desiree watched cars on the other bridges as she thought about what she was going to do after this almost certainly useless meeting with American federal law enforcement.

On the far side of the river Falcone took the exit 27 toward Tobin Bridge North on US1. It was only a twenty minute drive. They pulled into the visitor’s parking.

“You probably want to leave your piece in the car,” Falcone said dropping his into the lockable center console. Desiree reluctantly pulled her holster out and dropped it in before closing the lid and hearing it click. Before she got out Falcone handed her a set of keys. She nodded in acknowledgment.

As they left the car, Desiree noted it had diplomatic plates. Not great for low profile but very good for not getting pulled over.

In the lobby she noted that the reception area was staffed by three armed guys in uniform.

“Salvatore Falcone and Desiree Ormond to see the SAC,” he told the officers.

A couple of minutes later a young woman approached.

“Special Agent Marcy Waters,” the woman said. She looked to be somewhere in her mid thirties. She was the same height as Falcone. Blonde. She moved well Desiree thought.

“I hope you don’t mind, but SAC Browly would prefer you speak to Sam Johnston. He’s the ASAC leading the investigation into the Sutton matter.”

A quick elevator ride and they found themselves outside the office of the ASAC. Johnston stood to welcome them. He was an African-American male old enough to have gray hair at his temples. He pulled off reading glasses as he stuck out his hand for Falcone.

“Special Agent Johnston,” he said.

“Salvator Falcone.”

“Desiree Ormond,” Desiree said taking his hand. “I’m here as a representative of the Regent of Mariner.”

Waters and Johnston exchanged glaces.

“I find it very interesting that the ruler of Mariner has seen fit to send a representative to check on us Ms. Ormond. Is there something about Mr. and Mrs. Sutton that I need to know?”

“Mrs. Sutton enjoyed dual citizenship and is a member of the Regent’s family. As you can imagine the resolution of her murder has become very important to her.”

“May I see some identification please?” Johnston asked.

Desiree took out her passport.

Johnston’s eyebrows arched as he examined it.

“Cultural Attache?”

“I have advanced degrees in psychology, political science and chemistry. I’m very enthused about the position of Mariner in the technology sector. I would hate to see cooperation between Mariner and the U.S. government, particularly in the area of international cooperation on terrorism, suffer in the aftermath of a terrorist attack.”

“You seem a little young to have such a wide portfolio,” Agent Waters said. Falcone flinched, but saw Desiree’s eyes turn ice cold as she turned to the other woman.

“So has TEDAC found anything on the explosive device used in the attack?”

Waters looked at Johnston and he nodded.

“The device was pretty standard. It used an improvised cell phone detonator.”

“I’m familiar with them,” Desiree said.

“TEDAC has passed the investigation to the SBAU.”

Desiree knew the agent was trying to bury her in agency minutia. “So what has the Scientific and Biometric Analysis Unit found?” Desiree asked. “Any fingerprints? DNA?”

Waters shook her head, “They’re still looking.”

“Where is the vehicle, or what’s left of it?”

“Boston Police impound lot,” Johnston answered.

“Have the forensic people finished with it?” Desiree asked.

“Yes,” Johnston answered.

“I want to see it.”

“It’s evidence in an ongoing investigation,” Agent Waters said.

“Yes it is,” the tall dark haired woman said. “Mine.”

“Now Miss Ormond...” Johnston started.

“I can get the Mariner Ambassador on the line right now,” the woman said digging out her phone. “I’m sure the Secretary of State will love hearing from him.”

“Alright,” Johnston said. “Marcy. Would you please take Ms. Ormond and Mr. Falcone over to the lot and see they get access to the vehicle remains.”

“Yes sir.”

“Would you like to follow me?” Waters asked as they headed for the parking lot.

“Why don’t I go with you?” Desiree said. “You can follow us, Sal. Right?”

Falcone looked uneager, but nodded.

“So how long have you been a cultural attache?” Waters asked on the drive over.

“Oh, not long,” Desiree answered. “How long have you been an FBI agent?”

“Oh, not long,” the woman answered, causing Desiree to smile.

“Why did the Boston Police want to put this down as a mob hit?” Desiree asked.

“Oh you know about that?” The woman sighed. “I think they wanted to bury it. Grant Sutton was a pretty well known guy. I don’t think Boston PD wanted the FBI digging into him.”

“Politically connect you mean?”

“Yeah.” The woman looked over at her younger passenger. “I don’t know very much about Mariner. Not more than I saw on Wikipedia, and that wasn’t much.”

“We try to stay quiet,” Desiree said.

“I served the warrant on Sutton’s house. His kids had already been whisked away by you people.”

“They have duel U.S.-Mariner citizenship. The Regent has guardianship papers, as I understand it. Why did you search the victims house?”

“Oh come on. We had to disprove the BPD mob connection story. Plus terrorism for this is a stretch. Sutton was rich, but he isn’t a Mariner citizen. His wife may be related to the regent of your country but she isn’t a politico either. What would terrorist get out of killing them?”

“I really can’t say. But even you have to admit the MO was more terrorist than pedestrian murder.”

At this point they pulled up to the lot. There was a Boston PD officer on the gate, though an old and not especially fit looking one. Waters flashed her badge and drove through the gate when it opened. Falcone followed.

The car was a burned out wreck. It was obvious the bomb had been planted in a way that would result in a fiery explosion which would kill anyone in the passenger compartment.

Desiree got out of the agent’s car and headed for the back of the SUV. She open the back as Falcone joined her. She slipped out of her jacket and pulled on a set of coveralls over her suit slacks and blouse. Sturdy work boots replaced her comfortable flats.

Falcone pulled out a large suitcase. When he opened it Waters could see a number of instruments embedded in gray foam. He pulled out several pieces and assembled them into a device of some kind. It had a cable that plugged into a flat screen.

“What the hell is that?” Waters asked.

“THz scanner.”

“Like TSA uses at airports? I’ve never seen a portable one before.”

“It’s made in Israel,” he said.

Falcone pulled another few pieces out of the suitcase and assembled them, putting that device on a tripod that he pulled out of the trunk. He setup the tripod on the far side of the car and the first device on the front. Then he plugged both devices into a laptop.

A false color image appeared on the flat screen. The laptop screen shown a number of graphs and a terminal window with lines of information scanning across.

“What have we here?” he said after a few minutes. “Desiree, take a look,” he said turning the screen so she could see.

“What is it?” Waters asked.

“Looks like a disk of metal. Wrong composition for a part of the car.”

The Mariner agent pulled on a set of gloves. Desiree approached the vehicle husk.
“Wait,” Waters said. “Let me get a team over here.”

“You already had your chance,” Desiree said.

“You’re interfering in a federal investigation,” Waters said and Falcone saw her hand moving.
“Stand down agent,” he said. “Don’t do something that we all might regret.”

Desiree was already slipping into the car. The bodies were gone but she could smell the faint tint of roasted pork and burnt foam.

The back seat was gone with only the metal springs still present. At one time a panel had separated the car interior from the cavity she was looking at.

“Just a little to the left,” Falcone said, seeing the outline of her living hand on the screen.

The object was almost round. Desiree felt in and carefully extracted it.

“What is it?” Waters asked.

Desiree showed the woman. It was a piece of metal. It looked like originally it had been a disk. It had melted in the high heat of the car fire. On it they could still make out the image of a wolf.

Desiree set it on the rear bumper of the SUV and then took a pictures of it with her camera, both front and reverse. Then she handed it to the FBI agent.

“I want a receipt for that,” she said.

“It’s evidence,” the agent said.

“Yes it is,” the tall woman agreed. “And I want it back when the FBI is done with it.”

The FBI agent pulled an evidence bag out of her pocket and let the Mariner woman drop the object into it. She then filled out a form and signed it tearing off the bottom piece and giving it to Desiree.

“Do you know where the bomb was left in the vehicle?”

“Not yet,” the agent admitted. “We know Mrs. Sutton had an Android phone so Google must have her tracks, but we’re still working on getting a court order.”

Desiree nodded.

“We would appreciate it if you gave me a call when TEDAC gets back to you,” Desiree said handing the agent her card. They had come to her earlier when her mother had given her a mobile that would work here. They said ‘Desiree Ormond, Cultural Attache’ and had the address of the Mariner Embassy in DC and her mobile number. The agent handed Desiree her own card.

The two cars left the lot, the Mariners going one way and the FBI agent another. Falcone noted when another car pulled out of a parking space as Waters left.

“Any problem getting into Sutton’s Google account?” Desiree asked.

Falcone chuckled. “Back to the consulate?”

“No. Let’s head over to the Hilton/Faneuil Hall. I’ve got a suite there.”

Falcone already had Jennifer Sutton’s on-line information. With Jennifer Sutton’s credentials getting into her Google account was no trouble. A quick search of her timeline showed her movements for the day of the murder.

“It was the family car, so most likely she was the primary driver,” Falcone said.

Desiree looked at the screen showing a blue travel route over a map display.

“We’ll need to make a list of all of the places besides their mansion that the car could have been tampered with,” Falcone said unnecessarily.

“How secure is their house?”

“The car was garaged. The garage and house are alarmed. Not impossible to get to, but if someone could have gotten in why use a car bomb?”

“Okay. Looks like the mall at South Bay, Copley Place, the Common and a couple of residential addresses, all within a couple of days of the murder.”

“The malls might have video coverage. Copley too, maybe. We’ll need to turn this over to the FBI.”

“Damn,” Desiree said. She dug out Agent Water’s card.

“Agent Water’s?”

“Ms. Ormond. What can I do for you?”

“We have reason to believe that Mrs. Sutton’s car was parked at South Bay Mall the day before the murder and Copley Place the morning of the murder. We were hoping that perhaps some of the merchants or property owners might have video surveillance.”

“How did you come by that information?”

“A private informant. I’m sure you understand about informant confidentiality.”

There was a moment of silence and then Water said, “Well see what we can do.”

Desiree had no sooner hung up her mobile than it rang.

“Ms. Ormond, this is Dr. Giordano from the National Museum of Mariner. Dr. Lucchese, the museum director asked me to call about that photograph you sent us. It does indeed appear similar to one of the old medieval guild seals used in Germany. Without examining the piece myself I wouldn’t hazard to guess whether it is based upon a specific artifact or not. Is there any chance I can see the piece?”

“I’m sorry it’s not likely doctor.”

“I’ll keep looking.”

“Thank you doctor.”

“Ms. Ormond,” Waters said. “I’m not even sure I should be calling you, but we’ve got something. Copley Place has parking on the first couple of floors. The garage has security cameras. We’ve got video of the device being placed. Better we’ve got the perp moving right to another vehicle.”

“Is he in custody?”

“Not yet. As a courtesy I’ve been instructed to invite you along, strictly as an observer. Meet me at the field office and you can ride along.”

He next move was to call Falcone.

“Sal? I need a ride to the FBI Field Office. They’ve got something.”

“Sorry I can’t take your associate,” Waters said to Desiree as she got in the car. “We don’t need too many gawkers.”

“I appreciate the call. What have you got on this guy?”

“Louis Barclay. Ex merc. Probably not the bomb maker. TEDACs still working that end. Aussie. Been in the country only a couple of months. Bought a car last month and registered it. Lives in an apartment in Brookline. That’s where the car is registered. We’ve got people siting outside his place, so we know he’s there. We were waiting for the search warrant.”

“Why the warrant if you’ve got him placing the bomb?”

“We’ve got him nosing around the car. Maybe that was placing the bomb. Maybe it was something else. Unless the Scientific and Biometric Analysis Unit comes back with a latent print or DNA it might not be enough. It’s enough for a warrant.”

The agent pulled up next to a box truck. Desiree saw a number of agents in vests with ‘FBI’ across the back. They were armed with H&K MP5As and 9mm pistols. There were a couple of Boston PD cruisers parked nearby and five or six members of the Boston police standing around.

“Expecting trouble?” Desiree asked.

“Hoping to avoid it,” Waters said, slipping on her own vest. “You don’t mind staying out here with me while they serve the warrant and take Barclay into custody?”

“Sure,” Desiree said.

She watched the team enter the building.

Waters was wearing a headset and after a few minutes told her, “Got him. Let them get him clear and we can go up.”

Desiree nodded.

She saw them bringing a man out. His hands were cuffed in front of him and he seemed to be walking on his own with an agent beside him, a hand on his arm. They were about twenty yards away on the way to an FBI SUV when they passed a Boston police officer who was talking to one of the FBI agents.

Suddenly Barclay moved. He slipped out of the agent’s grasp and reached down to the police officer’s duty belt.

Desiree saw the Glock 22 clear the holster. To her it was as if everyone was moving in slow motion. The FBI agent who was escorting Barclay was moving to try to grab him. The police officer was trying to turn to stop the pilfering of his weapon. Three other FBI agents, including Waters, were attempting to draw their weapons.

Desiree could not remember making the conscious decision to reach for her own pistol. The Beretta M92FS was in her hand, her thumb pushing forward the slide safety. Barclay was pointing the firearm at the police officer. Desiree’s piece barked. A dark spot was painted on Barclay’s chest, then another as Water’s own SIG Sauer spoke. The Glock hung from Barclay’s fingers for just an instant and suddenly Desiree saw everything speed up again as suddenly a number of voices started all at once as she heard the Glock 23 bounce off the sidewalk.

Desiree moved her hand so that her own pistol was pointed straight up.

“Ms. Ormond,” Waters was saying. “Please safe your weapon and hand it to me.”

Desiree clicked on the slide safety and making sure her finger was outside the trigger guard she handed the pistol to the FBI agent. Waters holstered her own weapon and dropped Desiree’s into an evidence bag.

“You know they’ll be a review.”

Desiree nodded as Waters joined the agent kneeling next to Barclay. She could hear the siren.

“Phillips, why the hell were his hands cuff in front of him?” Waters barked.

“He was cooperating,” she heard the agent say. “Didn’t even ask to see the warrant.”

“Ambulance is here,” she heard one of the Boston PD guys say.

She watched as a pair of fire department paramedics ran up.

“Damn what a cluster fuck,” Waters said. She went over to talk to one of the other agents while Desiree watched the paramedics strap Barclay into a stretcher.

When Water’s came back she said, “Let’s take a look inside before we go back to the Field Office and try to sort out this mess.”

They found Barclay lived in an apartment on the second floor of the walk-up. The building was old, but appeared well maintained to the Mariner. Of course these American’s thought anything older than a couple of decades was old. This structure, probably built between the world wars, was practically new to the European. The apartment door was open and Desiree saw a couple of agents turning over the place.

Waters handed her a pair of nitrile gloves, which she slipped on. She saw there was an agent with a digital camera taking pictures of every area of the apartment before the agents moved or opened anything.

Desiree stepped into the kitchen. It was clean. No dishes in the sink. Looking over the fridge she examined the exterior.

“Should we worry about booby traps?” she asked Waters.

“Nah,” one of the other agents said. “We brought a dog through first thing. I’m surprised you didn’t see him leaving.”

“We were a little preoccupied,” Waters said.

“The perp still downstairs?” the agent asked. “He seemed pretty willing to cooperate. There’s a portable safe behind the couch. Maybe he’d just give us the combo.”

Desiree realized they did not know what happened on the curb.

“That’s not likely to happen,” Waters said. “You’ll have to take it to Chelsea and get our safe guy on it.”

Knowing that a dog had been through the apartment Desiree looked at the fridge again. It was a two door freezer refrigerator with the freezer on top. The fridge had a carton of milk, two six packs of beer and a couple of boxes of Chinese. The freezer had about a dozen neatly stacked foil wrapped packages.

“Hamburger?” Desiree said to Waters when she noticed the agent was watching her.

“Let me.” Waters took out one of the packages and laid it on the counter. Opening the foil she saw the picture of Ben Franklin.

“Cold cash, I guess,” the agent joked. “Let’s see. $10,000 a bundle, three bundles per package. $180,000.”

“Guess he didn’t like banks,” Desiree said. “Of course he should have thrown in a couple of packs of hamburger if he really wanted to hide it.”

Water’s was shaking her head. “What are you Ms. Ormond?”

“Cultural attache,” Desiree answered.

“Marcy did you say something about finding a wolf medal in the vehicle?” one of the agent’s asked.

“Yeah why?”

The agent held out his hand. In the blue glove was a bronze colored disk.

“It’s a challenge coin,” Desiree said.

“I know what a challenge coin is Ms. Ormond,” Waters said. “It’s not for an American unit.”

The disk had a wolf’s head on it. On the edge of the coin was inscribed ‘A falsis principiis proficisci’. On the reverse was the coat of arms of the Riogati dynasty.

“‘To set forth from false principles’” Waters quoted. “What does that mean?”

“Beat’s me,” the other agent said. “It’s a legal phase I think.”

“It’s from Cicero’s De Finibus Bonorum et Malorum,” Desiree said. “I’m more concerned with the reverse. That’s the coat of arms of the Mariner royal family.”

The next morning Falcone called quite early.

“Desiree. Your mother called. TEDAC’s got a line on the bomb maker.”

“How come our friends in the FBI haven’t let us know?”

“TEDAC’s Intelligence Unit passed it directly to National Intelligence. Maybe before even their own FBI Field Office.”

“So what do they have?”

“You know better than that. I’ll be over in about half an hour.”

Desiree got up and started her day. She was just out of the shower when her mobile rang.

“Mother.”

“I need you back in Mariner. They’ll be a Winthrope Air heavy cargo plane leaving Logan at 12:40. Be on it. It text you the contact.”
By the time Falcone arrive she was dressed and munching on breakfast which she had ordered from room service.

He grabbed a bagel and started lapping cream cheese on it while she looked at the file.

“Harun Odeh aka Mohammed Sadiq Ubaida,” she read. “Worked for al-Qaeda until the Syrian Civil War when he decided to go freelance. Great, a bomb maker for hire.”

“Yeah you just got to admire that entrepreneur spirit,” he quipped. “It pays better than killing people for God.”

“So Odeh built the bomb and Barclay planted it. Now the question is why?”

“So should we see what the FBI field Office thinks?” he asked.

“Can’t. I’ve been recalled.”

“Recalled. Why? Not the shooting thing?”

“I don’t think so. I would guess it’s Odeh. It’s not likely he’s in the States. Perhaps the Middle East or Europe. The file says maybe Germany or Scandinavia.”

“He won’t be easy to pick out there. You know how far a Kafir gets in those communities.”

“Maybe. I’m going to pass this to Aryeh Gantz.”

“The Mossad guy?”

“Yes. He owes me a favor.”

“That doesn’t worry me at all.”

“Finish your bagel. I’ve got to pack,” she said. “Then you can drive me to Logan.”

They drove the Massachusetts Turnpike to the Hotel Drive South exit and took the turn on Harborside Drive. They turned into the parking lot for Building #63 and the Winthrope Air Cargo office. Desiree showed her passport at the reception desk and someone from Winthrope came up to get her.

She was several years older than Desiree, the young agent noted. The wings and uniform indicated she was a flight officer. Her sleeve carried two stripes.

“Ms Ormond? I’m Flight Engineer Maria Russo,” she stuck out her hand and Desiree shook it. “I’m afraid our passenger accommodations are a little wanting. About the best we can offer is a jump seat and a bed in the crew’s compartment.”

“That will be fine,” Desiree said remembering her first class flight into Boston earlier in the week.

The plane left on time. Traveling cargo at least meant she could avoid the inevitable hassle of dealing with the American TSA.

She spent about half of the nine hour flight sleeping. When she arrived at Princess Eleonora Airfield at almost three am Desiree was relieved to find that the National Intelligence Service had sent a car and driver. The driver, who she did not know, dropped her off at her flat in Ovest. She managed to catch another three hours before the sound of the door chime woke her up.

She found the chime was just a courtesy when she realized that her mother was already in the flat.

“Time to get up Desiree. You have an important meeting this morning.”

“Really mother. I didn’t give you a key so you could roust me out of bed at...” She checked her mobile on its bedside stand. “ ... at six-thirty in the morning.”

“Get up. We’ve got to get going. You have an appointment at the palace at 09:30.”

“The palace?” Desiree said finally sprouting up.

“The Regent wants to see you.”

Desiree’s mind was a whirlwind as the car moved through the countryside. Normally she would have taken one of the motor trolleys that were the common transport used by most Mariners. Her mother had a driver, of course, and they were headed for the palace with the young woman wondering what part of her actions during the Jennifer Sutton investigation had resulted in the Regent wanting to see her.

Like every Mariner she knew the Regent’s story. Raised in Merid, daughter of the very famous Huston Winthrope, aviator-owner of Winthrope Airways. Educated in America, where she became engaged to the ruler of Mariner, Prince Henry Riogati. Injured when he was assassinated in Belgium. Regent for her son James Riogati, who was supposedly in hiding somewhere outside Mariner.

She had sort of met the Regent once, when she, as a thirteen year old, had stood with twelve others chosen to pursue university degrees outside Mariner. The rest were all eighteen years old. She remembered the woman’s piercing blue eyes most of all.

She knew from her briefings that the Regent and Sutton, who was a second cousin, were very close, though Jennifer lived in the United States. They supposedly were at university together.

“Mother why does the Regent want to see me?”

“It’s best I let her explain it to you,” Marie said.

The car pulled up to the palace. This was only Desiree’s second visit. As a school girl she had toured the palace with her class.

At the door Marie had Desiree present her identification. Desiree was sure her mother was a frequent visitor. Once cleared, a page led them through the public rooms to the Regent’s Office. There was a receptionist there and unobtrusively a member of the National Security Service, no doubt providing protection.