Page 27 of Caught
“Not professional,” Omar offered. “But the agents who showed up at Potomac and who nearly caught up with you at the archive were pros. And the two most recent murders were definitely professional.”
“So,” Ryan said slowly, “Ripley Broderick engaged in self-help. He tried to clean up his own problem. But when he couldn’t kill me, he went to his mom. And she took over.”
“It tracks,” Trent said.
“It almost tracks,” Olivia corrected him. “Ripley Broderick didn’t have government cars tailing Ryan. Was that his mother, and if so, why?”
Trent shook his head. “No. That was DCIS.” He turned to Ryan. “Slidell told us that we were interfering with a national security investigation. I thought he was blowing smoke, but I bet he wasn’t. If DCIS suspects Alice Broderick is using the OIG Investigations Division as her palace guards, that’s a national security issue. DCIS was probably watching you to see if she’d make a move on you.”
“And that’s why the Deputy Inspector General at DCIS was so quick to cover up Slidell’s murder. He doesn’t want Alice Broderick to know they’re closing in on her,” Omar said, snapping his fingers.
“Now it tracks,” Jake proclaimed.
“Great,” Chelsea said. “You figured it out. What do we do?”
The silence that fell over the table was interrupted by Charlie bursting into the room like his hair was on fire. “Just got a call from a buddy. Federal agents are en route. They’ll be here in forty minutes, tops.”
12
Leilah slumped low in the driver’s seat of the Volvo and watched the road from under the brim of Chelsea’s baseball cap. Even with her hair tucked up under the hat, she felt exposed without a hair scarf. But it couldn’t be helped. Her scarf, the fringy number Ryan had picked up at the discount store, was currently adorning Marielle’s head. And Leilah’s oversized designer sunglasses were perched on Marielle’s nose.
“I wish Olivia looked the most like me,” she grumbled to Ryan, who was slumped next to her. He was wearing Jake’s ridiculous lumberjack jacket. His head was covered by the trapper hat with earflaps that he’d found in the jacket’s pocket.
“Why? You want to be a blonde?”
“No, I want someone who understands Alia behind the wheel. Marielle drives that little electric BMW. The power and beauty of my 911 is lost on her. Plus, I know she’s not going to drive fast enough to be mistaken for me.”
“Omar will coach her through it,” Ryan assured her.
She checked her rearview mirror. Trent and Olivia were in Omar’s SUV. Jake and Chelsea sat in the Jeep. And, so help her, a little Frenchwoman sat behind the wheel of the red Porsche with Omar by her side. All four vehicles were idling, waiting for their designated time to pull out of the tavern’s lot. The three-way car swap would add to the confusion, she supposed. Maybe the agents would fall for the decoy. If they didn’t, this was the end of the road.
She tapped her fingernails on the steering wheel.
“Nervous?” Ryan asked.
She considered the question. “Not nervous. Ready.”
He tapped his phone. “Trent, what’s the word?”
“Hang on, bro.” After a moment, Trent’s voice came through the speaker again. “Charlie says we’re a go. As soon as Marielle pulls out, you do your thing.”
“See you on the other side.”
“Stay frosty.”
She watched Omar hold up his phone and give Marielle a nod. A second later, the Porsche peeled out from the lot with a squeal of tires and shot onto the highway, headed west on 66 toward Shenandoah Falls. Sirens wailed, light bars lit up, and a caravan of sedans raced along behind the Porsche.
Leilah threw the Volvo into reverse and zipped out through a convenient car-sized gap in the wooden fence that separated the back of the lot from a bumpy access road that Charlie assured her ran parallel to Route 50 for several miles and that he’d just happened to discover once when the beach traffic back from the shore was particularly bad. She’d cut over once she had enough of a head start on the other two cars. Just in case the OIG agents had planned to bring them all in, they were staggering their departures—and destinations.
Marielle and Omar were the sacrificial lambs, charged with luring the agents away from DC. If they could shake the agents, great. Otherwise, they were to get as far south and west as they could before pulling over. Trent and Olivia were headed to meet the team who’d been watching Juno Ito. Trent had instructed them to scoop her up and head toward Potomac’s campus. They’d hand her off to Trent and Olivia at the first safe opportunity. Jake and Chelsea were on their way to the Pentagon to meet with the Deputy Inspector General of DCIS. DCIS had already reached out to Fort Detrick to ensure Reuben Cowley’s safety.
As Leilah ran through the mental list of every precaution they’d taken in the short time they’d had, she had to admit they’d covered every contingency. Except one.
She urged the Volvo forward over the rutted road. “How exactly are we going to get in to see Alice Broderick?”
She caught Ryan’s smile in her peripheral vision.
“I made a call while you and Marielle were swapping clothes. Alice Broderick is a creature of habit, and she’s a member of the Constellation Club, a private club for District luminaries, especially those devoted to public service. It’s Thursday, and on Thursdays at seven-thirty PM on the dot, Alice meets the Solicitor General and the Attorney General for drinks. She orders two martinis, extra dirty.”
