Richard Castle - A Raging Storm

Jones continued, “Be careful when you meet Petrov. Just because he showed me the gold doesn’t mean we can trust him. I want you to find out what you can about the gold, but I also need for you to help Agent Showers solve the kidnapping and murders. Maybe Agent Showers is correct and Petrov killed Dull and Windslow because the senator had gotten cold feet about Project Midas . Maybe Barkovsky is behind the killings because he wanted to stop Windslow from pushing Project Midas . Or maybe Windslow was trying to extort a bigger share of that sixty-billion pie than what Petrov wanted to give him. Trust no one.”

“Just like old times,” Storm said.

“I’m still running covert operations,” Jones said, “because I trust only a handful of people.”

“Does Agent Showers know about the gold?” Storm asked.

“No. Only one handful of people know about it, and she isn’t one of those fingers.”

“She won’t like having me tag along with her to London.”

“She doesn’t get a vote. Everything has been arranged — although your role will be strictly advisory.”

Storm imagined Showers’s reaction. This was not a minor case. A U.S. senator and his stepson had been killed. She wouldn’t want him interfering. She was shrewd enough to know that Storm would be Jedidiah Jones’s eyes and ears. She’d be suspicious of him .

“Weapons?” Storm asked.

“None for you. You’ll be traveling on a diplomatic passport as Steve Mason. You’ll be posing as a liaison officer from the State Department.”

“Some paper pusher in the State Department told you that I couldn’t be armed?”

“It wasn’t a paper pusher. It came directly from the secretary of state. Tangiers. Remember? Ever since that fiasco, other agencies have been reluctant to let any of our people pose as one of their own, especially if they are armed.”

Tangiers. Even in death, it continued to haunt him .

“How about Agent Showers?”

“No one objected to her having a sidearm,” he said. “I’m also going to give you a personal letter to take to Petrov. He’ll know it’s from me.”

Jones gave Storm a piercing look. “You were the last piece that I needed for Project Midas .”

“Why me?”

“I just told you that I trust very few people. You happen to be one of them. I am trusting you to find sixty billion in gold and not let it corrupt you.”

“That’s a lot of gold,” Storm said.

“Yes it is, and if I am wrong in trusting you, then I will see to it that you really do end up dead.”

Another layer had been peeled. Jones was sending him down a dangerous path. And yet Storm still wasn’t sure that Jones had told him everything. Knowing Jones, he doubted that he had. There were going to be more layers, more surprises, more twists, more turns, and with sixty billion dollars at stake, there were going to be more murders .

Of that, he was certain .

Storm took a seat in a sports bar directly across from Gate 21 at Dulles International Airport so that his back was against a wall and he could see all possible entrances and exits. He was supposed to meet Agent Showers there at 5 P.M. He’d arrived at 4:30 P.M. In his line of work, you never wanted to walk into an area cold, even if you were simply catching a flight to London with an FBI agent.

He’d just sat down when Agent Showers entered the bar. She’d come early, too. He liked that. As he watched her scan the lounge, he was reminded of how attractive she was. Showers was wearing a dark gray pants suit with a short jacket that covered an off-white silk blouse layered over a black camisole. She was a knockout.

Showers carefully weaved through the jumble of chairs and tables occupied by travelers who were taking advantage of a two-drinks-for-one happy hour.

“Hello, Ms. Showers,” Storm said, rising politely from his seat.

She was only carrying a backpack.

“Where’s your luggage?” he asked her. “I’ve never known a woman who traveled light.”

“Where’s yours?” she replied. He glanced at a backpack next to him.

Both of them had checked their luggage for a reason besides convenience. They would not have been able to react quickly during an emergency if they were lugging suitcases with them.

“Whaddaya want to drink, doll?” a busty cocktail waitress, wearing too much makeup and fishnet hose, asked them.

“A diet cola, either brand,” Showers said.

“I’ll take a beer. Whatever you have on tap.”

“Great choice, handsome,” she said, winking at him.

As she walked away, Showers said, “You just ordered a draft of whatever they have on tap and she complimented your choice. You must love it when women flirt with you.”

“But you don’t,” he said. It sounded like a question.

“I don’t what? Like it when someone flirts with you? Or are you saying I don’t flirt with you?”

“Both.”

“Don’t be a fool,” she said. “That waitress is just working you for a tip.”

“I’ll be sure to tell her that you’re paying the tab.”

The waitress returned with their drinks, serving Storm first. “Here you are, cutie,” she said.

She plopped Showers’s cola on a napkin in front of her without comment.

“Thank you,” Storm said, beaming. “By the way, my friend here is going to be paying our tab.”

“A girlfriend who buys you drinks,” the waitress said. “Be careful, she might be trying to get lucky.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” Showers said indignantly.

“Too bad for you,” the waitress replied.

When she was out of earshot, Showers said, “I’m tipping her zero.”

Storm looked smug. He liked Agent Showers.

She got down to business. “I’ve contacted Scotland Yard, and they’re sending a liaison to meet us at Heathrow and take us to the Yard for a briefing about Ivan Petrov.”

“Thanks, but I’ll skip the introductions at the airport and just meet you later at our hotel. You can brief me.”

“I can brief you?” she replied, bristling. “Hey, you’re tagging along with me, remember. It’s not my job to brief you.”

“You’re right,” Storm said, throwing her a bone. “But I think it’s better if I stay in the shadows.”

She thought about it for a second and said, “You’re probably right. I didn’t have a choice about notifying Scotland Yard. It’s agency procedure when a law enforcement group visits a foreign government to interrogate someone. I just hope the Brits have enough common sense to keep their mouths shut about us coming.”

“I doubt it,” Storm said.

“Why? Because they’re cops?”

“Of course not. I just love cops, especially women in uniform with nightsticks,” he said, grinning. She scowled.

He said, “I’m suspicious because this is a high-profile case and Ivan Petrov is internationally known. Your arrival in England to question Petrov will be big news if word leaks out.”

“I raised that issue with my bosses,” she said. “But they assured me that the Bureau and Scotland Yard have a close professional relationship. Actually, they accused me of thinking like someone who worked for Jedidiah Jones rather than like a cop. Cloak-and-dagger versus real police work.”

“Real police work,” he repeated. “I like how that rolled off your lips.”

“I’m not a private detective,” she said, “nor am I one of Jones’s contract ‘fixers.’ I’m still not certain who you really are or what you are doing for Jones, and I doubt if you are going to tell me, are you?”

“A deduction made by real police work,” he replied, lifting his beer in a mock salute.

She said, “Look, there’s something I need to tell you. I told my superiors that it was a mistake sending you along.”