Iris Johansen - Silent Thunder

"That's reasonable," he said.

"Ever cautious. God, I'm sick of you," she said wearily. "That old man who owns this station was shot and his station destroyed just because I drove in here. He didn't have anything to do with this."

"How is he?"

"They took him to the hospital about an hour ago. The paramedics said he'd be okay." She gazed at the ruin of the station. "I'm not so sure. He told me he opened this station when he came home from fighting World War II. It's been his whole life for over fifty years. Then in the flicker of an eyelash, it's gone."

"Insurance?"

"Yes, but that won't replace the emotional attachment."

"He'll survive. It's probably better he retire anyway." Bradworth changed the subject. "I've been in touch with the local police department, so I'm pretty much up to speed on things. Did the officers here tell you that the SUV's license plates were stolen?"

"No."

"They are. And it appears that the registration numbers have been removed. I'm having it towed to the FBI garage in Boston so they can give it the once-over. You didn't recognize either man?"

"No."

"Then we have to assume that your memory may be your biggest liability right now. Maybe they think you've seen other plates like those on the sub that they might not have been able to carry away. Or maybe they want to be the only ones who have that information on the plates. Are you sure there isn't anything more you can tell us about what you saw on the sub?"

Her fingernails dug into her palms as her fists clenched. "Dammit, there's nothing more to tell . There's no way I can remember anything about those plates. It's just a blank. All I can see is Conner lying there, dead."

He shrugged. "Just checking. It might be a good idea if I had a couple agents assigned to you for the next few weeks. For your protection."

"I guess you thought this would be a good idea, too." She pulled out the device she'd found in Conner's car vent.

"What's that?"

"Don't play stupid with me, Bradworth. This thing's government issue all the way. I saw one in Turkey a couple years ago. The U.S. Navy brought me in to recommend modifications to the Turkish submarine fleet, and our hosts were most upset to find one of these in their transports. They determined U.S. Military Intelligence had planted it."

"It doesn't mean I had anything to do with planting this bug."

"You were the only one who knew I was driving Conner's van back." Her eyes narrowed on his face. "But were those men using it to track me? Were you working with them?"

"Christ, no, Hannah. Okay, I did put it in the van. For your protection."

"Yeah, sure."

"It was sending pulses to a GPS satellite. I was worried and wanted to keep tabs on you."

"So you could set me up again."

"Let me take you back to town. We can talk and-"

"I already have a ride. One of the officers will take me back to his precinct. I have a rental car waiting for me there." She got to her feet. "I only want two things from you, Bradworth. One, I don't want Cathy to hear about this. She has enough to worry about. Two, you smooth the way with those insurance people who are going to be cross-examining Larry Simpson. I don't want him suffering any more than he has to because he was unlucky enough to have me stop at his station."

"I'll do my best."

"Do more than your best," she said fiercely. "I'm sick of innocent people getting the shaft because they got in the way of you and your friends' little games."

"I don't regard it as a game. I'm doing my job and-"

"I'm through talking to you. You're either pitifully inefficient or you're crooked as hell." She strode toward the police car. "I'm leaning toward the latter. Just stay away from me, Bradworth."

Hannah Bryson is damn lucky," Kirov said curtly. "Yeah, you were handling it. Why weren't you there when she needed you?"

"I don't have to answer to you."

"The hell you don't."

"And we don't even know that it was Pavski. It could be a new player in the game."

"No, it's Pavski."

"How are you so sure?"

"The attention to detail. The stolen plates, the erased registration numbers. He's always been good at covering his tracks. Do you know what they tried to knock her out with?"

"Not yet. I assumed it was chloroform."

"It wasn't. Pavski has always been partial to midazolam. It works faster and leaves the victim with less of a headache later."

"Considerate guy."

"If he wants information, he'd need her to have a clear head. Midazolam." He paused. "And if he made a move on her, then he doesn't have everything he needs. I'm betting he's still hovering near Silent Thunder ."

"We need him alive, Kirov."

"So you've told me."

"We need information. Once we get that, what you do is your own business. Do we have an understanding?"

"Oh, I've always understood you and your 'superiors.' You're the ones who've failed to read me."

"But you'll keep your word?"

"As long as I don't see signs of a double cross. But make no mistake, Bradworth. If, after you have him in custody, you cut Pavski a deal, all bets are off."

"And?"

"I'll still find him and finish him off." He added, "And anyone else who stands in my way. It might be wise to remember that, Bradworth."

Sorry to keep you waiting out in the hall." Congressman George Preston sat behind his mahogany desk and smiled at Hannah and Cathy. "My assistant needed to take her daughter to the doctor, so it's just me here until after lunch. What can I do for you?"

"I appreciate your agreeing to see us. I know you're busy when you come home to Boston," Hannah said. "I promise we won't take much of your time."

"My pleasure." Preston's smile faded. "No, my duty. Cathy has always been my friend as well as my employee, and I have to find a way to help her… and you."

"Thank you." Hannah felt a surge of warmth. She had liked Preston the few times she'd met him. He'd gotten his start in politics over two decades before, when, as a high-school civics teacher, he ran for a seat in the U.S. House of Representatives merely as a lesson for his students. The local media picked up the story, his support snowballed, and he eventually won the race by a narrow margin. Hannah glanced at the framed newspaper on his wall, with the headline MR. PRESTON GOES TO WASHINGTON. It said something about him that he identified with that Frank Capra classic.

"Again, I can't tell you how sorry I am about Conner. He was a good man."

"He was an extraordinary man," Cathy said quietly. "Thank you, George."

Preston glanced at Hannah. "When Cathy first called asking for information about the Silent Thunder , I didn't know you were involved with the project. I suppose I should have guessed. You and Conner were so close. Anyway, here it is." Preston gestured toward the two large file boxes stacked next to his desk. "Most of this is stuff from the media clipping services. We use them to gauge media reaction to various people or issues, and they compile just about everything said or written about a subject in a designated time span. I doubt there's anything there you don't already know."

"Are there photographs?" Hannah asked.

"Photographs, videos, maybe even compact discs of a news radio story or two."

"This must have been expensive," Cathy said.

"I'm on a committee that has a contract with this particular clipping service. We're not using them for much else right now, so at least this way they earn the money we're already paying them. After you're finished, I'll give all of this material to the maritime museum. I'm sure they'd like to have it for their archives."

Cathy stood up and picked up one of the boxes. "Thank you. We'll take good care of these."

"I know you will." He hesitated. "And you know I'll continue to help you as much as I can." He added gently, "But don't you believe that others are more qualified and working hard to find Conner's murderers?"