The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [667]
FBI Director Bushman was lounged back in his seat, holding the nearly empty martini glass in his hand. “But this guy is after you. Why would he shoot the governor of New York? I’m not getting something here. Oh my God, Matlock—you’re the Rebecca Matlock, the young woman who escaped the police and went into hiding?”
“Yes, sir, I am.”
Andrew Bushman sat forward, his drink forgotten. “All right, Thomas, tell me everything, even stuff that Gaylan doesn’t know. I need to have a leg up on him somewhere.”
“Krimakov wanted to flush me out. Somehow he found out that I have a daughter—Becca. We don’t know how he found out about her, but it appears that he did and he came after her. That’s why he’s been terrorizing her, that’s why he kicked her out of his car in front of One Police Plaza in New York.”
“To get you out in the open.”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. It’s not so complicated when you cut right to the chase. He wants to kill me and he wants to kill my daughter. All the rest is window dressing, it’s drama, giving him the spotlight, showing the world how brilliant he is, how he’s the one in control here.” And Thomas thought, He can’t kill Allison because she’s dead already, and I wasn’t there with her.
It was Adam who ended things, saying, “So that’s it, gentlemen. We found out that Krimakov was cremated, thus leaving doubt that it was indeed he who was killed. However, the man who kidnapped Ms. Matlock whispered in her ear before he shot a drug into her—”
Becca interrupted. “‘Say hello to your daddy.’”
“So now there’s simply no doubt,” Thomas said. “The man cremated wasn’t Krimakov.”
Gaylan said, “We’ve been spending hundreds of hours on this because there was the possibility that it could be Vasili Krimakov. Now that we know it’s him, you need to stick your oar in, Andrew. Get all those talented people of yours involved in finding this maniac.”
“I’ve got a man trying to track down an apartment we understand Krimakov owns somewhere in Crete, in addition to his house. When we find it, we want agents to go over it.”
Gaylan nodded. “As soon as we know, I’ve got a woman in Athens who can fly down and check it out for us. She’s good. She’s also got contacts among the local Greek cops. She won’t get any problems from them.”
“It’s Dillon Savich who’s finding the apartment,” Thomas said.
Andrew Bushman raised an eyebrow. “Why am I not surprised? Savich is one of the best. I gather you’re telling me now so that I can cool down before I bust his balls?”
“That’s right,” Thomas said. “I knew Savich’s father, Buck. I asked the son for help. He and Sherlock have been in the thick of things.”
Andrew Bushman sighed and took the last sip of his martini. “All right. Now, I’ve got lots of stuff to do, meetings to hold, people to assign to get this off and running. What about the NYPD?”
Thomas said, “Why not tell the world? Have Hawley in New York interface with the local cops.”
Bushman said, “Hawley is good, very good. He’s tough and he deals well with the locals. Talk about bigfoot. He’s a Mack truck when he needs to be. All right, gentlemen, we now tell the world.”
“Well, then—” Gaylan Woodhouse broke off as his stomach growled. “We forgot to order lunch. I want a hamburger, lots of red meat, something my wife, bless her heart, doesn’t allow.”
Andrew said even as he was reading the menu, “I want everything to clear through the FBI before it goes to the media. We want our spin on things.”
“For sure,” Becca said.
22
The black government car moved smoothly onto the Beltway. It was still too early for rush-hour traffic to gnarl things to the screaming point. It didn’t help, though, that the temperature was hovering at about ninety degrees. Inside the big car it was thankfully very cool. Their driver had said nothing at all since picking them up at The Eagle Has Landed. There was still no sign of the media. So far so good,