was both disconcerting and annoying. He wasn’t accustomed to being manipulated, yet that was exactly how he felt. As if she were the one conducting the interview. As if she were the one making the evaluation.
As if she had found him wanting.
“You were about to tell me about the needs of my country, Mr. Snow,” she prodded at his silence.
He took a breath, trying to gather his wits. He had to balance his innate distrust of everything Raine McAllister represented with the very real concerns he had about national security if The Covenant wasn’t stopped.
And, too, there was his respect for Montgomery Gardner’s judgment. If the old man was right—if it was remotely possible this woman could help—then he had an obligation to pursue this.
“We have reason to believe that members of The Covenant are funding, if not actively carrying out, domestic terrorism. We believe they are doing so in an attempt to provoke a response from our government against not only the known terrorist groups, but against the entire Muslim world. To set off an American jihad, if you will.”
That was the word Bertha Reynolds had used during the final confrontation with Phoenix agent John Edmonds. Jihad. Holy war.
“The agency I work for,” Ethan continued, choosing his words with care, “had some success several months ago in identifying a few individuals involved in that plan. At the time we were hopeful they were the only members of The Covenant who were in on the plot. That their actions were an aberration in an otherwise legitimate and benign charitable foundation.”
When he glanced up, he realized that she was listening intently. At least she was no longer making fun of him.
“Recently,” he went on, thinking about the most telling evidence they’d gathered, “there have been at least two bombing attempts that we believe may be tied to the organization. The problem is we can’t prove any of this. They’ve taken great pains to ensure that their membership list remains secret. We’ve had no success identifying their leaders. Then…Mr. Gardner suggested you could help.”
“And now that you know why he suggested that?”
Ethan had a feeling that if he attempted to prevaricate, she’d see right through him. Maybe literally.
“My first inclination would be to discount the possibility. I’m not sure I have that option any longer.”
Her head tilted, questioning what he’d just said.
“Less than twenty-four hours after he gave me your name, Mr. Gardner was attacked in his home.”
“Attacked?”
That, at least, was something she hadn’t known. There was a fleeting sense of satisfaction until he remembered the seriousness of the old man’s condition.
“In an upscale Virginia neighborhood that has one of the lowest crime rates in the nation. Nothing was taken from the house although there were a multitude of valuable objects around. In short, there was no sign that what happened was anything other than a personal attack.”
“He isn’t dead.”
It hadn’t sounded like a question, but he answered as if it had been. “He’s in critical condition. Given his age…”
There was a long pause. Her eyes, locked on his face, had lost any tendency to laughter.
“And you believe someone did that because you’d gone to talk to him.”
“Given the timing, it makes sense.”
“Because you talked about me?”
“Or about the organization we’ve been tracking. I’ve no doubt that I’ve asked enough questions during the last few months to make them suspicious. Maybe they followed me there. Or it may be that Mr. Gardner was targeted because of his ties to the agency I work for.”
The crease he’d noticed before formed again between her brows. “The CIA?”
“A private investigative agency.”
“But…” Her lips closed over the question.
“Run by someone who also had very close ties to the CIA.”
“A private agency? You said your investigation was driven by national security concerns.”
“You don’t have to be a government operative to want to protect this country and its people from further acts of terrorism.”
“But you were,” she said. “A government operative.”
“At one time.”
He didn’t elaborate. He wasn’t willing to discuss why he had left the CIA.
It had had nothing to do with the disbanding of Cabot’s elite counterterrorism team. Ethan had left on his own almost a year before that edict against the External Security Team had come down. And only at the urging of someone he respected as much as he respected Griff Cabot would he ever have become involved in clandestine operations again.
“But he will be all right, won’t he?”
She meant Gardner, he realized.
Your guess is as good as mine. That answer was no less mocking than some of those she’d made to his appeal. He didn’t offer it, however.
Despite his distaste for almost everything he had learned about Raine McAllister, he couldn’t shake the notion that he owed it to the old man to treat her, and this entire bizarre episode, with at least some degree of respect. Professional courtesy for a former DCI? Or guilt over the possibility that his and Griff’s visit had played a role in the attack that had injured Montgomery Gardner?
“From what everyone says he’s a tough old bird,” he hedged.
“You don’t know him?”
“Not really. I’ve only met Mr. Gardner a few times. Mostly on social occasions at the home of the owner of the agency, Griff Cabot, and his wife.”
She smiled. “As a child, I was always so jealous.”
It took him a second to make the connection. “Of Claire?”
“She was his granddaughter. We’re about the same age. And she had a right to his time and his interest.”
Which she had wanted for herself?
“I always wondered if she knew about me,” Raine continued. “And if so, exactly what she knew.”
“I don’t understand.”
He didn’t. Not her relationship with the old man or her remarks about being jealous of his granddaughter.
“After it was over…” She paused, her eyes again seeming to contemplate a time other than the present. “He paid for my schooling. First, at a very fine girls’ boarding school in Virginia, and then later at Wellesley.” Her eyes lifted to Ethan’s. “I’m afraid I didn’t
