Vortex by Catherine Coulter

Olivia and Savich

Safe House

Thursday afternoon

Agent Gaylin sat forward, his hands fisted on his knees. “Look, Savich, I think your plan is good; it even has a more-than-even chance of succeeding. But you and Olivia know as well as I do it’s dangerous, lots of chance involved, and unknowns, moving parts, people acting and reacting a certain way to make it work. No, I’m not shooting it down, but it should be me, Savich, not you.”

Olivia said, “Gay, you know why it has to be Dillon. Not only is it his idea, his people from his Criminal Apprehension Unit are a part of it. Believe me, I’ve met some of them, they’re a well-oiled machine, they know what they’re doing. You know we can’t take a chance of involving the CIA, too many questions and talk about unknowns.

“Give it up, Gay. You know it’s our best chance to find out what’s going on here.” She lightly touched her hand to his shoulder. “It will be all right.” She gave him a crooked grin. “I thrive on unknowns and the unexpected, you know that.

“Now suck it up, Gay. We have to get a move on. Dillon, do you have anything to add before you winter up, and we’ll see if you pass muster. Gay’s gear is in the front closet.”

Savich said, “Gay, I know exactly how you feel, but trust me, this is the best way to proceed. Think of it as a chess game; we’re good, we’ve thought it all out, prepared. All our pieces are in play and the odds are excellent the opponent will make the moves we’re predicting.”

Gay sighed. “Yeah, yeah, you two should be lawyers. I understand, but I don’t like it. Both of you, be careful, all right?”

As Savich donned Gay’s coat and scarf, Olivia went down on her knees and hugged Helmut close. “I know you want to come with me, but I’m not about to put you in danger. You and Gay will guard the house. I’ve left you water and food in the kitchen, you know the drill. Sorry, Gay, but I didn’t leave you any food or water.” She gave Helmut a last big hug, felt his tongue lap over her face. She kissed his forehead, straightened, and turned to study the winterized Dillon. “Not bad. Wrap the scarf more around the lower part of your face. With the sunglasses and the knit cap, you look enough like Gay to me. For at least two minutes.”

Savich turned to Gay. “Do I look like your brother, at least?”

“No.” Gay sighed. “You’re taller than I am and I have twenty pounds on you. As for my brother, he’s short, too heavy, and bald. Okay, like Olivia said, you could fool people for maybe two minutes, from a distance.”

“Good enough. We’re lucky it’s so cold.” Savich’s cell sang out “Whatever It Takes” by Imagine Dragons. He listened, disconnected. “Agent Noble says it’s time. The car’s still out there, tucked away near a driveway, half a block away.” He looked at Olivia, who’d slipped on her coat, scarf, and knit cap. “You ready?”

Olivia nodded. “It’ll be all right. Helmut, stay. Gay, you stay, too.”

It was thirty-three degrees, the sky a gray bowl overhead, bare tree branches were being whipped about by gusts of a bitter wind. Olivia and Savich ran to Gay’s Honda, jumped in, fastened seat belts. Savich shot her a look, saw she was hugging herself, and switched the heat on high; right away warm air blasted into their faces. She met his eyes and nodded. “Never thought I’d be grateful to be freezing my butt off in mid-March.”

He laughed. “We couldn’t have ordered up better weather.”

“I can feel them watching. Do you see them in the rearview?”

“No, but they’ll follow.” Savich slowly backed out of the driveway. “I’ll pretend I’m trying to evade, but not enough to lose them.”

Olivia’s last view of the house was of Helmut sitting on his haunches watching her from the living room window.

A dazzling slice of sun burst through the gray. Savich nodded. “Now even our sunglasses make sense. Keep an eye out, Olivia, but try not to be obvious.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re saying this to a CIA agent? You were right; they’d know right away where the new safe house is. And I didn’t tell anyone.” She fretted with her leather gloves. “So it has to be someone at Langley, someone with access. Gay knows it, too, and it really pisses him off.” She paused, turned to face him. “I hate it’s someone I’ve trusted with my life, Dillon. And I hate it even more that some of them still believe Mike is a traitor. Even Gay, though he didn’t come right out and say it because he felt sorry for me.”

Savich shot her a grin. “No, if he kept it to himself, it’s because he didn’t want you to deck him.”

He took another left turn, then another. Not much traffic on a Thursday afternoon, most people not out of work yet, heading home or to their favorite watering holes. “You know some of the questions about Mike’s loyalty were disinformation, Olivia, purposefully planted, and watered with great care. But it’s no longer a problem. Ah, there they are, the big dark blue passenger van, the Chrysler Voyager. Ruth said the license plate is muddied over, a pity.”

Olivia pulled out a makeup mirror and angled it so she could see the trailing cars. “I can’t make out the license plate, either, and CIA agents are trained to see through mud.”

Savich laughed, took another left, then right. “That should be enough. They’re good. If I didn’t know they’d be following, I might not have seen them yet.”

He turned on Wilton and drove straight toward High Point Mall, three miles ahead.

Olivia turned in the seat to face him. “I can’t believe I’m about to run an operation out of the ladies underwear department at Macy’s.”

“Makes sense. You couldn’t go back to your house for more clothes, so you talked Gay into taking you there to pick up a few necessities.”

Olivia drummed her fingertips on the dashboard. “I wonder how many there are? There was that man at my house on Monday, he could be one. And the Frenchman from yesterday. So at least two of them.”

“If I were running their side, I’d want to keep it small and tight, maybe three, four max. We’ll see soon enough.” Savich drove for three blocks, then slowed to turn onto Southby, which fronted the High Point Mall. Savich said, “He’s there, still hanging back.”

As Savich drove the Honda toward the Macy’s, the anchor store at the north end of the mall, Olivia felt her heart begin to thud. She was both excited and terrified. Today it would all end. And she prayed.

Savich parked the Honda halfway down a lane in the open parking lot, thirty yards from the Macy’s entrance. He said, “Olivia, we both know this is dangerous since we don’t even know all the players. No, let me finish. I know you’re a pro, you understand the risks. If the worst happens and we lose you, the tracker you’re wearing will at least let us know where you are. It’s good for another twenty-six hours.” He lightly touched his hand to hers. “Know I’d come for you. Are you ready?”

“More than ready, Dillon, let’s go. I want this over with.”

They walked together, heads down against the wind, and stood in front of a window a moment, Olivia pointing to a pair of running shoes. Savich paused and looked again, just as Gay would. He saw nothing, made a big deal of gesturing her into the store. Once inside, Savich’s cell played Jimi Hendrix’s “All Along the Watchtower.” He listened, then ended the call. “Davis has the Chrysler van four cars away from the Honda. Two men, one driving, the other in the back seat. Both men are looking at us, not moving.”

They rode the escalator to the second floor, to the lingerie department, a place no man would go unless he had a gun to his head. Savich took a seat in one of the two chairs thoughtfully placed nearby for waiting men and looked long-suffering. He saw women carrying shopping bags, heard their voices, some laughter. One woman paused, sent him a little wave. He answered his cell twice. Ten minutes later, Olivia walked out with a Macy’s bag. “Underwear and flannel pajamas, in case they want to look,” she said, patted the bag.

They took the escalator back down, walked through a cloud of perfume spritzed on a customer by a saleswoman in towering heels and bright red lipstick. They stepped out into the frigid cold and walked quickly toward Gay’s Honda. Nearly there, and Savich stopped cold, felt around his neck, looked chagrined. He raised his voice. “Olivia, I left my scarf in the store. Get in the car and lock it, turn on the heater, I’ll be right back.” He looked around the parking lot again, nodded, saw the two men in the Chrysler had slid down so the van looked empty. He whispered to Olivia, “Showtime,” turned, and headed back toward Macy’s at a fast trot.