TYLER CRUTCHFIELD CONFIRMED AIDE TO LANCASTER—the message appeared on her computer screen.
“What about?” She turned on her blinker and eased over into the right-hand lane.
“A trade. I have some information I believe you will be personally interested in, and we’d like Conroy Farrel. We at State have been informed that your team here in Denver suffered a mission failure in Paraguay but that SDF has Scout Leesom …”
Had Scout Leesom, Skeeter thought.
“And our most recent intelligence reports are telling us that Farrel is going to try to get her back.”
Get. Got. Gone, Skeeter thought.
“What kind of information do you have?”
“I’d rather show you the files in person; some are state matters from your husband’s time in Moscow, and I have more recent photographs of him in Washington, D.C. When you see the photos, I think you’ll appreciate my discretion.”
She doubted it, but he’d definitely piqued her interest. The Moscow deal was older than dirt, the threat of a treason charge that had never yet materialized. But Crutchfield’s coy assertion of the personal nature of his other information and the addition of undoubtedly glossy 8×10 pics was enough to fire up any married woman’s imagination.
DON’T GO THERE, BABE. Sure, easy for him to say.
“This is a very private number you’ve called me on, Mr. Crutchfield. Do you want to tell me how you got it?” If he worked for Lancaster, alias White Rook, the truthful answer was obvious, but she doubted if he’d be telling her the truth. He’d save it for later, if he had any truth to sell.
“Mr. Lancaster, through his position at State, has been a champion of national security for many years and has developed a cooperative relationship with many of our country’s specialized agencies,” Crutchfield said. “His associates in those agencies were happy to comply with our request for a way to contact you privately.”
Bull. There was no love lost between the State Department and just about everyone else.
“Laws may have been broken here, Mr. Crutchfield. Are you sure you want to continue this conversation?” Whatever he wanted, she was going to make him work for it. That was just good business, and it was good business to keep him talking.
“Laws have already been broken by your husband, Mrs. Hart, some of the most sacred laws of our country,” he said solemnly, giving a damn good impression of someone who believed what he was saying. “Two diplomatic pouches entrusted to him in Moscow some years ago ended up in the possession of a former KGB officer. The man who pulled him out of those fires of treason is now willing to come forward. Randolph Lancaster is not without influence, and if Conroy Farrel can be delivered to him, he offers you his full assurance that no charges will be leveled against your husband.”
“This is very old news, Mr. Crutchfield.”
“Old but still relevant, Mrs. Hart. We feel the chance of him being convicted of his Moscow crimes is very high given new evidence that has come to light, and, quite frankly, some of your actions have also come under scrutiny at the State Department. I’m sure you’d both rather not be incarcerated for the rest of your lives.”
Quite right, but what Crutchfield apparently didn’t realize was how far she’d go to keep anything even remotely like that from happening. Probably a whole lot farther than he could imagine from his cushy office at the State Department.
Poor boy—he was in her playground now.
“There is no new evidence,” she said. There’d been damn little old evidence.
“Yes, there is, Mrs. Hart, and I can assure you it will stand up in a court of law.”
WELL WITHIN LANCASTER’S CAPABILITIES TO MANUFACTURE CREDIBLE EVIDENCE, IF HE’S DECIDED TO LOWER THE HAMMER. Not exactly what she wanted to hear.
WE CAN COUNTERACT. They always did counteract threats, but this was different, and it had been hanging over Dylan’s head for fourteen years. It was the hold White Rook had on him, and now they knew White Rook was bad to the bone—a very dangerous situation.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Conroy Farrel has long been a person of interest to the State Department, and Mr. Lancaster feels an opportunity has arisen for someone to drop a net on him and bring him in. He believes the people to do that are the operators of SDF.”
“We sure would like another shot at Farrel,” she said.
“And we’re sure that’s why you picked up Scout Leesom,