A knock sounded, and Seth poked his head around the door. "Can I interrupt?"
Del waved him in. "We have Coulson on speaker. He is at the scene and was just catching us up. I assume you heard the news?"
Seth nodded, his face pale as snow. "One of the agents texted me, and soon after, the director called me."
"Obviously, we'll investigate what happened," Coulson said.
"Who has jurisdiction, the FBI or the Secret Service?" Calix asked.
"Initially, the Secret Service, but if she dies, the FBI will take over. Director James has already indicated she will let the FBI take the lead, especially considering Mrs. Markinson's possible involvement in the assassination."
"This was murder." Seth's voice trembled, and Calix had never seen the man so shaken.
"We are treating it as such, but why do you say that?"
"Director James told me she wasn't wearing a life jacket when they pulled her out of the water. Coulson, she never went out on the water without a life jacket. Ever. We're talking about a woman who was born and raised on the water, who comes from a long line of fishermen. She could swim like a mermaid, but she always, always wore a life jacket. Her uncle, her father's brother, died as a little boy because he had fallen overboard and wasn't wearing a life jacket. He could swim, but he'd been knocked unconscious and drowned anyway. She named her boat after him, the Jacob. I must've heard her lecture her grandkids a hundred times about the importance of a life vest. She would never have gone out without wearing one."
"We'll double-check with the agents if she wore one when she got on the boat. One of the agents reported that she seemed sluggish that morning, as if she'd been drinking or had used medications or drugs. What do you make of that?" Coulson asked.
"She didn't drink a lot in general, but this time of day? I've never seen her do that. And she would never drink if she knew she'd be going out for a sail or a boat ride. And as far as I know, the only meds she uses are thyroid meds and antacids. The woman is…was fit as a fiddle."
Del dragged his hand over his ashen face. Once again, these people had managed to get past the Secret Service and take out their target. Del had to wonder the same as Calix: when would it stop? Where would they stop? How many more men and women had to die before they finally caught the people responsible for such chaos and destruction, so much grief and sorrow?
"What happens next?" Del asked.
"If she dies, we'll perform a full autopsy, including a detailed, high-level toxicology report. That should give us an indication of whether she had any alcohol or drugs in her system. We've already secluded the Secret Service agents who were on shift so we can interrogate them and get their stories before they've talked to each other. Her boat is being brought in for forensic examination, and I have two dozen agents coming in to go over every inch of her house with a fine-tooth comb. We'll figure out what happened, but unfortunately, it will probably be too late for Mrs. Markinson."
"They knew we were coming for her…" Calix said slowly. "The timing is too suspicious. She is murdered on the day the FBI is going to bring her in for questioning? That's too much of a coincidence."
"I agree, but obviously, we'll need concrete evidence. I promise we'll do whatever we need to to find out who did this," Coulson said. "If that's all, Mr. President, I need to go."
"Go. Go do your job."
"Thank you, Mr. President."
The call ended, and Del, Seth, and Calix stood there in silence, staring at each other. Del seemed to have aged ten years, and Seth's face was a mask of shock and horror.
"I know it shouldn't be my priority, but I don't know how the Secret Service will ever overcome the shame of losing two of our principals in such a short time," Seth said.
"That theory about a mole sounds more and more plausible, doesn't it?" Calix said. "They're always one step ahead of us." Del rubbed his temples, a deep groove marring his forehead. Calix knew that look. "You don't agree?"
"I think we should use Coulson's method of that information matrix to find out if they really know as much as we think they do."
Calix frowned. "What do you mean? I'm not following."
"Let's assume Annabeth Markinson was murdered—and by the way, that statement in itself is devastating. The first question, of course, is how they got the information they needed to take her out. We asked that same question after her husband was assassinated, and the answer was that they had hacked into the Secret Service system. But they also had contact with Annabeth Markinson, who may or may not have provided them with more information. Couldn't they have used that same information to take her out as well? What if she already gave them what they needed to know before her husband was assassinated?"
"That's definitely an option," Seth said slowly, but Del wasn't done yet.
"Or, and this may even be more plausible, they got it straight from her when she spoke to them on the phone. She must have been the one who told them we were asking questions. This call that was overheard was probably not the first call she'd made. Maybe whoever she spoke to didn't even know we were bringing her in for questioning, but the information she gave them about us asking questions was enough for them to consider her a liability. Or her getting angry with someone threatening Coulson and you." Del gestured to Seth.
"That sounds entirely plausible, Mr. President."
Del nodded. "If you purely look at the facts, do they really know that much? Are they really that far ahead of us? Let's face it. Investigations like this follow a pretty predictable pattern. All they'd need to do is to keep an eye on key players to know when they'd be contacted by us…and Annabeth Markinson told them. She flat out informed them we had discovered her. I think in doing so, she signed her own death warrant."
38
Rhett checked his watch again and let out a long sigh. Only a minute had passed since the last time.
"Are you impatient, nervous, or both?" Levar asked with a little chuckle. He sat on the couch, Henley right next to him, leafing through a magazine, while Rhett had found a spot on the loveseat.
"Both."
"Babe, why would you be nervous? It's not as if we don't like Calix already…"
Rhett fidgeted with his hands, then caught himself, brought his wrist to his nose, and breathed in the vanilla smell. "I know, but this is different. You only know professional Calix, your boss. This is private Calix, my boyfriend."
A rush barreled through him all over again at that word. Boyfriend. He had a boyfriend. And an amazing, wonderful, kind, and sexy one at that. He'd somehow hit the jackpot, and he still didn't understand how he'd ever managed that.
Levar's face softened. "I know. But I promise it'll go great."
The doorbell rang, and Rhett was out of his seat so fast he almost tripped over his own feet. He raced to buzz Calix in through the entrance below, then opened the front door for him. As soon as he saw him, his anxiety lessened. He was here. His amazing man was here, sporting that sweet smile that made Rhett's heart flutter and his stomach dance.