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72
REDEMPTION HOUSE
Claire Farriger wished she’d given the FBI agent enough ketamine to kill her on the spot, but of course she couldn’t, not with Nikki Bexholt and the others standing right there, watching her every move. She didn’t know what McKnight had overheard, what she’d seen, but even if she’d only seen Redemption House itself, she’d signed her death warrant, just as Eleanor Corbitt had when she’d let the CIA agent see her. Farriger could only hope McKnight hadn’t already called for backup or revealed what she’d seen.
McKnight would have gotten away clean if Craig hadn’t happened to look at one of the monitors and see her on the property. It was only luck Claire herself had been there to set a plan in motion, or she had no doubt it would have been a disaster with the amateurs trying to figure out what to do. Nikki had led her away from the house and McKnight, as she’d expected, had followed her. And when Nikki had turned off at the isolated gas station, the agent had exited with her. Farriger had followed them both and taken care of the agent. She’d hoped her blow had killed her, but unfortunately it hadn’t. Thankfully, the agent had stayed unconscious after Nikki had insisted they bring her back to Redemption House. Farriger couldn’t very well fight with Nikki right there on the road. Back at the house, she called Lance and told him to come and pick her up, so little time was wasted. She had to call with everyone listening, so she had to tell him loud and clear to take the agent to a CIA safe house until morning.
By now Lance was back in McLean at the safe house. She watched Cricket Washburn, Dr. Cook, and Nikki work for a moment, then slipped into the hallway and called him on her burner phone. She got his voice mail, frowned. No, she wouldn’t worry. Lance was a pro. She said into her cell only “It needs to look like an accident.” She walked back into the living room, where they were still all busily breaking down equipment, Nikki giving them orders. She studied them a moment. It amazed her how their collective greed overcame breaking more laws than she could count, yet they weren’t willing to do what was necessary to save themselves, save the project. They had to know the FBI agent threatened their very lives, yet they wouldn’t hear of killing her. And that’s why she’d never admit to them she’d had Armstrong kill Eleanor Corbitt. In her case, there’d been no time to stage an accident. She wondered, at odd moments, if killing Corbitt had been a mistake. Perhaps if she’d left her alone—but no, she’d spotted Corbitt as the weak link, and Corbitt had proved it when she panicked and drove off. Water under the bridge. Now the new threat was from Agent Lucy McKnight. This time she would do it right.
She’d known working with amateurs meant screwups were inevitable—even with pros you never knew when things would go sideways—but she’d figured she could manage any amateurish mistakes. The only thing she hadn’t counted on was the FBI making connections so fast. They’d managed to scare the crap out of Palumbo and Nikki. Almost enough to give them all away.
As for Justice Cummings, being dead was the only thing she wanted from him. The incriminating data theft from his computer would prove him a traitor. If anyone was going under the bus, it would be him.
When she walked back into the room, Dr. Cook stopped his packing and gave her a long look. “I was telling Athena you would have the FBI agent killed if we let you, like you had Ellie killed. We all saw you go into the hall just now—in the mirror.” He waved back to the large mirror over the fireplace. “You pulled out your cell. Did you call that goon of yours and order him to kill her?”
Farriger shook her head, sighed. “Craig, we’ve worked together for months now. I told you I didn’t have anything to do with Eleanor Corbitt’s murder. But now, you must listen to me, all of you. I will be honest. The FBI agent is another matter entirely. She could and would bury us all so deep we wouldn’t see the outside of a cell for the rest of our lives. No, don’t look away from me. They know the agent was following Nikki, they most assuredly will find out she came to Redemption House, and that’s why we’re removing every trace of our work. If she isn’t around to accuse us, and nothing is here to be found, we might still get out of this whole-hide. We can’t let her get back to them, she’d identify us all. I’ll arrange a fatal car accident. There will be questions, sure, but if it’s done right, there will be no proof. We can all go quietly back to our lives.”
There was dead silence, then Cricket said, “They will know it wasn’t a real accident.”
Nikki said, “Even if they can’t prove it, they’ll never stop if they think we killed one of their agents in a staged accident. And they will, you know it.”
Farriger looked around the group, her eyes resting a moment on Jasmine Palumbo, responsible for the biggest screwup. She hated amateurs. “Yes, of course they’ll suspect, but I’ll see to it there is no compelling proof. Listen to me, all of you. If we’re very lucky, they may never find this place. In any case, I’ve managed to buy us perhaps twelve hours. We can’t waste more time on these senseless debates. We’ve got to empty this house and get out of here.”
Nikki took a step toward her. “No, Claire, there will be no more killing. If only you’d asked me about Ellie, I could have told you she could talk her way out of anything. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll clean out the house, and they’ll have no way of knowing why we were here. If we stick together, we’ll get through this. When they find the agent, maybe she’ll be wandering around, still confused from the drug you gave her. Let her say whatever she wants, there’ll be no proof.”
Farriger wanted to draw her service weapon and shoot all of them. Instead, she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t care what you believe about Corbitt, but if the FBI agent simply shows up, confused or not, the FBI will not stop, do you understand? They. Will. Not. Stop. We have no choice.”
She saw a moment of indecision on Cricket’s face, saw Jasmine shake her head. She said to Nikki, “If we don’t kill her, your father wins, you’ll have proved him right—you’re a girl, inferior, a failure. And your brother? Can you imagine how happy he’ll be when you’re hauled off in your orange suit to federal prison?
“Listen, Nikki, when you told me about Dr. Cook’s invention, we both knew it was our big chance. I could wipe the CIA muck off my shoes and we could both live the lives we wanted. You were so excited, anything to pay back the father you hate and your prick of a brother. Let me point out you were the one who led that FBI agent here to the house, like Jasmine blundered and hit Agent Sherlock’s car. Your fault, not mine, all the mistakes, the missteps. I’m the one who can save you, the only one. You’ve got to let me do what we have to do to keep us safe.”
“No, Claire,” Nikki said, “you will not kill anyone else. We all talked about this, we’re all agreed.”
Farriger was sick of all of them. More blah, blah. She stopped listening. She moved to stand next to a wall with shelves holding dozens of old leather books from before the Civil War. She splayed her hands in front of her. “Very well, trust me, the agent will be freed.”
Dr. Craig Cook pointed a finger at her. “Trust you? You gave her over to that bulked-up trained ape of yours, Armstrong, after you drugged her. We all know you called him a few minutes ago. You told him to kill her, didn’t you? It’s easy for you, like pinching out a candle.”
“Dr. Cook, get ahold of yourself.” Farriger walked slowly toward him and he flinched, she saw it. Good, the little worm was afraid of her. And so he should be. She stopped, clapped her hands together. “We must stop with these senseless accusations. We have to get to work.”
Nikki said, “Make the call to Armstrong. In front of us. Now.”
