17
WASHINGTON, D.C.
DUPONT CIRCLE
MARU DOJO
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
Nikki Bexholt tied her white obi belt over her white gi, and slipped on her zori sandals. She looked up when she saw Claire Farriger, her practice partner for the past four years, walk in and change into her own gi, fasten her black belt, and retrieve her ebony wooden Bokken sword from her locker. Nikki’s own white belt was her constant reminder she still had a great deal to learn before she could make the leap to black. Claire was her superior and her mentor in aikido, and at forty-six, she was in her prime. Nikki tried not to feel jealous of her, a constant battle. Claire had accomplished so much. She’d been a highly successful CIA field operative, spoke fluent Russian and Serbian, and had hopscotched her way up the CIA ladder to become the assistant director of the CIA for Europe and Eurasia analysis, second-in-command, reporting to the director of CIA. She’d confided to Nikki that she wouldn’t be allowed to become director, all politics, she’d said. It was the same for Nikki—she knew she’d never be allowed to take the reins of her family’s business, the Bexholt Group. It wasn’t about politics, it was about her vile father, who believed a woman couldn’t do the job. It was that shared fact, being unjustly cut off from what they each richly deserved, that had brought them together, and in the end set everything else in motion. Nikki picked up her own red oak bokken, the Japanese wooden sword they used for training, balanced it in her hand. She wanted ebony, like Claire’s.
The only other woman in the locker room finished changing, nodded to them, and left.
Nikki waited for the door to close, then said, “Any word on Cummings?”
Claire shook her head, walked to the mirror, pulled out her comb, and smoothed her hair back into a ponytail, difficult since it was still too short. “I don’t know why I ever cut it,” she said. “I should have left it longer like yours.”
“Claire, what about Cummings? You’re not any closer to finding him, are you?” She paused, her voice hardened. “You promise you’d tell me if your people get close, right? Remember our deal. He does not die. You get him to me somehow, and I’ll talk him around.”
Claire laughed. “And you’re fully prepared to inform him of the consequences if he doesn’t do what you tell him? That there are files in his computer the CIA will believe he copied and sold? That he’ll be charged with espionage?”
“Yes,” Nikki said, her voice steady. “I think he’ll cooperate once I make him realize he has only two choices: leave the country a rich man or spend most of his life in federal prison. I don’t like it, but at least he’ll be alive. And eventually his family can join him.
“You’ve told me his wife wasn’t happy with his earnings at the CIA. When you bottom-line it, going along with us is the best solution for him.”
Claire looked at her, slowly shook her head. “You think everyone can be bought?”
“In my experience in the business world, yes. You swear you won’t kill him?”
Claire shrugged, slipped an elastic band around her stub of a tail, and slowly turned. “Yes, I’ll keep to our agreement, for now. And no, we haven’t found Cummings yet, and yes, you’ll get him when we do. One thing, Nikki—excuse me if I don’t call you Athena—you know, of course, Agent Sherlock’s husband is Dillon Savich.”
“Yes, I know. And I’ve cautioned my people.”
“The FBI doesn’t yet know whose blood was on her windshield, so we’re ahead of them.” Claire paused, sighed, rubbed her palm over her forehead. “So much brouhaha about Cummings, it’s exhausting.” She’d already told Besserman, Justice Cummings’s supervisor, to go in-depth into his computer. They’d find the little surprise she’d left for them. It would make it harder to turn Cummings over to Nikki, but so be it. The whole idea of leaving Cummings alive was nonsense. But she couldn’t forget, Nikki wasn’t like her.
“Has something happened you haven’t told me about, Claire?”
“I’m just getting tired of Lance. Talk about exhausting. He’s gotten too possessive. I’ll have to clip his wings.”
They were in the middle of a crisis that could turn on a dime and destroy all their plans, their futures, and Claire was concerned about her longtime lover, her personal assistant at the CIA, getting too possessive? Nikki could only stare at her. She remembered the first time they’d met. The CIA had accepted her father’s bid for installing a specialized firewall for a CIA project and Nikki had wangled it so she was put in charge, not her brother. She remembered she’d been fascinated with Claire, never tiring of hearing about her assignments in the field, the constant risk of being discovered, the knowledge that death could land on your shoulder at any time. They’d gotten close, and Claire had shown her risks could be taken for the right rewards. When an engineer who worked for her at Bexholt, Dr. Craig Cook, made the breakthrough with his smart wall, her mind bloomed in directions she hadn’t known she was capable of. She’d thought immediately of Claire, and they’d worked out their plans together after a session at the dojo. Nikki had the means, and Claire the experience and the contacts. All they had to do was convince Dr. Cook and a few Bexholt employees to join them.
Nikki said, astonished, “You want to clip Lance’s wings? Now? You told me you needed him to do jobs for you, Claire, told me he would do anything you ask him to do. So let him be possessive for a while longer. Set him out to find Cummings.”
Claire straightened, tightened her obi, and nodded. “Yes, you’re right, of course. I’ve already set him on finding Cummings. How are the preparations going at Redemption House? Are we ready for the bankers, ready to start making money on Monday?”
“Yes, but I do worry about Savich. I can’t see him giving up if he gets involved, not when his wife nearly lost her life in that accident.”
Claire walked to Nikki, took her face between her palms. “Little sister, it will be all right. I’ll eventually have to let him come see me, and I’ll handle him. No question. We’re almost there, so stop your worrying, and let’s go get warmed up.”