“Reasonable,” Anson commented, “when there’s nothing to contradict the statements and timelines, such as a conflicting statement from an eyewitness.”
“I don’t believe the theory I murdered John and Terry, or had a part in their murders, will hold,” Abigail told him. “But I do believe if I’m taken in, that won’t matter. I’ll be dead within twenty-four hours. It might be staged as a suicide, but I favor direct elimination.”
“You’re very cool about it,” Anson observed.
“I’ve had a number of years to consider what they’d do to me if they could.”
“Why come in now?”
She looked at Brooks. “If I don’t, nothing changes. And so much already has. Brooks asked me to trust him, and in doing so, to trust you. I’m trying.”
“She’s been feeding, anonymously, an FBI agent based in Chicago with intel on the Volkov organization.”
“And you have that intel because you’re hacking into the Volkov network?” Puffing out his cheeks, Anson sat back. “You must be one hell of a hacker.”
“Yes, I am. The Volkov organization is very computer-centric, and they believe they’re very safe, very well shielded. They have excellent techs,” she added. “I’m better than they are. Also, Ilya is consistently careless in this area. It’s, in my opinion, a kind of arrogance. He uses e-mail and texts routinely for both business and personal correspondence.”
“They’ve made a number of arrests on that intel, Captain,” Brooks said.
“Who’s your FBI contact?”
Abigail looked at Brooks, got his nod. “Special Agent Elyse Garrison.”
“Why didn’t you go to her with your story?”
“If it leaked—and I know there’s at least one Volkov mole inside the Chicago office—she could be taken,tortured, killed. Killed outright. She could be used to lure me in. They haven’t been able to trace the contact to me. Once they do, her life and mine are put at serious risk.”
“You want someone to make contact for you, someone who isn’t—as far as any check would show—connected in any way to Elizabeth Fitch.”
“Someone,” Brooks continued, “with a sterling record in law enforcement, someone with position and authority, credibility. Someone this Garrison is likely to believe.”
“And if I buy into this, I go to Chicago and make this contact, what then?”
“It opens the door for us to set up a meet between her and Abigail, at a location we choose.”
“I would continue to monitor law enforcement chatter and communications, so I’d know if they’d attempt a trap, or if any of the people I believe or suspect to be in league with the Volkovs learn of the communication.”
“You’re crossing a lot of lines here.” He turned a cool, hard eye on Brooks. “Both of you.”
“Tell me, Captain, what do you think her chances are of living to testify if she goes in straight, with the moles in place, the Volkovs whole?”
“I believe in the system, Brooks. I believe they’d protect her. But I can’t blame her for not believing it. If it was someone I loved, I’m not sure I’d believe it, either.”
He exhaled deeply.
In the quiet yard with the dogs softly snoring, a little garden fountain gurgling, Abigail wondered that the scrape of her nerves under her skin didn’t screech like nails on a blackboard.
“We may be able to do this your way, smoke out Keegan and Cosgrove, and those like them,” Anson began. “We may be able to make some key arrests that put a hard dent in the Volkov organization. And then? Are you willing to go into witness protection?” he asked Brooks. “To give up where you like to be, who you like to be?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Abigail said immediately. “No. I wouldn’t haveagreed to come here if I believed that would be a result. Elizabeth Fitch will meet Special Agent Garrison, will testify. Only three people know Elizabeth Fitch and Abigail Lowery are the same person, and that has to remain constant. If a connection is made between them, I’ll disappear. I can do it.”
“Abigail.”
“No,” she said again, quietly, fiercely, to Brooks. “You need to do the right thing, and you need to protect me. You can do both. I’m trusting you to do both. You have to trust me. I’ll be Elizabeth again, for this, and then she’s gone. She’ll disappear, and Abigail can live her life. I know how to bring down the Volkovs, and in a way I believe they’ll never fully recover from. It’s not about guns and knives and blood. It’s about keystrokes.”
“You’re going to take them down with a computer?” Anson demanded.
