Page 84 of Lock ’N’ Load

“In fish size,” Hentz added, “he’s a whale. For years, we’ve suspected him of over twenty assassinations on U.S. soil, not to mention hundreds in Russia while he was with the KGB and the FSB. It’s even been rumored that he was one of the last members of the KGB’s Department 13, the Soviet Union’s executive action operations unit that was known for surreptitious murders using various poisons that mimic death by natural circumstances.”

“Like digitalis,” Matt said, and Trista could tell his mood was darkening by the minute.

Hentz nodded. “Lukashin and the Russian president aren’t exactly friends, but they were in the KGB together. Rumor has it, he reports directly to the president.”

Matt shook his head. “Even if you get evidence he murdered Thomas George and tried to kill Trista, won’t he still be immune to prosecution by virtue of his diplomatic status? The only way this country has ever prosecuted a diplomat for murder is when his own country of origin waives his diplomatic immunity. I’m guessing the Russian president will never agree to that, especially given all the dirt Lukashin must have on him.”

“You’re right about that,” Fenway interrupted. “They’d want to keep him from being put in a position where he could provide intelligence on the Russian government. We’ve spoken to the U.S. Attorney’s Office and believe he wouldn’t have full immunity, only functional immunity. That means if he does something outside his official function as cultural attaché, then he’s subject to prosecution. I’m no lawyer, but I’d say that being a spy and a murderer is outside his official function. The Russians will argue otherwise, but we need the rezidentura. Without him, we’ll never prove any orders came down from the top.”

“Don’t get me wrong”—Matt turned to Fenway—“putting Lukashin behind bars is at the top of my list, but even if you could prove the Russian president is behind this, you can’t charge into Russia and arrest him. So what’s the ultimate goal here?”

“I think I can answer that question,” Senator Ashburn said. “You’re right. He’s sitting in a glass tower that we can’t get to. But we do have recourse. We can impose trade sanctions. Heavy sanctions, those impacting Russian trade to the point where they’ll never try something like this again. We may be able to justify kicking out everyone in the Russian Embassy for a lengthy period of time as punishment. Last, we can put pressure on the Russian government to have their president step down.”

Beneath the table, Trista fingered her charm bracelet, twirling it repeatedly around her wrist. When will this really all be over? She didn’t think she could go into hiding for an indeterminate period of time. Will I be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life?

“And after the story breaks?” She glanced from Mrs. Ashburn to the senator. “What will you do?” Her question was met with silence so thick and heavy it seemed as if everyone in the room had stopped breathing, waiting to hear his response.

The senator turned to look at his mother. “I intend to urge the Sentinel to publish Thomas George’s story posthumously. It’s the right thing to do. I’ll let the American people judge as to whether or not I’m fit to be president.”

“There’s no statute of limitations on murder,” Matt said. “Even though you were eight years old, you could still be subject to criminal prosecution in West Virginia.”

Senator Ashburn didn’t hesitate. “That’s a chance I’m willing to take.”

“Do your wife and children know?” Trista asked, unable to contemplate what a secret like this would do to a marriage.

“I’ll tell them right before the story breaks.”

“Senator, we should get you out of here.” SAC Gotesman nodded to the Secret Service agents guarding the door.

A minute later, the only people remaining in the conference room besides herself were Matt and Agents Hentz and Fenway, who both waited by the door.

“We need to get you into protective custody, Trista.” Hentz arched a brow at Matt. “Official protective custody.”

“Where are you taking her?” Matt’s forehead creased with concern.

“To a safe house,” Fenway answered.

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Matt narrowed his eyes. “Again, where?”

Fenway shook his head. “Can’t tell you that.”

Matt sent Trista a look of disbelief. “You can’t seriously go with these clowns. They can’t keep you safe. I can.”

“Matt, it’s for the best.” She glanced briefly at Fenway and Hentz, not wanting to air her and Matt’s personal business in front of the other men. Blinking back tears, she lowered her voice. “You know I can’t stay with you.” Not when you can’t ever love me back. Not while my heart is breaking more and more every second I spend with you.

She took a deep breath, then cleared her throat. “I guess this is goodbye.” She held out her hand, which he took, tugging her closer. “Please,” she pleaded. “Let me go.”

“Tris, no.” He shook his head, a look of incredulity on his handsome features. “Don’t do this.”

“I have to.” She looked down at their linked hands, realizing this would most likely be the last time they would ever touch.

Somehow she mustered the strength to meet his gaze, refusing to see anything more in his worried expression than general concern for her well-being. It will be like ripping off a Band-Aid. Painful at first. But it’s better to get it over with quickly and put it behind you. Just say goodbye and walk away. “Would you mind taking care of Poofy until I can get someone to pick him up?”

He nodded, still clasping her hand in his. “I’ll take good care of him.”

“Say goodbye to Sheba for me.” She turned to leave, but he held fast to her hand, looking as if he was about to say something. Then he let her go. More tears pricked at the backs of her eyes and she blinked rapidly. Be strong.

With her heart aching, she turned and walked out the door without looking back.