Chapter 5 - The Man at the Window
I hit him before he reached the bed.
My shoulder drove into his chest.
We crashed against the wall.
The syringe flew from his hand and skidded beneath the dresser.
The attacker recovered quickly.
Too quickly for an ordinary intruder.
He struck my injured shoulder.
Pain flashed down my arm.
Then he grabbed the front of my jacket and tried to slam me against the window.
I twisted, trapped his wrist, and drove my elbow into his ribs.
He grunted.
Behind us, Rebecca cried out.
Mara drew her weapon.
“Federal agent.”
“Get on the floor.”
The attacker threw a metal canister into the hallway.
Smoke exploded across the doorway.
Mara lost sight of him.
He kicked me backward and climbed onto the window ledge.
We were three floors above the ground.
He did not hesitate.
A cable hung outside the window.
The attack had been planned before we arrived.
He clipped onto it and dropped toward the roof below.
Mara rushed to the window.
Agents on the ground shouted.
The man crossed the lower roof and disappeared behind an equipment shed.
He left the syringe behind.
The liquid inside was later identified as a powerful sedative.
In Rebecca’s weakened condition, it could have stopped her breathing.
The fire alarm had been triggered remotely.
The smoke came from a small device planted in the stairwell.
Someone had known exactly where Rebecca was and exactly when we reached her.
Mara ordered Dr. Reed and the facility staff detained for questioning.
Rebecca was transferred under federal protection to a military hospital.
During the drive, she clung to the sleeve of my jacket.
“Your mother said you would come.”
“I wish I had come sooner.”
“She knew you could not.”
Rebecca’s voice was barely audible.
“She said soldiers understand delayed rescue.”
I looked out at the gray highway.
“She should not have had to rescue us from our own father.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“Grant was not the beginning.”
I turned toward her.
“What does that mean?”
She did not answer.
Her medication had pulled her into sleep.
Mara sat across from us.
“We found a partial print on the syringe.”
“Do you recognize it?”
“It belongs to Victor Dane.”
The name was familiar.
Dane had worked as head of security for the Warren Foundation years ago.
My father fired him publicly after accusing him of stealing donor information.
“Where is he now?”
“Private security contractor.”
“For Nolan?”
“His company received payments from three of the shell corporations.”
The attack confirmed Rebecca still had information worth killing for.
The numbers she arranged on the puzzle pointed to Room 1712 at the Fairmont Grand.
Room 1712 had been part of the hotel’s original east wing before renovations.
It was now used for storage.
The thirty-one remained unexplained.
We returned to the hotel after sunrise.
Federal technicians had already searched the foundation offices.
Mara took me upstairs with two agents.
The corridor outside Room 1712 was narrow and uncarpeted.
A hotel manager unlocked the door.
Inside were broken chairs, old lamps, rolled carpets, and framed photographs removed during remodeling.
Dust covered everything.
Mara searched the walls.
I studied the number plate.
Room 1712.
Thirty-one.
I counted thirty-one floorboards from the doorway.
The final board rested beneath an old portrait of the hotel founder.
It was slightly raised.
We pulled it free.
A narrow compartment had been cut into the floor.
Inside lay a steel box.
The key Rebecca mentioned was not required.
The lock had already been broken.
The box was empty.
Someone had beaten us to it.
One agent examined the compartment.
“This was opened recently.”
“How recently?” Mara asked.
“Less than twenty-four hours.”
The gala had provided the perfect distraction.
While the agents watched the ballroom, someone had searched the room.
I lifted the empty box.
Something rattled inside the lid.
A thin strip of paper had been pushed beneath the inner lining.
Mara removed it with tweezers.
It contained a handwritten list of twelve names.
All twelve belonged to veterans who had received support from my mother’s foundation.
Beside each name was a date.
Every date matched the day that veteran had died.
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At the bottom, my mother had written a final sentence.
THEY DID NOT DIE BY ACCIDENT.
