Shadows of the Past (SEAL Brotherhood: Shadow Team #1)

Chapter Eighteen

I n New York, the party split into two groups. Moira’s parents and the four Team Guys headed to San Diego. Her parents would then take a flight to Sonoma County to stay with friends until their lives could be sorted.

But he and Moira were booked on a non-stop to D.C. There was quite a bit of detritus to be picked up, messy details to put back on the shelf. Of course there would need to be a debriefing with the president. Collier was a patient man, who had weathered the wars in the nation’s capital and had the enemies to prove it. But he sided with protecting the innocent, and Dimitri knew he’d do anything for the health of his fellow countrymen.

He didn’t even care if he’d called in one too many favors on the public servant and now had to end his cushy job. As long as Moira was back and safe, that was all that mattered. He’d even agree to go work at Starbucks or perhaps write a memoir about his years in State and on the Teams, like so many other warriors were doing. None of that mattered to him any longer. He’d gotten the prize back. His life was complete. Now he could focus on living.

The two of them met with Jordan that night, over sushi and drinks at a trendy bar within walking distance of the apartment. The journalist was relieved they were home and appeared to have lost at least twenty pounds.

“You try looking over your shoulder every few minutes, sleeping for twenty minutes at a stretch, moving two to three times a day,” Jordan said. “I have so many people to thank for helping me, I’m going to have to buy thank-you notes.”

“Now the work begins,” Moira said, enthusiastically.

Dimitri’s heart sank to a new low.

“Begins? Did you say begins ?”

“Yes! Now we get to turn the screws and bring all the spiders and cockroaches out into the open so we can stomp on them!”

He wasn’t sure he’d heard correctly.

“What happened to just feeling safe, back in the home of the constitution, where people cared about doing the right thing? You and your family are finally safe.”

Jordan was smart to stay out of it.

“Not quite. There are a few cockroaches left. They’re still moving. And there is so much more to do. We’ve got to end this corruption infecting our country, Dimitri. We’ve just uncovered the tip of the iceberg!”

What had he been expecting?

“Sweetheart, what about when you said—”

“But look at what’s happened. We got two for one. We could make it a half dozen.”

“You’re talking Senator Goldberg and his cronies. You really think it will be that easy?”

“He didn’t expect that Francone and the president would team up together to get him.”

Dimitri didn’t want to believe she actually thought she could do more. They’d nearly been wiped out. He’d probably lost his job, unless he could get that genie back in the bottle. His apartment had been broken into, and he hadn’t even began to set up proper security. And the senator had assets, enormous assets. He would not go down without a full-scale war.

“That’s not how it works,” he whispered, squeezing her hand, almost pleading with her to be quiet. He was sure it was an errant thought on her part and she’d change her mind if she just thought about it for a moment or two.

Jordan wasn’t making eye contact. Dimitri looked between the two of them.

“Moira, what did you do?”

She didn’t answer at first. She sipped her drink and shared a quick glance with Jordan, who gave a short nod back. They’d hatched some plan without telling him.

He threw his chopsticks on the table, leaned back in his stiff, unforgiving wooden chair without a seat pad, laced his fingers through his hair, and then pulled his scalp to the sides, creating the Clarabelle effect, wings of striped hair. The ladies would have been pleased. The hairspray was still working.

Then he buried his forehead in his arms on the table. “Don’t tell me this,” he moaned into the tabletop. “What God-awful thing are you planning?”

“It’s done!” she said, unapologetically.

Jordan sneered and took his last sip. “Look—I’m going to head on out.”

“You stay right there,” Dimitri said, stabbing a finger into Jordan’s chest. “Both of you, tell me what you’ve done.”

“Go ahead,” Moira said, giving the floor to Jordan.

“I gave the Goldberg file to the New York Times. I also gave a copy to the Senate Intelligence Committee Chairman, Bob Lorenz.”

Dimitri stared at the two of them.

“Did you ever think it would be a good idea to ask me first?”

Jordan started to answer, carefully. “Dimitri, we thought about it first, we did. But in light of the fact that we did it, as opposed to you, it would give an extra credibility to it, coming from outside the inner circle of Washington. You’re, well, you’re connected .”

“Which has just saved Moira’s life.” He stared down at her, frowning. “You aren’t even back here for a night and you’re already forgetting what strings I pulled to rescue your family.”

“Stop thinking that way, Dimitri. Less monsters in the lake make it safer to swim. None of us think it’s really safe. We’re not saying that. But we’re making it easier for others to come forward with their things.”

“You have evidence there are others?”

“We’ve heard rumblings,” said Jordan.

“Rumblings. Do you suppose you just drew a big target on your backs and mine in the process? Oh, and while we’re at it, how about the president of the United States!”

Several others in the sushi joint turned, Dimitri’s voice carrying above the conversation level of the audience.

“Keep it down. Don’t go off all commando-style on me,” she said.

“What’s the harm? I’m fucked, Moira. I’m completely fucked. And you might have ruined the best friend I had in D.C. How can he ever trust me again?”

“Which is exactly, like Jordan said, why it was a good idea he sent the file in. And you didn’t approve.”

“But we lose all control. We don’t know what kind of a spin they’ll have on it.” He put his face in his hands, elbows resting on the table. “I’ve got to get hold of the president.”

He stood, and as he did so, Jordan scampered out the door beside him. Standing in the street, a light mist draining from the clouds above he could not see, he dialed the president. The sound in the background indicated he’d just taken a sip of what Dimitri knew to be the $200 bottle of whiskey he’d given him for Christmas, fortifying himself.

He wished he had one too.

“I imagine you called to say you’re sorry?” he said.

“I just found out what they did.”

“What they did? You haven’t seen the papers yet then.”

“Just landed. What are you talking about?”

“Senator Goldberg just publicly asked for my resignation. Now I’m considering my options. Things were simpler a hundred years ago. When I could solve my problems for a hundred well-placed dollars.”

“That’s folly. Why is he asking this?”

“Public corruption. He got wind of your little caper in the Mediterranean. They’ve got pictures of you wearing drag. Dimitri, tell me this isn’t so.”

“Where?” And then he figured it out. Goldberg got hold of Davis, and Davis released the photos. And apparently told Goldberg he had the president intervene.

“Well, there’s another bombshell brewing, sir. Moira’s assistant, if you can call him that, released a corruption file of his own on Goldberg to the New York Times today. And sent a copy to the Intelligence Committee, outlining how Senator Goldberg was in bed with a dirty Italian government official, the man you spoke with yesterday, sir. Enrico Francone. They sent bank records, copies of transfer deeds, pictures of assets used and seized, guns, you name it. I just literally found out about it five minutes ago.”

“My sister told me I shouldn’t trust you, that it would only mean headache after headache. She was right. She usually is. But in this case, Dimitri, I’d rather have a headache than be impeached or be out of a job. I’d say their timing couldn’t be better. We should both drink to that.”