Where we left Mariah:
"Don't," her father said gently. "He loves you."
"He didn't commit treason for me," she said bitterly. "He lied to me." And that was another kind of treason, she realized.
Ghosts That Haunt—43
Her father sighed. "He had his reasons, Mariah."
The tiredness washed over her. "I love him," she said quietly, and that made it all worse. She had no idea what happened now, no idea whether she would hear from him, whether she would see him again.
"I know," her father said quietly. He held her for a while. "I still trust him, Mariah."
Lifting her head, she searched his face. "Why?"
"Casey has integrity, Mariah. In all the years I've known him, this is the only time he's done something questionable that didn't seem necessary or somehow in the line of duty."
There was something in his eyes. "You've seen him," she breathed.
He gave her a faint nod. "I wish I could say he's fine, but he isn't, Mariah. He gave up everything once before, and now they've taken everything he is away from him." He let that sink in. "Give him time, sweetheart. He needs the space."
They continued to sit on her sofa, Mariah leaning against him until dawn. She stirred, then, and started breakfast. As she sat a plate of eggs and sausage in front of her father, she heard Victoria. When she picked up her daughter, she realized that for the first time, Victoria had slept through the night.
She was surprised her father lingered, helped her with the dishes, and suggested she go to bed while he minded his granddaughter. Mariah shook her head. She did go take a shower, and she felt a little better when she rejoined him. He asked her if she had given any thought to what she would do now. Mariah nearly dismissed the question, but then she paused. If she couldn't rejoin John, if she was stuck here, then she had to think about a few things. She shook her head. "I don't know."
Her father sat forward and stared into her eyes. "This negates your deal with the Americans."
It was true, she realized, though instinct nearly made her protest. She had given up her job for John, had agreed to not work in intelligence so there was no question of conflict of interest and no potential abuse of their relationship. Mariah, though, had learned something about herself in the months since Victoria was born. She liked being home with her daughter. She didn't have to work, could afford not to, but she no longer had her husband to share her time with. John had always made a concerted effort to share parenting responsibilities with her, and he had always made sure she had some time of her own.
She knew she would be bored, though, if she didn't find something to do. John and Victoria had filled her time, and she had friends in Los Angeles. She had friends in Ottawa, but they were a different kind of friend, and Victoria would change that dynamic.
"You could come back to ISI," her father offered. "I won't give you a field job, though." He went on to explain that he could use another competent analyst in ICOM. It would give Mariah something to do, and it would help him out. She was reluctant, suspected it was just a cushion while her personal life was in limbo. Then she wondered if her father knew something she didn't, wondered if he was preparing her for the end of her marriage.
Mariah rubbed a hand over her eyes, decided she was simply too tired to think about what she might do if her marriage was truly over, but when she met her father's eyes, she hedged. "I'll think about it."
He sent her to bed, and while Mariah didn't expect to sleep, she did. When she woke, she found her father gone and her mother in her living room.
Ariel hugged her, held her close, and Mariah sank into her mother's arms. To her surprise, her mother didn't give her yet another John Casey, Bastard, rant. She simply asked if Mariah was alright. They went through it all, and her mother asked her, as her father had done, what Mariah wanted to do now.
She was getting tired of that question. She loved her husband, and as far as she was concerned, he was her husband until he told her differently. She answered her mother honestly, told her she didn't know. That was enough for Ariel, thankfully.
Her mum told her to leave Victoria with her and to go do what she needed to. Mariah had not yet had time to find a crib, so she went shopping. She bought furniture for her daughter, bought a monitor system, and then went to a grocer's once more. Her mother's presence meant more food, so she gave some thought to feeding her mother. As she did so, she thought about what her father had said.
By the time she returned home, she decided that if after a week or so she hadn't heard from John, she would assume the worst and would accept her father's offer. She decided a few other things as well. Over dinner, she asked her mother for the name of a good attorney, one who could be discreet, in California. Her mother sat her fork down and stared at her. After a few moments, Ariel asked, "Why?"
Rather than answer, Mariah got up and once more opened her small safe and withdrew the documents she had begun accumulating. She handed her mother the deportation order. When Ariel finished reading it, she looked sharply at her daughter. "Did they give you any paperwork on the nullification of your marriage?"
Mariah shook her head.
"I'm no expert, Mariah, but while I suspect you have grounds for divorce if you want, I doubt California law gives the government the ability to nullify your marriage without either yours or Casey's consent." She cocked her head. "May I ask why you want to talk to an attorney?"
She decided to be honest. "I want to know if this is legal, first of all, and then I want to know what my rights, what Victoria's rights, are."
Her mother chewed her lower lip a moment. "I think you need two kinds of expertise," she mused, "family law and immigration. You also need someone, as you note, who can be discreet. I don't mean to sound selfish, but I would rather not have the publicity right now." Her mother had a deal going on, and Mariah understood that having it become public knowledge that her daughter had married a lying traitor was probably not good for business. "I think I know just the person," Ariel said at last.
The next morning Mariah called the attorney her mother recommended. She liked the sound of Sheryl Ballenger, and when she explained her problem and explained that she could not come to California, the woman offered to come to her. Ballenger also told her that her mother was right, that only Mariah could ask to have the marriage nullified. She explained that she could claim fraud since John had not used his real name. The attorney further explained she would be given putative spouse status under California law, and she would have several of the same protections in terms of separation she would have had if she had been legally married.
Mariah stopped her there. She explained, carefully, so there would be no misunderstanding, that she didn't want her marriage set aside.
"That's a different matter," she was told, and then the attorney explained she would have to prove she had good reasons to remove any of the impediments to her marriage's legality. Mariah asked what that meant, and after a pause, the woman said, "Since this seems to hinge on the fraud—your husband using a name not actually his—then you would have to prove that he had legally acquired the name under which he married you."
They made arrangements for the woman to come to Ottawa and see Mariah. She explained to the attorney she didn't have any of her documents and asked if the woman would be able to get copies her marriage certificates. Her mother's head shot up at the plural. The attorney was taken aback as well. Mariah, red-faced, watched her mother's shocked expression as she explained that she and John had married twice, the first time on April 17 with a confidential license and again on July 4 in the public ceremony with a regular license. She gave her the names of the officiants and the locations of both ceremonies, and the attorney told her she would e-mail her some documents. Mariah would need to complete them and fax them back so she could get the records.
When she hung up, her mother's brows raised, and Mariah explained what she and John had done and why. To her surprise, her mother said nothing. Ariel gave her a look that spoke volumes, though, and, for once, that wasn't a bad thing. "Mum, this makes no sense. John isn't the kind of man who would do the things they say he has done. I do believe he would do anything necessary if someone he loved were in jeopardy, but I have a hard time believing General Beckman would fire her pet agent. Something's wrong here. I'm also having trouble with the whole Alexander Coburn thing. There's simply too much that doesn't add up."
"Mariah, you married a spy. Lies are part of the territory."
She knew that had been her mother's experience. "John made me promises, Mum, and he's a man of his word. I believe that he didn't lie to me. I believe he is who he claimed to be—and no," she said when it was clear her mother was going to object "It isn't just wishful thinking on my part." She ran through the things she had written down.
At the end of her recitation, her mother sighed. "Mariah, I don't doubt for a moment that that man loves you. I don't doubt he's been good to you and to Victoria." She rubbed a hand over the back of her neck, a habit Mariah knew meant she was thinking through something but wasn't quite convinced. "The truth is, Mariah, you didn't know him that well before you married him, despite having lived for over a year with him, and don't forget he spent a good chunk of that year apart from you. He has a whole history you don't and can't know about because that makes you a threat. Have you asked yourself what other mines are in the field?"
Her mother had a point. This was the first time she had been blindsided by something in John's past. She had known about Ilsa coming in, and she had known about Carina. He had told her about other things, but generally only when it was clear she had to know. "Mum, I'm sure there's more, and I'm sure it will hurt when it comes out, but I love him. I trust him. I find it hard to believe he's done anything that would make me stop doing either."
Ariel shook her head. "Do what you must, Mariah, but I think you'd be better off to just lay low. If Casey's what you claim and not what V. H. says he is, then he'll bear out your faith in him. If he isn't, then we'll be here for you.
She got up and hugged her mother. "Thanks, Mum."
They talked more. Mariah finally decided to take the ICOM job. She'd have to work out care for Victoria. As she explained to her mother, that was not going to be easy. She needed to know her daughter was with someone safe, and then there was the fact that she was nursing her and it was too soon to wean her. Her mother raised her brows and said, "There ought to be some benefits to being the boss's daughter."
Mariah smiled. If the job was as it was before, she would have an office of her own. She could make room for Victoria there. Maybe she could work part-time rather than full-time. She'd talk to her father.
She expected to have to negotiate with her father. He had immediately agreed that she could bring Victoria to work. Mariah had been stunned into silence for a few moments. She told him she was rejoining ISI.
In the end, a retired operative, the same woman she had called on when she was deported back to Ottawa, Isobel Gerrard, was hired as Victoria's nanny.
On her first day back, she had a sense of déjà vu. She was processed much as any new operative would be, except that the people who provided her photo ID, her badge for when she was in the building, and all the others, recognized her and talked to her as they would any other colleague as opposed to a newbie who needed to prove herself. She was handed the operational manual, and she was taken to Dave in ICOM. Dave was so happy to see her, Mariah was actually touched. She smiled at the bear of a man and told him she was glad to be back.
It was only a small lie. Mariah had realized what a job in ICOM could do for her.
She had made a deal with her father over Victoria. Mrs. Gerrard would bring Victoria to her at pre-scheduled times of the day for feeding. Mariah felt guilty about that, but it was a workable solution.
It wasn't hard to get back in the groove, either. She had spent more time in ICOM than any other part of ISI, so she slotted in easily. Amanda Sears, another analyst, on the other hand, saw her as a threat. She initially tried to subvert Mariah, and then she made sniping remarks about her relationship with her father. On Mariah's third day, the younger woman whined about the files Dave insisted she shred. Mariah had nearly done a double take when she looked at the pile of files slated for shredding. John's dossier was one of the files designated for destruction. Mariah made an instant decision. "I could do it for you."
Amanda perked up. "Really? Thanks." She dumped them in Mariah's arms.
Mariah took them in her office and sat them on her desk. She separated John's from the stack, stashed it in her desk drawer, and then turned her attention to the reports Dave asked her to analyze. After several hours of working through information about a small Caribbean nation, she found what they were looking for. She wrote her report quickly, gave it to Dave, and told him she was taking her break. When she had spent her fifteen minutes with her daughter, she returned to her office and dutifully saw to the destruction of files. She didn't feel even the slightest guilt for not sending John's through the shredder as well, figured if they were getting rid of his paper record it was fair game.
She took it home that night after she made sure there was no security strip embedded in the dossier's cover or documents. She had found such a strip, but she knew how to remove it and did so. She stashed the file in her bag, and because she was who she was, the guard on the door waved her through rather than searched her belongings. If she were more scrupulous, she would report that to her father. As it worked to her advantage, she decided to say nothing.
That night she sat on her couch with the dossier, a notebook, and a cup of tea, and she reread it carefully. When she had read it prior to going to California, she had been reading for an overview, a sense of the man with whom she would live and work. This time, she was looking for the truth about her husband. She read slowly, she made notes, and she wondered what she thought she was doing. She had violated at least three federal laws and four ISI policies to steal John's dossier.
When she finished, she had another piece or two of the puzzle. The dates of John's known record didn't quite match what was in the dossier her godfather had given her. She still had that file, and she matched Alexander Coburn against John Casey. She confirmed the discrepancies she had already noted. She sighed. That had managed to get her nowhere. She would return the dossier in the morning, send it through the shredder.
But she didn't. She kept it. She wanted to think about this a little longer.
She took a day off midweek to meet with Sheryl Ballenger. She didn't want to meet the woman in her home, and a public venue was probably not a good idea, either. She had invested several years earlier in an old mill that had been chopped into loft apartments. It was quiet there, and at the moment, she had only one tenant. She arranged to meet the attorney at the apartment she had furnished for herself, where she had lived before she decided she'd rather be in the city closer to ISI.
Sheryl Ballenger turned out to be about Mariah's height and a ball of energy. She sat down with Mariah and began handing her documents, including copies of her marriage certificates and copies of the California family code. She explained about marriage nullification, told her that if John had never legally become John Casey, then they were not married. Mariah stared at copies of her marriage license applications where he had neatly written the name by which she knew him. "What if he is John Casey and not this Alexander Coburn?" she asked the attorney.
"Then the marriage is legal, and there are no grounds on which to set it aside."
Mariah nodded, still puzzling over why John's family would pretend to be his family if he were Alexander Coburn. Perhaps Jane was the key, she thought, and she wondered how to exploit that.
Sheryl had moved on, asked Mariah if she was certain she didn't want to nullify the marriage. "I'm certain," she told the older woman.
They segued to the immigration issue. Sheryl admitted it wasn't her area of expertise, so she had consulted another attorney in her practice. Mariah was alarmed, but the woman assured her she had given no particulars beyond the fact that a woman with dual citizenship, born in Canada to an American mother and a Canadian father had been deported and told she no longer had American citizenship. Since Mariah had been convicted of no crime, nor had she been charged with one, without further information, he was at a loss as to why her citizenship would be revoked. She asked Mariah if she would like to retain him to pursue the matter.
By then, Mariah had given some thought to that. She had concluded that someone wanted her safely out of the way, and she suspected that someone might be her husband. It was also possible her father had been the one to decide she needed to watch from the sidelines. She shook her head, told the woman she was only interested in the validity of the marriage at this point. The immigration matter could wait and might be supported by having her marital status sorted out. Sheryl agreed with her, and they mapped out a plan for resolving the issue. Mariah wrote the woman a check by way of retainer and to cover her travel expenses, and then they said their goodbyes.
Since she hadn't been in the building for a while, she took the opportunity to go though and inspect it. She ought to sell it, but as she walked outside along the river, she thought it might be a good place to bring Victoria when she was old enough to play outside. It was quiet here along the river, and there were extensive grounds. She could keep her tenants or move them out. Perhaps she would hire some staff and move them in with them. Then she sighed. Her home, her daughter's home, was wherever her husband was. She doubted John would willingly live in Canada.
On Friday, her father asked if she would be his date for a charity event. He made a face when he asked, explained that he didn't want to take a real date because he'd like to escape as soon as he could. Mariah reluctantly agreed, and when he came to pick her up, he brought Mrs. Munson, his housekeeper, to care for Victoria.
When she ran into someone she knew who said something of interest to her, she was glad she agreed to go. It had been a long time since she had last seen Félix de la Roca. He worked for the Honduran government these days, but she had known him as a fellow student at Memorial. They talked about their mutual friends, and then he said to her, "I heard you married."
She nodded.
"I heard your husband was an American spy, and that he committed treason."
Mariah saw the sympathy on his face, and she saw an opportunity. She sighed, put her most unhappy look on her own face, and said, "They tell me he's really someone called Alexander Coburn, though this Coburn was supposedly killed in 1989—in your country, as a matter of fact."
He looked shocked. "Surely not."
She shrugged, and then she let herself look angry. "I'm stuck in legal limbo, Félix. I want the marriage nullified, but to do so, I have to prove the accusations true, that my husband wasn't who he said he was when we were married. I wish there was some way to prove he isn't John Casey and is this Alexander Coburn."
They moved on to other topics, and after Mariah looked at pictures of his children and wife, who was not in attendance, and showed him a photograph of Victoria, she sighed, looked sad, and the next thing she knew, Félix offered to see if he could find anything that might help her. She wrote her telephone numbers out for him—she had finally replaced her BlackBerry—and a few days later, he called and asked if she could join him for lunch. Over some rather excellent pasta, Félix passed her a CD that contained files on her husband and on Alexander Coburn.
Not long afterward, she went with her father to a political event. Her father hated those, hated having to mingle with what he termed mindless, amoral politicians, and she smiled and chatted to people while her father worked the room, schmoozed politicians who would soon set ISI's budget.
Once again, Mariah got a golden opportunity. She knew John had been in Prague, but she wasn't clear on the dates. The Czech commerce attaché struck up a conversation with her. She had met the man several times before. He and her father were old adversaries who had become good friends, and like many commerce agents, he was really a spy. He commiserated with her over her husband, and while Mariah was getting really tired of that, she seized the opportunity to play the wronged woman and got a promise of information. Two days later, she went to a dead drop and retrieved a rather thick file on her husband.
At her father's request, she attended another gala with a distant cousin who was a member of the RCMP. If she hadn't remembered what an ass the man was, she might have been happier to have him as an escort, especially since she met an old friend who was well placed in CSIS. This time, she made the direct approach: her husband, the bastard, had left her hanging when he committed treason. The Americans were willing to let him just become a civilian, probably because he knew too many of their secrets. She needed grounds to divorce him, and she was hoping she could definitively prove John Casey was Alexander Coburn. She knew her audience, knew the woman was a closet lesbian, and Mariah knew she disliked John with a passion. The other woman agreed to see what she might be able to provide in support. She delivered in an encrypted e-mail two weeks later.
To stay in shape, Mariah had taken to going for a run early in the morning. After Mrs. Gerrard arrived and before she had to begin getting ready for work, she ran along the streets of her neighborhood. Many countries, particularly those in Latin America, had embassies nearby. She ran past the Costa Gravan embassy each morning. Her route varied, but at some point she always passed the Costa Gravan gates. One morning she was joined by Captain Antonio Suarez. She smiled at him, greeted him when he came out of the gate dressed for running. "You come by every morning," he said.
"I live nearby," she said.
"So el Ángel de la Muerte is close?"
"No," she panted, relieved to not hear a note of panic in the man's voice. "He's in California—I think."
Suarez put his hand on her forearm and stopped her. "I heard you went back to ISI." She confirmed that. "Then why is the Colonel not here?"
She turned to him, and then she gave him an expurgated version of the truth. When she finished, Suarez looked shocked. "That cannot be true. The Generalissimo will not be happy to learn this."
Mariah tilted her head. "Is the Generalissimo here in Ottawa?" Her mind raced at the possibilities, and she considered how to play this. She knew she would have to get to Goya, and that might take some doing.
Suarez nodded.
"Can I see him?" she asked. He gave her a look, and she blushed. "I would like to speak to him, if I may."
Later that day, she received an invitation to a gala at the embassy. Her father, when he heard, told her not to go. By then he had discovered that she was asking questions about John in several quarters, and he told her she was possibly causing real harm to her husband. She had given him an even look and said nothing. As she dressed that night, being careful not to expose too much flesh or wear anything too tight, her father arrived at her apartment. He wore a tuxedo, and when she let him in, he shrugged and grumbled, "If you insist on doing this, I might as well have your back."
She had a private audience with Generalissimo Goya. She answered his questions about her husband honestly, and then she told him she didn't believe what she had been told, that she was looking for evidence to the contrary. Goya had stared hard at her before he told her he could not help her. He was kind, but he was firm. He told her he was saddened to know her husband had betrayed his country, that despite their differences, her husband had saved his life as many times as he had tried to take it. Mariah nearly cried when he told her she should, for the sake of her child, put her husband and his crimes behind her.
The next morning Suarez knocked on her door. She didn't know how he got in, but she intended to find out. He handed her a small stack of CDs and left without a word. All the intelligence Costa Gravas had gathered on John was written on the disks. Mariah, when she read it that evening, was amused to find that the level of intimate detail about her husband was astonishing. Much of it was useless to anyone but an assassin but astonishing nonetheless. She finally realized that Costa Gravas had planned to return the favor and kill John.
There were photographs, and she recognized one particular face in the photographs included. He had been killed in Costa Gravas, taken in an aborted attempt on Goya. There was no mistaking the boy's identity, and if this was true—and she had not asked Suarez or Goya about Coburn—then he had died in Costa Gravas in 1987, not 1989, and not in Honduras.
So who had died in Honduras?
Aside from a new mystery, she was getting a more complete picture of John and this Alexander Coburn from the material she gathered. She was irritated that her forays into public events had been noticed by a young reporter from one of the major newspapers. Then the gossip columns were on to her. The press interest made pursuing information on John and on Alexander Coburn more difficult.
At another government function, she met a French intelligence officer who supplied her with their dossier on John—redacted to remove references to Ilsa, she presumed. She managed to get another file from the Saudis and one from the Italians, much to her surprise, and she had quietly contacted a friend with the RCMP who had given her what they had. But the two biggest shocks awaited her.
Mariah had taken to stopping at a coffee shop near ISI's headquarters in the morning for a cup of decaf. She patiently stood in line when a familiar voice behind her asked how she had been. She turned and looked at Nicholas Brocklehurst. She had last seen him at the beginning of this whole debacle across the restaurant in Washington before she boarded a plane to Los Angeles. The MI-6 agent asked if she could be a little late to work. Mariah knew no one would say anything if she was, so she nodded. They each got their coffee and walked toward a nearby park. As they strolled and sipped their coffee, Nicholas said, "You're raising eyebrows, Mariah."
"How so?" she asked blandly.
"Your husband is a traitor. There are a lot of people who would like to see him dead and who have lobbied for that outcome."
"That's John," she said.
"Don't be flippant, Mariah," he said mildly. "I'm here because my boss is worried about what might happen to you."
She smiled. Her father had a lot of friends in the intelligence community, and one of his best was MI-6's current M. "How is Uncle M?"
Nicholas snorted, and she watched a wry smile lift the corners of his mouth. "You know he hates being called that," he chided.
Ignoring that, because it was definitely true, which was why she enjoyed calling the man that, she said, "I doubt he sent you to offer a friendly warning."
Her companion put a hand in the small of her back to steer her down a different path than the one she was about to choose. "He sent me to do exactly that, Mariah. People are beginning to talk. You've asked at least ten agencies for information about your husband. It's clear it isn't official, and if you don't stop, someone will stop you."
Mariah thought about what he said. Perhaps she had moved too quickly, had been less subtle than she should have been, but she felt she was running out of time. "The NSA or the CIA has talked to your boss."
Instead of denying it, he offered, "The former Ambassador sends his regards."
She grinned. "Tell Sir Mark I'm honored by his kind thoughts." She liked the former British ambassador to the United States. He had sacrificed his political ambitions for what was right. "Shit," she said softly, making the connection from Sir Mark Brydon to the likely source. Sir Mark had friends in the American's National Security Council, and it would be just like General Diane Beckman to involve friendly outsiders.
"I don't know all of what's going on," Brocklehurst said, "but the Americans would like you to go quietly, Mariah. They've got a game running, a very dangerous game, and whatever it is you're doing, it's been noticed, and it's causing problems. I'm begging you, my boss begs you, stop now. Wait. Let whatever this is play out."
Mariah looked at him. "It's my life, Nicholas. It's my daughter's life."
Reaching a hand out, he stopped her, turned to face her. "You think I don't know what it's like, Mariah, but I do. Mine's dead. Yours is still alive, and if you want him to stay that way, you should lie low."
She felt contrite. She had forgotten about Nicholas's relationship with Christopher Styles, had forgotten about the debacle over Tyrgyztan. They were all still dealing with the fallout from that mess. "Alright, Nicholas," she said, "I won't promise I'll stop, but I will be more discreet."
He gave her a crooked smile. "I think we can live with that."
Nicholas walked her to ISI, touched her shoulder and then continued on his way. She stood on the walk and watched him go before finally going up the stairs and in to work. She found a tiny flash drive in her coat pocket when she went to lunch. When she opened it, she had MI-6's files on her husband, heavily redacted in some places.
The final pieces came from yet another government function. Mindful of what Nicholas had told her, she didn't ask anyone else about her husband. To her great surprise, though, a man sidled up to her when she went to get a club soda from the bar. "Yevgeny," she acknowledged.
"Mariah," he said with a charming smile. "Back at home, I see."
She nodded.
"I have something for you," he said in his native Russian, and she gave him a confused look. "I should be hurt. You didn't come and ask us about your traitorous husband."
Mariah set her teeth to keep from saying something she really shouldn't. There was no love lost between her and the Russian agent. "My husband—"
"Is a traitor," he growled. "I understand he admitted as much."
The bartender handed her drink over. She smiled her thanks and started to move away. Yevgeny grabbed her arm. "I don't like your husband. If I ever meet him again, I will kill him. You, though, ought to know who you married." He slipped a flash drive into her purse and walked away.
That weekend she started putting it all together. She didn't trust Yevgeny, so she took all the precautions she had been taught before she opened the drive. Score one for the NSA, she thought and savored the irony as she did so. The Soviets and then the Russians had by far the fullest dossier on her husband. That was hardly surprising since he had done his work in several countries affiliated with the Soviets in both hemispheres and in the Soviet Union and now Russia itself. She wasn't sure how much of what Yevgeny gave her to believe, but by carefully cross checking it all with the by now considerable amount of intel she had, she was able to verify a frightening amount of it. By the end of the weekend, she had built a timeline of John's intelligence career that included Alexander Coburn. She had known John had done things she really didn't want to know. She now had more than just innuendo; she had hard facts corroborated by several intelligence agencies. She ran through the notes she made and fleshed it out further.
The most damning piece remained the killing of Alexander Coburn in Costa Gravas. Antonio Suarez had given her a phone number, and she decided to call him. Pay phones were harder to find these days, but she knew where there was one she could use. When she took Victoria out to the store that afternoon, she stopped in the lobby of a bank and used the phone there. She was relieved to find it was a direct line, and he agreed to meet her later. She did her shopping and came home through the park. He was where she had asked him to be.
She sat on the bench that touched its back to that of the one where he was seated. "Alexander Coburn," she said softly.
"We killed him."
For a moment she sat and absorbed the stark statement. Since she trusted him, and because she needed to know but couldn't ask outright, for clarity she said, "I thought he died two years later in Honduras."
Suarez sighed. "There may have been another Alexander Coburn, but we killed the one in the reports I gave you."
It was time to get to the heart of the matter: "Were you there?" she asked softly.
"As was el Ángel de la Muerte." Mariah was surprised she didn't get whiplash from aborting the instinctive swing to look at him. "We had not yet named him thus, and he was only a Captain then, but he was there. He tried unsuccessfully to save Coburn."
That sounded like John, minus the unsuccessful part, she thought numbly. "You're positive?"
"On my mother's life," he said.
Mariah stood, took hold of Victoria's stroller, and said, "Thank you," before she walked off, deep in thought.
Two days later she sent an eyes-only report to the Director General of ISI. In it she detailed what she had learned about Alexander Coburn and her conclusion that John Casey had assumed the man's identity before pretending to die and becoming John Casey once more. There were gaps, not the least of which was why he had resumed the Casey identity if he had been trying to convince someone he was Coburn. Without information from the Americans, though, she would never be able to answer that question.