“Nor me. But it’s come to my attention recently. Do you know the name Alison Muller? Sometimes she goes by Alison Khan. Sometimes by Sonja Dietrich.”
Yes, indeed. I pictured Ali Muller with her Gucci shades and slow-motion blond hair. Then Joe flashed onto the flat-screen in my mind.
I said, “Ali Muller showed up on security footage around the time of a quadruple homicide last week.”
June said, “I thought so. She was seen by our people, but not positively identified. I have to ask you to keep this between us, Lindsay. I could get in very deep trouble, but look. Joe is missing and I know you must be in hell.”
I nodded dumbly as June said, “Joe and Muller worked together in the CIA.”
“They did? Worked together how?”
“This is what I know,” said June Freundorfer, tugging on her diamond necklace. “Muller sets what’s called, in the trade, honey traps. She uses her, um, appeal, to entice her subject, get close, and once she’s learned what she needs, she’s gone.
“Joe was her superior, I think. At any rate, they were an effective team. Muller had connections to foreign ministers, foreign intelligence operatives, military leaders—you wouldn’t believe the names. She’s not only brought in actionable information, she’s turned enemies into defectors to our side. She’s kind of a legend in the CIA.”
I must have been blinking like a bat under a bright light. I was trying to process information that just didn’t compute. Joe. Managing a Mata Hari for the CIA? No. No way. June could be making this up, but why would she? I thought she was being sincere. Maybe she really could help me. I had to ask.
“June. Is she working with Joe now?”
“I don’t know, Lindsay. But you should know that it’s not impossible. Alison and Joe were close.”
There was a lot of static in my head. “Close.” Meaning sexually. Romantically. Joe and that blond flytrap. I could actually picture that.
“I’m just guessing,” June said, “but maybe his relationship with Alison Muller got out of hand. Maybe that’s why he moved over from the CIA to the FBI. This is speculation built on rumor—but then, that’s my stock in trade.”
I took a swig of the whiskey and coughed most of it up. June handed me a cocktail napkin, and as I dabbed at my face and the table, she said, “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”
“No. But I’m almost completely in the dark.”
Not just dark, pitch freaking black. I remembered what the horrible Brooks Findlay had said to me: “I don’t think you know who you’re married to, Lindsay.”
Wasn’t that the truth?
June said, “To your knowledge, when was the last time anyone saw Alison Muller?
”
I told June that the video featuring Alison Muller was shot Monday a week ago.
“And the last time you saw Joe?”
“I saw him on surveillance video that was shot the next day.”
June sighed and sat back hard.
I managed to ask, “Is Joe alive?”
“I don’t know,” June said. “He hasn’t answered my calls. Look. I have a name for you. John Carroll. He used to go by the tag Number Six, because that was his number on our CO’s speed dial.”
June laughed.
“Funny guy. He was my mentor at the time, and he knew both Joe and Alison before he retired. He may still be in touch with Alison or know someone who is. You can trust him.”
She wrote a name and number down on the cocktail napkin, then answered her phone. When she clicked off, she said, “I’ve got to go. Good luck, Lindsay. Call me if you need to talk.”
CHAPTER 53
THAT MORNING’S THREE a.m. wake-up call had nothing to do with Julie. It was utterly silent in my big hotel room, but my mind was far away and it was very busy.