Shit.Court wanted to know what Irene was doing, but the only way to find out was to send Reyes even closer. After a few seconds, he said, “Bricklayer. Go in that room, have a quick look around, then get out of the building.”
Arnold did not reply, which pleased Court greatly. He didn’t know if he was going to follow Court’s instructions, but it was better that he didn’t answer him.
Zack, watching the streaming feed through the glasses, picked up the play-by-play as Court walked on past the front of the Hirshhorn, past the GMC Savana, heading to the east.
Zack said, “He’s entering a room…it’s like graffiti on the walls, on the ceiling, on the floor. The whole space is a single piece of art, I guess. Everything’s black and white.”
After a quick pause, Travers spoke up. “Six, I’ve ID’d a red Econoline van over here. Two dudes in the front seat. Beardy tough guys.”
Travers was a beardy tough guy himself, but Court took his meaning. “Roger, don’t get clocked by them, head back to Night Train’s vic.”
Zack spoke again. “There are just two people in the graffiti room with Bricklayer. You’re doing good, man, just keep looking around, and when I tell you, I want you to turn to the right and go out that door on the opposite side. We’ll try to get a quick viz on their faces.”
Still Arnold said nothing.
Court was barely listening, though; instead, he was making mental calculations. There might have been watchers in the Metro; he had clocked one or two on the west side of the Hirshhorn, and Travers had picked up two on the east. Assuming this was all one team, there would surely be more inside the museum.
Whatever the fuck Ortega was involved in, she sure was surrounded by a lot of interested parties.
Zack spoke to Arnold now. “Okay, man. Just turn right and head out that door, look slowly back over your right shoulder as you do, but don’t stop.”
Court decided they all needed to get the hell out of here. He was about to order everyone in the vehicles to vacate when Zack said, “Good. Got the image we need of two unknown subjects.”
“Everyone, abort,” Court said. “Teddy, you’re with Night Train. Bricklayer, you’re with me, I’ll take the wheel.”
Immediately Zack spoke again. “Shit.”
Court almost stopped in his tracks on the sidewalk. “What happened?”
Zack didn’t answer; instead, he said, “You okay, Bricklayer? Just nod if you’re good.”
“What’s going on?” Court demanded now. He was almost back to the work van but had slowed, readying himself to turn and race into the museum in case Arnold had gotten jumped or attacked in some way.
“No sweat,” Zack said. Then he added, “Bricklayer walked into a wall when he went into the next room. Shit happens, brother. Now…get out of there.”
—
Five minutes later, Court was behind the wheel of the Savana, driving east on Independence, south of the Capitol Building. Arnold sat next to him; he’d already switched out his glasses and stowed the Ray-Ban video device in their proper case, but he’d said next to nothing, other than asking Court to give him a moment to collect his thoughts.
The guy was scared, still freaking out about what he’d just gone through; his chest heaved under his coat.
“You did great, Arnold,” Court said as the man rubbed sweat from his face.
“Thanks,” Arnold said. Then he added, “I think Gumdrop is going to have to tell me what I saw, because I barely saw anything. I hit a wall and then, when I was leaving, I almost fell down the escalator.”
Court fought a smile. “Usually, our operations run a little more smoothly.” He thought about what he’d said for a second, then shrugged. “Usually.”
—
The entire team had been told to conduct an SDR and then rally back at a three-story townhouse Erin Childers had rented for them in Meridian Hill, just twenty minutes to the north in an urban area of the city between Adams Morgan and Columbia Heights.
It was pitch-black by the time they arrived. Travers pulled the Pacifica into the one-car garage, while Court found parking in the alley out back for the Savana.
Once there, everyone climbed out and immediately stepped into the townhouse. Here, Jill sat at a dining table on the ground floor with several laptops in front of her, and Matt Hanley had just finished brewing a pot of coffee in the nearby kitchen.
The small team converged around the table, asset and support member alike, and they talked about the afternoon. Jill began running facial recognition on everyone picked up on both Arnold’s glasses and the several camera feeds she’d been able to hack into, both in the subway and on the street outside the museum.
As she did this, Hanley said, “I watched the stream as it came in. I don’t think she was there to meet someone. I think she was there to try to spy on somebody else.”
