Page 10 of Mastermind

Some of the Quantico crew flew back on the jet. I decided to stay behind because I wanted to try to catch the briefing that’s set to happen in ten minutes two floors down from here. That’s where whoever the director put in charge will try to explain what’s going on after reading through everyone’s reports, following up with phone calls, and figuring out how to do their best impression of someone who has a clue.

Robert Ailes, the man who pulled me from a desk job and into his special unit, tried to talk me into taking a supervisory role after sending me out into the field started to feel like Russian roulette. I didn’t have what it takes for management, however. I like people well enough, but not all of them at once. And I totally didn’t have the bullshit factor it takes to be a boss and convince a room full of people that you’re less clueless than they are.

There’s a knock on the door. “Blackwood?” asks Sheppard.

“I’m changing,” I reply.

“Oh, sorry.”

“I’m kidding,” I say as I get up. “I didn’t exactly bring a change of clothes. Come in.”

Actually, I keep underwear and a T-shirt in my bag, but that’s not what I’d call a proper change.

Sheppard enters with two cups of coffee. “It’s black. That okay?”

“I’d take crude oil at this point,” I reply, accepting the cup from him. “How are you doing?”

I can see the bags under his eyes. It’s one of the signs I notice in men as they age: you can tell how much sleep they’ve had by looking at their eyes.

“Okay. The mist is a lot clearer. They’ve got the power back up in some places. But a lot of the grid is fried.”

“Casualties?” I ask.

“Still figuring that out. Probably in the hundreds, assuming that smoke doesn’t cause issues later on.”

“Let’s hope not,” I say as he holds the door open for me and we head to the elevator. “How’s Vaslov?”

“I don’t think he’s fully gotten over the helicopter crash. I don’t think I have, either,” he says, staring into space.

“Oh yeah. It’s a stunner.”

“You were in a plane crash, right?”

“A small one. I caused it.”

He looks at me in disbelief. “How do you deal with this? We were in a helicopter crash a few hours ago. You . . . Don’t you even think about it afterward?”

“Um, no. Not until now.”

We make our way downstairs to the conference room.

“How is that kind of recovery even possible?” he asks.

“My therapist says it’s a symptom of unresolved PTSD. I think it’s because I know I can’t think too much about the disaster that just happened because there’s always a new one waiting for me.”

We take seats in the back as the chiefs up front talk among themselves and go over notes. One of them has his back to us. He seems to be the one they’re all coordinating with. Poor bastard.

I see him tilt his head to listen closely and recognize the gesture as one I’ve seen a thousand times in the bullpen.

Gerald?

I knew he’d been reassigned to headquarters and was managing some internal task force, but other than pleasantries on birthdays, we haven’t kept in touch. I sent a present when he and Candice had their little girl, but I didn’t pay much attention after that.

“Did you work with him?” asks Sheppard. “One of Ailes’s other misfits?”

“Yeah. Ailes recruited him, actually. Gerald was about to take a job at Google. Ailes convinced him to take a huge pay cut and have bullets fired in his direction.” I shrug.

“Is he any good as a cop?”