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Without breaking stride, Rapp yelled over his shoulder, “Did I mention that I found the man in the red hat?”
Rivera hesitated for a second and then called back, “What?”
“You heard me.” Three seconds later the Secret Service agent was at his side.
“Are you jerking me around? Because if you are, I swear…”
“Easy, killer. You really need to calm down.”
“You should talk.”
“I’m a guy.”
“There you go with the sexist stuff again.”
Rapp glanced at her sideways and decided to ignore the comment. “I found the guy on Cyprus, dragged him back here yesterday, and handed him over to the FBI. They’re going to announce the whole thing at ten o’clock this morning.”
“Does the Secret Service know?”
“I talked to Jack Warch this morning. He knew.”
“Bastards. You think they would have called me.”
“Relax. There’s a chance they only found out this morning.”
Rivera shook her head. “You don’t understand. I don’t exist to them anymore. All I am is a reminder of one of the Service’s greatest failures.”
Rapp supposed she was right. They came up on a small diner, and Rapp grabbed the door and held it for her. They went to a booth near the back, and Rapp practically had to fight Rivera for the side that faced the door. Rapp took off his trench coat and when he sat down he lifted his right arm and checked out the torn seam on his suit coat.
“I’m going to pay for that,” Rivera said.
Rapp ignored her. “So I have a few questions for you.”
“I’m serious about paying for it. Don’t ignore me.”
“Are you always this confrontational, or is this all related to work?”
“I think I used to be a pretty positive person.” She got reflective for a moment. “I was happy with my job. My life was good, although, things were a little barren in the love department, but when we’re in campaign mode there’s no time for anything, and then the damn bomb went off and it’s been pretty shitty ever since then.”
Rapp studied her, slightly surprised by her honesty. Rivera was an extremely attractive woman. She could use a little softening around the edges, but the beauty was undeniable, and it was all natural. She didn’t have to work at a thing. Without any makeup or real sense of style she was an effortless eight. At a place like the Secret Service that would make her a ten, and like all law enforcement agencies the Secret Service had no shortage of puss hounds. If he remembered her file right she was in her mid-thirties. Any woman who was this attractive, and still single at this point in her life, must have some issues.
“You ever wish you had died in the attack?” Rapp knew it was a common reaction from survivors. Especially, survivors whose job it was to protect those who died.
Rivera studied Rapp for a moment and then said, “I think wish might be a little strong, but yeah, I’ve thought about it.”
The waitress pulled up to the table and killed the conversation. They both ordered coffee and water, and Rivera ordered the heart-healthy omelet while Rapp asked for the corned beef and hash. When the waitress was gone, Rivera began peppering him with questions about the man in the red hat. Rapp gave her the vanilla version only, maybe just a little more than what the FBI already knew and then he took control of the conversation.
“I haven’t read the report in sometime, so I can’t remember, did you use electronic jammers that morning?”
Rivera shook her head. “That was one of the things I’ve been criticized for.”
“They were available to you and you didn’t use them?” Rap asked a bit surprised.
“That’s what they say, but there wasn’t a person on the detail who knew that, and no one back at headquarters ever told us directly that they were available. They dug up some bullshit, cover your ass, interoffice memo that they claim was sent to us. The only problem is, during the campaign, we’re on the fly nonstop. We don’t have time to read a forty-page memo on our BlackBerry.”
“So no jammers.”
“Correct.”
