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“Well, it’s not convenient for me.”
“So you had to go. Why?”
“Need to know,” she said. “And you don’t.”
“What? Are you a junior spy or something?”
He glanced at the TV when he caught it out of the corner of his eye. Two sheeted bodies on gurneys were being wheeled out of a condo building. One body was big, one very small.
Another reporter was out front talking to a spokeswoman from the D.C. Metro Police.
The spokeswoman said, “The victims, a mother and her young son, have been identified, but we’re withholding their names until next of kin are notified. We have several leads that we are pursuing. We’re asking for anyone who saw anything to contact us with that information.”
“And it’s been reported that the FBI is heading up the investigation?” asked the reporter.
“The deceased woman was a federal employee. The Bureau’s involvement is standard operating procedure in those situations.”
No, it really isn’t, thought Robie. He kept staring at the screen, hungry for more information. It seemed like a year ago since he had escaped from the building, which was now surrounded by police and federal cops.
“And there was another child?” asked the reporter as she held the mike up to the spokeswoman’s face.
“Yes. He was unharmed.”
“Was the child found in the same apartment?”
“That’s all we can say right now. Thank you.”
Robie turned back to find Julie staring at him.
Her eyes were like acid, eating through any defense or façade he could muster.
“Was that you?”
He said nothing.
“Mother and kid, huh? And what? You help me to make up for that?”
“You want anything else to eat?”
“No. What I want is to leave.”
“I can drive you.”
“No, I’d prefer to walk.”
She went up to her room and was back down a minute later with her backpack.
As he turned off the alarm and opened the front door for her, he said, “I didn’t kill those people.”
“I don’t believe you,” she said simply. “But thanks for not killing me. I’ve got enough shit to deal with as it is.”
He watched her hurry down the gravel drive.
Robie went to get his coat.
CHAPTER
22
ROBIE PUT ON a helmet, slid the leather cover off the Honda street bike, fired it up, and drove it out of the barn. He parked the bike, closed and locked the barn, and then boarded the 600cc silver-and-blue motorcycle once more.
He reached the road in time to see Julie climb into the front seat of a big-as-a-boat ancient Mercury driven by an old woman whose head was barely level with the top of the steering wheel.
Robie let off on the gas and fell in behind the Merc, about fifty yards back. He was not surprised when the big car turned into the gas station he had told Julie about. He raced past, cut down a side road, and doubled back. He stopped the bike and killed the engine. He watched through a gap in a hedge by the road as Julie got out and went over to the pay phone. She hit three keys.
Probably 411, he deduced.
She put in some coins and dialed another number.
Cab company.
She talked, hung up, went inside the station, got the restroom key, and walked around the corner.
She’d have to wait for the cab, and so would Robie.
His phone rang. He glanced at the screen and drew a quick breath.
The number on the ID was known as a “blue” call. It came right from the top of his agency. Robie had never gotten one of those before. But he had memorized the number. He would have to answer it. But that didn’t mean he had to be particularly cooperative.
He clicked the phone key and said, “You can’t trace this call. You know that.”
“We need to meet,” the man said.
It wasn’t his handler. Robie knew it wouldn’t be. Blue calls did not come from handlers in the field.
“I had a meeting last night. I don’t think I can survive another.”
“There will be no repercussions for you.”
Robie said nothing. He let his silence convey the absurdity of this statement.
“Your handler was wrong.”
“Good to know. I still didn’t complete the assignment.”
“The intel was also wrong.”
Robie said nothing. He had an idea where this might be going and wasn’t sure he wanted to go there.
“The intel was wrong,” said the man again. “What happened was unfortunate.”
“Unfortunate? The woman was supposed to die. She was also an American citizen.”
Now it was the other man’s turn to say nothing.
“IG’s Office,” said Robie. “I was told she was part of a terrorist cell.”
“What you were told is irrelevant. Your job is to execute the order.”
“Even if it’s wrong?”
“If it’s wrong, it’s not your job to deal with it. It’s mine.”
“And who the hell are you?”
“You know this is a blue call. It’s above your handler. Well above. Let’s leave it at that until we can meet.”
Robie watched as Julie came back around from the restroom and went inside to return the key.
“Why was she targeted?”
“Listen, Robie, the decision on you can be changed. Is that what you want?”
“I doubt it matters what I want.”
“Actually it does. We don’t want to lose you. We consider you a valuable asset.”
“Thanks. Where’s my handler?”
“Reassigned.”
“You mean he’s dead too?”
“We don’t play those games, Robie. You know that.”
“I apparently don’t know a damn thing.”
“Things are what they are.”
“Keep telling yourself that. You might start believing it.”
“We’re in damage control, Robie. We need to work together on this.”
“I’m not feeling real good about working with you guys ever again.”
“But you need to move beyond that. In fact, it’s imperative that you do.”
