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“Hard to feel sorry about it, I know,” said Blue Man, seemingly reading Robie’s thoughts.
“Sorry doesn’t really enter the equation, does it?” said Robie. “What do we know?”
“His name, position, and employment history. We do not know his recent whereabouts, why he was turned, or who killed him.”
They were standing in the middle of a park in Fairfax County, Virginia. To Robie’s left was a Little League baseball diamond. To his right, tennis courts.
“I’m assum
ing he was toasted and left here recently,” Robie said.
“Since no parents reported seeing this pile of detritus while attending their kid’s baseball game last evening, I think we can assume that,” replied Blue Man.
“How’d you find out?”
“We received an anonymous phone call with explicit information.”
“We sure it’s the guy? You can’t get DNA off charred bone, can you?”
Blue Man indicated the left pinky of the body, or at least where the pinky had once been. “They very helpfully covered that finger with fire-retardant material. We removed the finger and made the match off that, both prints and DNA. It’s him.”
“Phone call, pink pinky. That was very helpful of them.”
“I thought so.”
“You said you don’t know why he switched sides?”
“We’re checking all the obvious ones: secret bank accounts, threats to family members, a change in political philosophy. Nothing definitive yet. The truth is we may never know.”
“They’re taking care of loose ends,” said Robie. “You think this guy would have understood his chances of survival were basically zero.”
“All traitors should ultimately recognize that, and yet they do it anyway.”
“Did you come up with any thoughts on Leo Broome?”
“Not yet.”
Blue Man pointed to an SUV parked at the curb. “I think it’s time for that briefing.”
“I don’t have much to tell you.”
“I’m awake. There’s fresh coffee in there. Whatever you can tell me will be more than I know right now.”
As they walked to the vehicle Robie said, “You ever think about retiring or doing something else for a living?”
“Every day.”
“And yet you’re still here.”
Blue Man opened the door of the SUV. “I’m still here. And so are you.”
And so am I, thought Robie.
Robie eased into the backseat. There was a space between him and Blue Man. He closed the door and pointed to two coffee cups in the holder between them. “They’re both black. I don’t like to cut perfectly fine coffee with cream or sugar.”
Robie nodded. “Same with me.”
Robie lifted the cup on his side and put it to his lips. Blue Man did the same with his.
Blue Man said, “Leo Broome?”
Robie could tell the man everything and probably should. But he had a natural disinclination to tell anyone everything. Actually, he had a natural disinclination to tell anyone anything.
“My handler is lying out there barbecued,” began Robie.
“I wouldn’t trust anyone either,” replied Blue Man, again reading Robie’s thoughts. “I can’t force you to tell me what you know.”
He let that statement sit there.
“What about heightened interrogation techniques?”
“Don’t believe in them.”
“Is that the agency’s official position now?”
“It’s my personal one.”
Robie mulled things over for a few seconds.
“Like I said, the girl was on the bus. Her name is Julie Getty. A guy on there tried to kill her. I took him out. We got off, and the bus blew up. I lost my gun in the blast. We got away from the shooter in the alley and she’s staying at my other place.”
“Ties to Leo Broome?”
“A friend of Julie’s parents, Curtis and Sara. I don’t know why the guy on the bus killed them, maybe they knew something and had to be silenced. We need to check out their backgrounds. Whoever killed them probably thought Julie knew the same thing her parents did. She gave me the names of friends of her parents. The Broomes were on that list. I went to their apartment. They were gone. And the place had been scrubbed.”
“So they’re either on the run or dead too,” commented Blue Man.
“Looks to be.”
“Broome was with the DOA. Not exactly the epicenter of espionage.”
“He was also in the military, in Gulf One,” replied Robie.
“That does open up some possibilities.”
Robie eased forward in the seat, making the leather squeak slightly. Outside, the investigation continued as the techs tried to find any clue as to who had taken a human being and turned him into a kabob. Robie did not like their odds of success. Killers who guided you to the bodies didn’t usually leave useful clues behind.
He took another sip of the coffee, let it warm his throat, get it lubricated to talk some more. Robie did not normally like to talk. About anything. But tonight he would make an exception to that rule. He needed help.
“There’s something else,” said Robie.
“I thought there might be,” answered Blue Man.
“I thought initially Julie was the target on the bus. Now I believe that I was.”
“Why?”
“Principally it’s a question of timing. The bomb had to have been put on that bus hours before it left. Julie spontaneously decided to get on the bus after the bomb had already been placed. I had reserved a seat using an alias, an alias someone knew who shouldn’t have known. They couldn’t have known she would be on the bus. But they knew I would be. And that bomb had to be placed on the bus before I even got to the Winds’ apartment.”
“But why kill you? What do you know that can hurt them?”
Robie shook his head. “I can’t figure that one out. At least not yet.”
Blue Man said, “You should be dead, you know.”
“You mean from the bomb blast?”
“No, from the shooting at Donnelly’s.”
“I know. They let me live.”
“So they wanted to kill you before, but now they want to let you live?”
“Change in plan.”
“Why? Do they need you for something?”
The way Blue Man said it made Robie look at him.
“You think I’ve been turned too?”
Blue Man stared over Robie’s shoulder at where the forensic work lights were illuminating the remains of what had once been a man.
“Well, if you have been you can certainly see there’s no future in it.”
