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different color, as though they had been more recently applied than their neighbors. And they had been, Reel knew.
As soon as the shot was fired the holes would be refilled. The hardening compound would work its magic. For some hours, even some days afterward, the coloration would be slightly, ever so slightly, different. And then it would look just like the rest.
The shot had come from there.
The escape would have also come from there.
Reel looked down at the ground.
Maintenance shed. Pipes, tunnels.
Underneath the park was a maze of tunnels—water, sewer, and abandoned subway tracks. Reel knew this for a fact. It had figured into one of her kills years ago. So many places to run and hide under America’s largest city. Millions of people above were jostling for space, while down below you could be as alone as though you were on the surface of the moon.
Reel began to walk again after putting her binoculars away.
The exit would have probably been in some far-off part of the city. Then the shooter would rise up to street level. A quick ride to the airport or train station and that would be it.
The killer goes free.
The victim goes to the morgue.
The papers would cover it for a while. There might be some geopolitical retaliation somewhere, and then the story would die. Other stories would take its place. One death meant little. The world was too big. And too many people were dying violent deaths to focus for long on any one of them.
Reel walked toward a hotel where she had reserved a room. She would hit the gym to work the kinks out, sit in the steam shower, have a bit of supper, and think about things.
The jaunt to Central Park had not been without purpose.
Will Robie was one of the best, if not the best they had.
Reel had no doubt that Robie had pulled the trigger that morning in Central Park. He had covered his tracks. Made his way aboveground. Taken a plane to D.C. Checked back in at the office.
All routine, or as routine as things got in Robie’s world.
In my world too. But not anymore. Not after Doug Jacobs. The only report they’ll want about me now is my autopsy results.
Reel was fairly sure Robie would be summoned for another mission.
His mission will be to track me down and kill me.
You send a killer to catch another killer.
Robie versus Reel. Nice ring to it.
It sounded like the fight of the century.
And she was certain it would be.
CHAPTER
5
IT WAS RAINING OUTSIDE. There was no window in the room, but Robie could hear the drops hitting the roof. The weather had turned chilly in the last twenty-four hours. Winter was not here yet, but it was knocking on the door.
Robie put one palm on the table and continued to stare at Blue Man.
Obviously, Blue Man was not his real name. It was Roger Walton, but Blue Man would be the only way Robie would ever refer to him. It had to do with the man’s high-level position—in the Blue Ring, to be precise. There were rings above Blue, but not many.
He looked like a grandfather. Silver hair, lengthening jowls, round glasses, immaculate suit, red paisley tie, old-fashioned collar pin, shined wingtips.
Yes, Blue Man was indeed high up in the agency. He and Robie had worked together before. Robie trusted Blue Man more than he trusted most folks here. The list of people Robie trusted was guite short.
“Jessica Reel?” said Robie.
Blue Man nodded.
“We’re sure?”
“Jacobs was her handler. Jacobs was carrying out a mission with Reel. But Jacobs was shot instead of the target. We subsequently determined that Reel was not even in the vicinity of the target. It was all a sham.”
“Why kill Jacobs?”
“We don’t know that. What we do know is Reel has gone off the grid.”
“You have proof she killed Jacobs? Maybe she’s dead and someone else did it.”
“No. It was Reel’s voice on the line with Jacobs right before the shot was taken. Jacobs would have had no idea where in the world she was. She would sound the same whether she was a thousand feet or a thousand miles away.” He paused. “We performed a shot trajectory analysis. Reel made the kill shot from an old town house down the street from where Jacobs was working.”
“No bulletproof windows in the place?”
“There will be now. But the blinds were drawn and the building is protected against electronic surveillance. The shooter had to know the exact layout of Jacobs’s office to make that hit, because otherwise they were shooting blind.”
“Any evidence at the town house?”
“Not really. If Reel was there she policed her brass.”
Well, she would, wouldn’t she, thought Robie. That’s what we’re trained to do, if we have the chance.
Blue Man tapped his finger on the table. It seemed to be in rhythm with the raindrops. “You knew Reel?”
Robie nodded. He knew that question was going to come up and was surprised it hadn’t already. “Came up through the ranks together, so to speak. Did a few missions with her early on.”
“And your thoughts on the woman?”
“She didn’t talk a lot, which was okay with me because I didn’t either. She did her job and she did it well. I never had any concerns with her covering my back. I believed she would go on to do first-rate work.”
“She did, until this,” noted Blue Man. “She’s still the only female operative we’ve ever had.”
“Out there gender doesn’t mean anything,” replied Robie. “So long as you can shoot straight under pressure. So long as you can do your job.”
“What else?”
“We never shared anything personal about each other,” said Robie. “It was not a bonding experience. We weren’t in the military. We knew we would not be working together long-term.”
“How long ago was this?”
“Last mission was well over ten years ago.”
“Did you ever doubt her patriotism?”
“I never really thought about it. I figured if she had gotten that far the question of her loyalty would have been settled.”
Blue Man nodded thoughtfully.
Robie said, “So why am I here? Just gathering intel on Reel from the people who knew her? You’ll find others hopefully who knew her better than I did.”
“That’s not the only reason,” said Blue Man.
The doorknob turned and another man entered the room.
Blue Man was near the top of the agency food chain. This man was even more highly situated than that. Robie would not refer to him by a color.
Jim Gelder was the number two man here. His boss, the director of central intelligence, testified before Congress, went to all the parties, did the D.C. song and dance, and fought for more budget dollars.
Gelder did everything else, meaning he basically ran the place, or at least the clandestine operations part of it, which many considered the most important.
He was in his late forties, but looked older. He had once been trim but had become thick around the middle. His hair was thinning rapidly and his face bore extensive sun damage. Not unusual for a man who had started out in the Navy, where an overabundance of wind, sun, and salt was an occupational hazard. He was as tall as Robie, but seemed larger still.
He glanced at Blue Man, who nodded back deferentially.
Gelder fell into a chair opposite Robie, sat back, unbuttoned his off-the-rack suit, and slid a hand through his graying hair. He cleared his throat and said, “Have you been brought up to speed?”
“For the most part,” said Robie.
He had never been in Gelder’s presence before. He didn’t feel intimidated, only curious. Robie never felt intimidated by anyone unless the person had gotten the drop on him with a weapon. And that almost never happened.
“Jessica Reel,” said Gelder. “Shitstorm.”
“I’ve told what I know about her. And
it’s not much.”
Gelder picked at a bit of jagged nail on his right thumb. Robie noted that the other nails were bitten down to the quick. Not a comforting feeling since he was the number two intelligence man in the country. But Robie knew the man had a lot to worry about. The world was one catalyst away from blowing up.
Gelder had risen to lieutenant commander in the Navy before transferring over to the spy side. It had been a springboard for a fast-rising career, culminating in his current position. It was widely known that he could have had the number one slot but didn’t want it. He liked to do things, but kissing Congress’s ass was not one of them.
“We have to get her,” said Gelder. “Alive or dead. Alive, preferably, so we can find out what the hell happened.”
