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this country placed very close to home.” He shot a glance at Colwell. “And it wasn’t simply at CIA. It was at your agency as well.” Colwell immediately lost most of his cocksure manner.
The president returned his gaze to Tucker. “I thought it an isolated incident. I am sitting here almost entirely due to the courage and skill of Will Robie. If he thought something was still wrong, then so do I. If he said that DiCarlo was worried, I believe him.”
“And yet he’s gone off the grid,” said Colwell.
“That could be explained any number of ways,” said Whitcomb.
“If he’s teamed up with Jessica Reel, and she was responsible for the deaths of Jim Gelder and Doug Jacobs, then any explanation would be highly problematic,” noted Tucker ominously.
Blue Man glanced at him, but Tucker continued, “I have heard theories that Gelder and Jacobs were traitors to this country. I am aware that a former analyst to the CIA, Roy West, was recently killed. And that Reel and Robie might have been there.”
“That’s the first we’ve heard of such speculation,” snapped Whitcomb.
“Because that’s what it is, speculation,” countered Tucker. “I don’t know where people stand on this thing. I don’t know if Reel and/or Robie are on our side or not. What I do know is that people are dying and there has to be a good reason for that. The stakes surrounding this matter must be astronomically high. But no one has been able to figure out what they are or where the motivations lie.”
“And Decker?” said Whitcomb quietly. “Could he also be involved somehow? Perhaps a traitor too? Might Reel have killed him too?”
“I don’t know,” said a clearly frustrated Tucker. “I just don’t know.”
Whitcomb said, “Robie told me that he believed it was Jessica Reel who saved his and DiCarlo’s life that night. That she was the countersniper who left all the shell casings. If that is the case then I am hard pressed to see how she could be a traitor.”
“If she shot and killed Jacobs and Gelder, she is at the very least a murderer,” snapped Tucker, but then he seemed to regret his loss of temper. He went on more calmly, “If they were traitors, that’s why we have courts. You don’t go around and just shoot people because you suspect them of some wrongdoing.”
“Yes, but be that as it may,” said Whitcomb, “I’m not prepared to come down so hard on Reel if the men had turned against their country. There is nothing in her record, or Robie’s for that matter, that would suggest either of them have turned traitor.”
“Well the same holds true for Jim Gelder and Doug Jacobs,” interjected Tucker.
“Duly noted,” said the president. “But we’ll cross that bridge if and when we come to it. For the time being, we have to put every resource we have into solving this thing. And that includes finding Robie and Reel, as quickly as possible. If they are working for us somehow, they could be invaluable in clearing up this matter.”
“And if they’re working against us?” asked Tucker.
“Then their fate is completely predictable.” The president looked around. “Any disagreements there?”
Every other man in the room shook his head.
The president rose. “I’ll be leaving for Ireland shortly. But keep me informed. Highest priority. No major decisions without briefing me. Clear?”
The others nodded.
The men all stood as the president disappeared through a door held open for him by a Secret Service agent.
When the door closed behind him, Whitcomb sat. So did the others.
“So where do we really stand on all this, Gus?” asked Tucker.
“I thought the president was perfectly clear on it, Evan,” said Whitcomb in mild surprise.
“With the things he said, yes. I mean the things that were left unsaid.”
“I think you can deduce what they are. But I’ll give you a hint. If this isn’t resolved satisfactorily then there will be ultimate accountability.”
He looked at Tucker, then at Colwell, and finally at Blue Man. “Ultimate accountability,” he repeated.
“How much time do we have?” asked Colwell.
Whitcomb rose, signaling an end to the meeting. “Apparently almost none at all.”
CHAPTER
68
REEL AND ROBIE SEPARATED AFTER they got out of her rental car and entered the mall through different doors.
They were communicating via earwigs on a secure frequency. Robie had insisted on treating this like an op, and Reel had quickly agreed. She apparently didn’t expect any trouble, but she also never expected everything to go perfectly either.
That was a good rule to live by, Robie knew, because perfection was rarely the case in the field.
She walked down the main corridor of the mall. It was in the afternoon and there weren’t as many people around as there would be later in the day. Still, she did her best to blend in.
She approached the GameStop from the east side of the mall. She spoke in a low voice. “Ten steps from target. Giving a signal and then heading west and down the hall to the restrooms.”
“Copy that,” said Robie.
He was on the upper level of the mall, hidden in his hoodie, looking down at her as she passed by. He watched as she strode past the GameStop. She slid her finger along her chin and then kept going.
Robie smiled at this. He had used that very same signal once. He watched her turn down the hall to the restrooms.
A minute later, Robie keyed on a short, skinny man wearing a black silkscreened T-shirt who came out of the GameStop and followed the path Reel had taken.
The next second Robie had his hand around the gun in his pocket.
There were two teams out there.
One coming east, the other west.
He had seen dozens of such configurations over the years. They all looked a little different, but to someone like Robie they all also looked the same.
They obviously hadn’t accounted for Robie. He was the wild card. He intended to make the most of that status.
He spoke into his mic. “Two bogie teams headed your way. East, west. Pair of deuces. Armed and commed so they can coordinate.”
That had been one way for Robie to ID the hit teams.
Their earwigs.
He had covered his with a hoodie. They had not seen fit to do that.
Their mistake.
“Copy that,” was Reel’s calm response. “Do what I can.”
“On your six.”
“Copy that.”
She was seconds from having to fight her way out of here, and she sounded like she was simply going to use the bathroom to relieve herself.
Robie would have expected nothing less.
He took the escalator three steps at a time. When he hit the first floor he was already at a full sprint.
One of the bogie teams had already gone down the hall toward the restrooms. The second team was two steps from there.
“FBI, freeze!” called out Robie.
The men did not freeze. Robie had called out on the off chance that they might be the authorities.
They weren’t.
It was burned into law enforcement folks to ID themselves when possibly confronted by fellow lawmen. Creds came out and people started screaming who they were with. The last thing a cop wanted was to get shot by another cop. Or shoot another cop.
These men said nothing, and the only things that came out of their jackets were guns.
Before they could fire on him, Robie shot one man in the knee. He screamed and dropped immediately, his gun flying from his hand. Robie wasn’t worried about him reentering the fight. Destroyed knees were so painful that even the toughest men could only lie there and sob like babies.
The second man fired at Robie, shattering a large planter that a moment earlier Robie had been standing in front of. Robie crouched and turned to the side. He tasted acid in his mouth as bile was shoved up his throat. No matter how many times you did this, being shot at was not natural, and your body reacted i
n consistent ways. Robie had fear; anyone would in that situation. But he didn’t have panic, which was the key difference between those who lived and those who didn’t.
The man would not get another chance to shoot. No knee shot this time; Robie dropped him with a round between his eyes.
Robie raced down the hall. He ran even harder when he heard the shots.
