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“Too many things.”
“Come on, you need to give me more than that.”
“I told you before that I thought Walter Dabney was being quite literal when he did something?”
“Yeah, I remember that.”
“Well, I think he was being quite literal when he killed Berkshire where he did.”
Brown exchanged a curious glance with Mars. “I’m not following,?
? she said to Decker.
Only Decker wasn’t listening.
Traffic was a bear. Sirens were screeching all over and they caught sight of a motorcade thundering through cleared lanes.
Brown turned away from Decker and said to Mars, “I hate it when we have visiting dignitaries. Screws traffic royally.”
“We never worried about that in West Texas,” said Mars. “If you got behind another car on the road that was a traffic jam.”
Brown rolled her eyes at this comment and said, “Funny.”
The traffic got so bad that they finally parked in a garage and hoofed it the rest of the way. The rain had let up some, but it was still a nasty, gloomy day.
Her jacket hood up against the drizzle, Brown said, “Okay, here we are near the Hoover Building. Now what?”
Decker was walking along slowly, covering the same route he’d taken on the morning that Dabney had shot Berkshire. He had done this so many times before that he had no idea what he thought he could possibly discover now.
Possibly nothing.
Probably nothing.
But he had come here for a particular reason. He had thought of it when he’d been sitting on the bench by the river. It wasn’t because his memory had served him particularly well. This was based on something far more simple—an educated hunch. He’d long relied on them when he’d been a detective back in Ohio.
Now, this was where having perfect recall might really come in handy. He looked at everything in front of him, both sides of the street. Up, down, left, right.
While he was doing that Brown was saying to Mars, “This is one interesting town. You might enjoy living here.”
He eyed her. “Is that an invitation?”
“I make no commitments,” she said coyly. “And expect none in return. But I do enjoy your company.”
“Thought you wanted to cool it after what happened at your house. Then you showed up out of the blue.”
“Well, after some serious deliberation I thought it might be safer if I were there to protect you.”
He laughed. “Okay, I have to admit that’s the first time I’ve heard that from a woman.”
“Well, maybe you haven’t been hanging out with the right women,” she shot back.
“I think you definitely have a point there.”
Left, right, up, down. People, places, things.
Decker closed his eyes and flipped back to that day, every frame, everything he’d seen.
Okay, got it.
Now he superimposed the template he’d just taken in over the scene as it existed on the day Dabney had shot Berkshire.
He immediately noted that some things were different.
The burrito food truck was gone.
The guard was not in the shack.
The construction going on in the building across the street had ceased.
But, like the last time he’d been here, the manhole cover was replaced and the work site was gone.
He looked up at the Hoover Building—squat, ugly, crumbling.
Toilets that didn’t work.
Fire alarms out of order.
Nets to catch falling chunks of concrete.
And surveillance cameras that didn’t work…
He started running.
Brown called after him, “Decker!”
Mars said, “Hey, Amos!”
They ran after him, easily catching up. Decker turned the corner and came to a stop on the street paralleling the one they’d been on.
“What is that?” he asked as Brown stopped beside him, breathing a little bit hard.
“What is what?”
He pointed to the street. “That!”
“Jesus, what do you think it is: It’s a motorcade.”
“Whose?”
“I don’t know whose.” She studied it more closely and then looked around at the tops of buildings. “Okay, judging by the motorcade’s length and the firepower with it, and the countersnipers on those rooftops, and all the suits with ear comms, I’d say VP on up. Maybe POTUS.”
“So he’s at the Hoover Building today?”
“He does go there from time to time.”
Mars snapped his fingers. “Hey, I was watching TV in the hotel gym this morning when I was working out. And that’s when I saw it.”
“Saw what?’ snapped Decker.
“The President was coming here today to give out some award. It had to do with something we did with the Brits and the Germans. The prime minister and that lady’s who’s the head of Germany are there too.”
Brown said, “The President mentioned that when we met him at the White House. He was giving out an award for some sort of joint mission that saved lots of lives. Bogart knew about it.”
The blood slowly drained from Decker’s face. “And the British Prime Minister and the German Chancellor are in there.”
Brown looked at him curiously. “Decker, what is it?”
He turned to her. “Walter Dabney knew something, only I don’t think he knew exact details. Ellie Dabney said he was trying to send the terrorists a powerful message, she thought, to back off. She was right about him sending a message but wrong about the recipient. He was trying to give us a message.”
“A message about what?”
“A message with no words.”
“You’re making no—”
“A message with no words. He told us by his actions.”
“His actions?”
He looked at her. “He committed an act of violence at the Hoover Building!”
Brown slowly turned and glanced at the standing motorcade, then at the Hoover Building, and finally back at Decker.
And then the blood drained from her face too.
“Oh my God.”
