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He brings it up to his ear.
The phone rings once.
Then clicks off.
“Shit,” he says.
He does it again.
Same thing.
One ring and the call doesn’t go through.
He says, “Lin, you’ve got a phone?”
“Of course. A fresh burner so we couldn’t be traced.”
She pulls her device out of her purse and Liam displays the number for Director Abrams’s house.
Same thing.
Lin says, “Just rings once and signs off.”
“Damn it!” Liam says. He goes into the small kitchen, sees an old-fashioned phone up on the wall, complete with curling cord. He lifts the receiver and is relieved to hear a dial tone. Agency safe houses are equipped to receive—on zero notice—visitors in need of water, power, food, and now, most important, a landline.
Holding his Agency phone in one hand and cupping the receiver between his shoulder and right ear, he punches in the right sequence of numbers to get an international line to the United States.
There.
It rings once.
Twice.
He turns and smiles at Lin.
“I think we’re going to make it.”
The phone is answered. Liam hears a woman’s voice and says, “I need to speak to Director Abrams, right away.”
But the voice pays no attention.
“… no longer in service. No other information is available for this number. Good-bye.”
Click.
Liam slowly replaces the receiver back to the wall phone’s cradle.
“The director’s been blocked,” Liam says.
“Meaning?” Lin asks, while Benjamin looks up from the couch.
“She’s dead, disabled, or captured,” Liam says. “We’re on our own.”
CHAPTER 115
JOINT INTELLIGENCE CENTER PACIFIC
PEARL HARBOR, HAWAII
