Текст книги "The Hit"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Reel and Robie popped out from the hidden spots and opened fire, Robie right, Reel left. Nine seconds later four men lay dead, their blood turning the floor and walls crimson. The other men retreated to the cars bracketing this one.

Robie looked at Reel. “How fast do you think we’re going?”

She looked out the window. “Fifty, maybe a little more. These old bangers don’t get much above sixty.”

Robie looked at the terrain outside. All trees. “Still too fast,” he said, and Reel nodded.

Robie glanced to his left and then back at her. “Where’s your bag?”

“I stashed it here.” She pulled it out from between two of the seats.

“Got any flash-bangs in there?”

“Two of them.”

He looked at one of the connecting doors between the cars through which the men had retreated. It was metal but with a glass window. Then he ran over to a control panel built into one wall in the car’s vestibule. He ripped it open and took a few seconds to see what was available.

While he was doing that Reel snagged both flash-bangs from her bag.

“You ever jumped off a moving train before?” he asked, looking up from his work.

“No. You?”

He shook his head. “I figure at sixty, we have no chance. At thirty our odds improve some.”

“Depends on what we jump into,” said Reel, who was already clicking keys on her phone. She brought up their current location.

“Body of water coming up on the left in about two miles.”

“Could be harder than dirt depending on how we hit.”

“We stay here we die.”

Robie hit a button and the left-side door slid open. Cool air rushed in.

“They won’t be waiting long,” said Reel, looking at each doorway.

“No. We need to take care of that.”

She handed him a pair of earplugs, which he pushed deeply into his ears. She did the same with her ears. Then she passed him one of the flash-bangs.

“Give me a countdown,” she said.

Reel went to the middle of the car, drew her pistol, and waited.

“Five-four-three-two-one” called out Robie.

Reel fired to the left, shattering the glass on the door leading to the train car in front of them. She gripped the flash-bang, engaged it, and threw it through the opening. She whirled and shot out the glass in the window to the rear. The bullet was followed by the second flash-bang, which Robie tossed through the new opening. Robie crouched down and covered his face and his ears as both flash-bangs detonated within seconds of each other.

Screams came from the other train cars.

Reel, who had ducked down a split second before the flash-bangs went off, raced back down the aisle and joined Robie.

He engaged the emergency braking system. They were thrown for ward as the train’s brakes caught. They righted themselves, faced the open door, and looked at each other. They were both breathing hard.

“How fast are we going?” Reel asked.

“Still too fast.”

He glanced out the door. “Water’s coming up.”

The train was slowing, yet it took a long time for something that big to reduce its speed. But they were out of time.

Shots were starting to rip through the train car as their opponents recovered.

“Gotta go.” Robie gripped her hand as the train slowed even more.

“Robie, I don’t think I can do this.”

“Don’t think, just do.”

They jumped together.

It seemed to Robie that they stayed in the air a long time. When they landed, they hit soft mud, not water. The one thing they couldn’t have accounted for was a summer drought that had extended into fall and had lowered the lake’s water level by about four feet. When they hit the wet dirt, Robie and Reel rolled and tumbled along about twenty feet past their first impact.

The train was already out of sight around a bend. But at some point the brakes would bring the million-pound-plus behemoth to a stop.

Robie slowly sat up. He was covered in mud and slime. His clothes were ripped and he felt like an entire NFL team had jumped on him.

He looked over at Reel, who was starting to slowly get up. She looked as bad as he did and probably felt worse. Her pants and shirt were torn too.

Robie managed to stand and stagger over to the knapsack, which had separated from him on impact.

Reel groaned. “Next time I’m staying and just shooting it out.”

Robie nodded. There was a pain in his right arm. It felt funny. He worried that he had broken it, but it didn’t feel broken, just...funny.

As Reel walked over to him he rolled up his shirtsleeve, exposing his burn.

What he saw surprised Robie. But it also solved the question of how the people had been able to follow them.

Robie looked at Reel and smiled grimly.

“What?” she said.

“They just made a big mistake.”

CHAPTER

60

SAM KENT WAS AT HOME when the call came in.

“Believed to be dead,” said the voice.

Robie and Reel had jumped off a train going nearly forty miles per hour. It was thought unlikely that they could have survived.

The fail-safe tracker had gone silent.

It was over.

Kent didn’t believe that for a second. But he had confirmation that his greatest fear had been realized.

Robie and Reel had teamed up. And despite the report, his gut was telling him that they were alive.

Kent was sitting in his study in his exquisite home set among many exquisite homes in a sect ion of Fairfax County that was home to the unassailable “one-tenthers,” the people in the top one-tenth of the one percent. Average income per year: ten million dollars. Most of them made far more than that. They did it in myriad ways:

Inheritance.

Gaining the ear, for a fee, of those in power.

And many, like Kent, actually worked hard for a living and provided things of value to the world. Though his wife’s money had certainly come in handy.

Now Kent sat in his castle and contemplated the phone call he was about to make. It was to someone of whom he was understandably afraid.

His secure phone was in his desk drawer. He pulled it out, hit the required numbers, and waited.

Four rings and a pickup. Kent winced when he realized it was the person and not a recording. He had been hoping for a bit of a reprieve.

He reported the latest news in terse, information-packed sentences, just as he had been trained to do.

And then he waited.

He could hear the other person breathing lightly on the other end of a communication line that not even the NSA could crack.

Kent did not break the silence. It wasn’t his place.

He just let the man breathe, take it in, think. The response would be forthcoming, he was certain of that.

“Has a search been made?” asked the person. “If they’re believed dead, there have to be bodies. That will be the only confirmation. Otherwise, they’re alive.”

“Agreed,” said Kent, who let out a nearly inaudible sigh of relief. “I personally don’t think they’re dead.”

“But injured?”

“After that sort of a jump, most likely yes.”

“Then we have to find them. Shouldn’t be too difficult if they are hurt.”

“Yes.”

“Cleanup on the train?”

“The train was stopped. Everything has been removed. All witnesses have been dealt with.”

“Explanation?”

“We can place the blame on whomever we want.”

“Well, I would place it on two rogue agents who have obviously lost their way. That will be the official line.”

“Understood.”

“It’s still an enormous mess. And one that should have been avoided.”

“I agree.”

“I didn’t ask for your agreement.”

“No, of course not.”

“But we’re near the end.”

“Yes,” said Kent.

“So don’t create any more obstacles.”

“Understood.”

“Robie and Reel together. A cause for concern.”

Kent didn’t know if the person was asking a question or stating a fact.

“I would not underestimate either of them,” said Kent.

“I never underestimate anyone, least of all my allies.”

Kent licked his lips, considered this statement. He was an ally. And this person would not underestimate him. “We’ll make a major push.”

“Yes, you will.”

The line went dead.

Kent put the phone away and looked up when the door to his study opened. For one panicked moment he thought his time had come and the open door would reveal a person like Robie or Reel dispatched to give him his final punishment.

But it was simply his wife. She was in her nightgown.

Kent’s gaze flicked to the wall above the door where the clock showed it was nearly eight in the morning.

“Did you even go to bed?” she asked. Her hair was tousled, her face bare of makeup, her eyes still weighted with sleep. But to Kent she was the most beautiful woman in the world.

He was lucky. He had never deserved a life of simple domesticity. But that was only half his life. His other half was decidedly different. Equal parts perfume and gunpowder. But right now, all gunpowder.

“Grabbed a few hours in the guest room. Didn’t want to disturb you, honey,” he said. “I finished up work late.”

She went to him, perched on the side of his desk, ran her fingers through his hair.

Their kids looked more like their mother. That was good, thought Kent. He wanted them to be like her. Not him.

Not me. Not my life.

He wanted his children to have exceptional lives. But also ordinary ones. Safe ones. Ones that did not involve carrying weapons or shooting others while being shot at. That was no life. Just a way to an early death.

“You look tired,” said his wife.

“A little. Burning the candles at both ends lately. Things will even out.”

“I’ll go make you some coffee.”

“Thanks, sweetie. That would be great.”

She kissed him on the forehead and left.

Kent watched her go every step of the way.

He had a lot.

Which meant he had a lot to lose.

He looked around his study. None of his awards, his military medals, his records of professional accomplishments were displayed here. Those things were private. They were not meant to impress or intimidate. He knew he had earned them. That was enough. They were kept upstairs in a small, locked storage closet. Sometimes he would look at them. But mostly they just sat up there gathering dust.

They were records of the past.

Kent had always been a forward thinker.

He unlocked a safe that sat on a shelf behind his desk and drew the paper out. It was Roy West’s white paper. A thing of intellectual beauty from a man who had become a paranoid militia nut. It was hard to believe that he could have concocted something that powerful. But perhaps from the forming depths of paranoia sometimes sprang genius, if for only a few frenetically productive moments.

Yet they had taken his original vision and turned it into something very different that suited their own purposes.

He walked over to the gas fireplace set against one wall. With a flick of a remote that he kept on the mantel, Kent turned on the fireplace. Then he dropped the white paper on top of the gas logs and watched it quickly disintegrate.

In less than thirty seconds it was gone.

But the ideas in there would remain with Kent for the rest of his life.

Whether that was to be a short or long time he couldn’t tell right now.

He was suddenly beset with doubts. His mind raced ahead to one catastrophic scenario after another. Such thoughts were never productive. But finally his military training took over and he calmed rapidly.

His secure phone, still on the desk, buzzed.

He hurried over to it.

The message was from the person with whom he had just talked.

It was a text. It was only three words.

But to Kent it proved his superior was indeed a mind reader.

The text read, No going back.

CHAPTER

61

THE CAR WAS PARKED OUTSIDE of a grill pub across from a bank. It was late, the darkness deep and broken only by the exterior light of the building.

There were only four other cars in the parking lot. One car’s lights came on as the owner hit the unlock button on her key fob.

She walked toward the car, staggering slightly. She had had more to drink than she probably should have. But she lived close by and was confident she could navigate the roads to her home safely.

She climbed into the car and closed the door behind her. She started to put the key in the ignition when a hand clamped over her mouth.

Her right hand went to her purse, to retrieve the pistol she kept there. But another hand encircled her wrist and held it inches from the purse.

The passenger door opened and the woman climbed in.

She had her gun pointed at the driver’s head.

The woman with the gun was Jessica Reel.

The woman in the driver’s seat did not seem to recognize her. She started, though, when the man’s voice from the backseat said, “I might need you to sew me up again, Doc. The tracking device in the sutures got broken.”

In the rearview mirror Karin Meenan looked at Will Robie.

He said, “Start the car. Then we’ll tell you where to go.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” said Meenan.

Reel pulled the hammer back on her gun.

“Then she’s going to put a bullet in your head right now,” said Robie.

Meenan glanced at Reel, who was staring directly at her. The look in the woman’s features was clear. She wanted to pull the trigger. She was hoping for any chance, any opportunity provided by Meenan, to do so.

Meenan started the car, put it in gear, and drove off. Robie directed her to a dilapidated motel about five miles away. They parked in the rear and Reel and Robie bookended Meenan as they walked to their room.

Robie closed the door behind them and directed Meenan to sit on the bed.

She stared up at them. “I don’t know why you’re doing this, Robie. You’re in a lot of trouble. You’ve kidnapped me at gunpoint.”

Robie sat in a chair and seemed not to have heard her. Reel stood with her back to the door and her gun pointed at her.

Meenan snapped, “Who the hell are you?”

“You know who she is,” said Robie calmly.

Meenan turned to look at him.

“And you might want to watch your drinking and driving,” noted Robie. “Two beers and a shot of tequila. You’re officially shit-faced. That could cost you your clearance and your job.”

“You were watching me?”

“No, we just happened on you by accident. I feel so lucky right now, I’m going to play the Lotto.”

“You’re cracking jokes?” she snapped. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’re going to prison for this.”

“Is that the same bar where you met Roy West?” Robie asked.

“I never met Roy West at a bar. He was briefly a patient of mine. I already told you that.”

“You want to reconsider that answer?”

“Why should I?”

Robie slipped a photo from his pocket. “I had a friend at the FBI pull this off the surveillance camera from the bank across the street from the bar.”

He held it up. On the image were Roy West and Meenan getting into her car.

“I’ve done nothing wrong. So I had a drink with Roy West. So what?”

Robie slipped off his jacket and rolled up his shirtsleeve, revealing where the sutures had been.

“I took out these and the ones you put in my leg. Pretty ingenious stuff. Communication filaments and an internal power source disguised basically as stitches. GPS locator. Satellite up– and downlink. Probably electronically lit me up like the Eiffel Tower at night. The agency has really made great strides in the surveillance business.”

Meenan looked at Reel. “Robie, if that is Jessica Reel you should be arresting her. Or killing her. She’s the enemy. Not me.”

“Who told you to put those sutures in me?” asked Robie. “Sam Kent?”

Meenan made no reaction to this.

“Howard Decker,” said Reel.

Again, no reaction from Meenan. She kept her gaze on the far wall.

“Somebody else up high,” Robie barked.

Now, there was the barest of flinches from Meenan. But it was enough.

She must have realized that she had given herself away. She looked at Robie with an ugly expression. “You have no chance.”

“I was about to say the same thing to you.”

This came from Reel, who had placed her muzzle against the back of Meenan’s head.

The doctor looked at Robie with pleading eyes. “You’re just going to let her murder me?”

Robie’s look was impassive. “I don’t know, Doc. People have been trying to murder us. Why should you be any different?”

“But...but you’re one of us.”

“One of us? I don’t really know what that means anymore.”

“Please, Robie, please.”

“I’m not sure what to do with you, Doc. Can’t really let you go.”

Meenan was crying now. “I won’t say anything. I swear to God.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” said Robie.

He glanced at Reel. “What do you think?”

Meenan shrieked, “Don’t ask her! She’s crazy! She’s a traitor!”

Reel looked at Robie. “Okay?”

“Okay by me.”

“No!” screamed Meenan.

Reel dropped her muzzle to the base of Meenan’s neck and pulled the trigger.

CHAPTER

62

ROBIE CARRIED MEENAN OVER HIS shoulder and down the steps into the bomb shelter. They were under the barn at his hideaway. At the far end of the underground shelter was a makeshift cell that Robie had constructed. It was easily strong enough to hold someone like Meenan.

She was starting to come around after Reel had shot her in the neck with a tranquilizer dart.

Robie lay Meenan down on a cot in the cell. Stacked against one wall were enough provisions to last the woman two weeks. Robie assumed that by then he would have worked things out or else died trying.

He locked the cell door about the time that Meenan slowly sat up, rubbed her neck, and looked at him. “You didn’t let her kill me?”

“We never had any intention of killing you.”

“Why not?”

“You may be corrupt, but you were defenseless.”

”You’re an assassin, that’s what you do.”

“Did you read the apocalypse paper?”

“The what?”

“The white paper that Roy West wrote. Reel told me he used to brag about it to people. Maybe you were one of them. Over pillow talk? At the bar?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“Did you believe it?”

“Roy talked about a lot of things. And many of them made sense.”

“So you’re for an apocalypse?”

“For real change to happen, certain people have to be sacrificed.”

“Wasn’t that what the Nazis said?”

She snapped, “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s not even a close analogy.”

“Really? You got led around like a lemming by a nut who loaded up his cabin with explosives and had plans to blow up half the government? How does that make sense? You workfor the government.”

“We all fight for liberty in different ways.”

“I’ll stick with my way. You can keep yours.”

“You go and kill the people they tell you to. Talk about a lemming.”

“Well, the difference is now I understand that. You apparently don’t.”

She gave him a condescending look. “You can’t stop this from happening.”

“I can if you help me.”

“Not a chance in hell.”

“So you just stand by and watch all those people die? Doctors are supposed to preserve life, aren’t they?”

“I’m not just a doctor. I care about my country. Our enemies are trying to destroy us. We have to kill all of them first.”

Robie said, “Care to tell me who is really behind this?”

She folded her arms across her chest and looked at him dully. “Just give it up, okay?”

He held up her phone. “Got your laptop too. They should tell us a few things.”

She looked suddenly panicked.

“Don’t ever go to Vegas,” he advised. “Your poker face is seriously lacking.”

“They’re password-protected.”

“You had your phone on a five-minute auto lock. You must have just used it before you got into the car. The lock hadn’t reset yet, so I got everything I needed. As for your laptop, next time use a password more difficult than your name spelled backwards and your date of birth.”

“Robie, you’re on the wrong side of this. Trust me. Reel is a murderer. She killed two defenseless men. In cold blood.”

He pointed to the provisions. “There’s enough food and water to last you at least two weeks, maybe more if you ration.”

“And if you’re not back by then?”

“Start yelling. Somebody might hear you. Oh, and while you were knocked out Reel stripped you down and checked every possible place for a transmitter. You might be sore, but you’re definitely tracker free.”

“Robie!” She jumped up and ran to the cell door. “Think about this very carefully. You won’t get a second chance.”

“Funny. That’s what I was going to tell you.”

“You’re being stupid. Please let me go.”

“This is the safest place for you.”

She looked at him with a stunned expression. “Safe? Are you insane?”

“They didn’t find our bodies, Doc. And they can no longer track us. Which tells them we’re onto how we were tracked. You put the sutures in. We found you. You’re out of the loop for a while. If we let you go, you go back to them.”

“I won’t say anything. I promise.”

“That’s not the point.”

“So what is the point?”

“They’ll know you were with us. They’ll interrogate you. And then they’ll kill you.”

Meenan took a step back. “Why would they kill me? I’m on their side.”

“Because they’ll believe you helped us. That would be the only way we would’ve let you go. And your price for that is you die. It’s really that simple. See, to them, you’ll have become the enemy. And like you said, the goal is to kill all of the enemy. And now that includes you.”

“But—”

“It’s not an either/or proposition. So you stay here, you live. You go out there, you die. I’ll let you decide. What’s it going to be?”

Meenan stared up at him and then took a few hesitant steps back before plopping down on the cot and studying the floor.

“Good choice,” said Robie, and then he walked out.

CHAPTER

63

REEL WAS WAITING FOR HIM outside the barn in a new rental. He climbed in, snagged Meenan’s laptop from the backseat, opened it, and started clicking keys as Reel drove off.

“How did it go?” she asked.

“I think she’s starting to see the light. Not that it matters.”

“Just so you know, I’m down to my last fake ID,” said Reel.

“Let’s hope it’s enough.”

“Where to?”

“I’ve got a contact at the FBI I want to work. I got the photos of West and Meenan from her.”

“Special Agent Nicole Vance?”

Robie shot her a glance. “How did you know that?”

“You started out as my enemy. I find out all I can about my enemies.”

“How much did you find out?”

“Julie Getty.”

She looked at him.

“That makes you angry?”

“It doesn’t make me happy. What if someone was following you?”

“Someone wasfollowing you. Vance. And me.”

“Okay, let’s just call a truce on that. We need some info that we can’t get on our own.”

She said, “Don’t be too sure about that. And the more people we involve, the more potential pitfalls we face.”

“We face pitfalls everywhere we turn.”

“Proves my point. What do we need to know?”

“Lots of things.”

“Find anything interesting on Meenan’s computer?”

“I got into her email. She has a varied correspondence. Multiple boyfriends, from the content of some of the emails. A little racier than I would have given the doc credit for. West was probably one of them, but he’s not on there now.” He refocused on the screen. “This might be something.”

“What?”

“Give me a sec.”

He read some more emails, scrolling down the screen.

“What is it, Robie?”

“Cryptic one-word messages. Without context they don’t mean anything. ‘Yes,’ ‘no,’ ‘now,’ ‘tomorrow’—things like that.”

“Who’s the sender?”

“The address looks generic, and is probably untraceable. But there are three letters at the end of the messages, like the writer’s signature. RTD. Mean anything to you?”

Reel was silent for a long minute. “Roger the Dodger,” she said.

“Who?”

“It was the code name of the person West said had requested the white paper. He said the person was at least three levels above him at the time.”

“Did he say anything else that might lead us to the person?”

“Unfortunately, that was about the time I had to knock him out.”

“Roger the Dodger? Odd moniker.”

“I thought so too. But he’s been able to dodge us pretty effectively. So it does fit. What do you think Vance can help us with?”

“Finding the apocalypse. Before it happens.”

“The white paper was pretty explicit. Country by country. Leader by leader. Simultaneously. It’s dazzlingly complex and brutally efficient. It’s all in the timing.”

“But what are the exact details? You never said.”

“Targeting all G8 leaders, except the U.S. president, on the same day at the same time using a coordinated attack, and intelligence–sharing, and buying whatever resources are needed on the inside. They’re all killed. What follows is chaos in the civilized world. The paper goes on to detail what steps the perpetrators of the attacks should take to press their advantage.”

“Okay, but who are the perpetrators?”

“West papered various ones. Not surprisingly, they were mostly radical Islamic fundamentalists. He broke it down to include factions of al-Qaeda, the Taliban, Hamas. I have to admit, it was well thought out.”

“Why leave out the U.S. president?” asked Robie.

“Probably because the agency didn’t want to pay its people to think up plausible ways to kill POTUS. If that got out there would be hell to pay.”

“And what was the purpose of such an attack, at least according to West?”

“Power vacuum in the civilized world, chaos in financial markets, upheaval across the globe, 9/11 on steroids.”

“And why would we want a paper out there that tells people how to do that?”

“They probably didn’t believe it would be circulated. And maybe they wanted to see the scenario to know how to counter it so it didn’t happen or deal with it if it ever did. Roy West wasn’t too clear on that.”

“Did we come up with counters?”

“I doubt it. The paper apparently didn’t go anywhere within the agency hierarchy.”

“You know what that strategy reminds me of?” said Robie.

“What?”

“The scene in The Godfather. Where Michael Corleone is having his child baptized. And then they intercut to the scenes of the rival bosses who tried to kill Marlon Brando’s character being assassinated. It was Michael’s revenge.”

“Maybe that’s where West got the idea. From a movie. He didn’t strike me as an original thinker.”

“But for it to work they have to have personnel in all those different countries ready to move at the same time.”

“So who on the inside of the U.S. government would want to see that scenario played out?” asked Reel.

“I would hope no one. But that apparently isn’t the case.”

“So America gets thrown into the apocalypse. In a scenario like that, nobody wins.”

They were both silent for a while, each probably contemplating what the world might look like after such an event.

“Feeling pretty hopeless?” asked Reel.

“Aren’t you?”

“I’ve never forgotten one thing. It might seem stupid to you.”

“I’m listening.”

“There is always hope in hopeless.”

They exchanged a brief smile.

“Tell me something. Who was the friend of the friend?”

Reel looked away. Robie saw her fingers tighten on the steering wheel but she didn’t answer.

“The guy in the photo with you. You said he was a friend of a friend because putting the other guy in there would guarantee I never would have gotten the picture.”

“Why do you need to know who he is?”

“If you didn’t want me to know, why leave the photo in the locker?”

“Maybe I didn’t have a reason.”

“You told me there is a reason for everything you do.”

A minute later Reel said, “The friend was a mentor. A guy who cared about me way back when. When no one else did.”

“How did you know him?”

“I just knew him.”

“Witness Protection, maybe?”

She glanced at him in surprise.

“DiCarlo told me about your past.”

“But that’s still a big deductive leap.”

“The guy in the photo looked like a retired cop to me. So maybe his friend was a cop too.”

Reel slowed the car and pulled off the road, putting it in park and turning to look at Robie.

“His name was Joe Stock well. He was a U.S. marshal. And you’re right, he looked after me when I was in Witness Protection. When I joined CIA, I kept in touch. He retired a number of years ago. But after that he stumbled onto what they were planning.”

“How was that possible?”

“Joe knew Sam Kent from way back. They served in Vietnam together. He even went to Kent’s wedding. Kent approached him about some things over time, innocuous things, but taken together it made Joe suspicious. But he played along and learned more. I guess Kent trusted him, and when he believed Joe wanted to be part of the plan he told him more. Then Kent found Joe was actually working against him, collecting evidence. So he had him killed, although his death was officially ruled an accident. But I knew better.”

Robie said, “I’m sorry about that. Sounds like Stockwell was really trying to do the right thing.”

She nodded. “He was able to get me the list of people and some details about what was going on. That’s how I got Jacobs’s and Gelder’s names. That’s why I killed them.”

“But if Stockwell had enough info to put together a list, why not go to the cops?”

“The people on that list were pretty powerful and he apparently didn’t believe he had enough evidence to convince the authorities. Joe knew what he was doing. He was a real pro. He wanted a slamdunk case, apparently. He just didn’t live to get it.”

“Yet you had enough belief in Stockwell to kill two of them and try and take down a third.”

“I know what they’re planning to do, Robie. I know that they killed him. He was a good, decent guy trying to do the right thing. He could have been enjoying his golden years, but he was trying to bring this scum down. He failed. I won’t.”

“I hope you’re right.”

“You had your proof on that train, didn’t you? And what Meenan told you? Don’t tell me you need more convincing.”

“It’s complicated.”

“So you’re telling me you wouldn’t have taken out these guys given the chance? You know that if our agency knew what was up we would have been sent to put a bullet in their brains. I just didn’t wait for orders.”

“We have a justice system complete with judges and jails for things like that.”

“You really think these guys would have been charged, much less convicted? There is no way a case could have been made against them. No way.”

“Which means under our system they’re presumed innocent.”

“So was everybody we’ve ever pulled the trigger on, because none of them had the benefit of a trial.”

Robie sat back. She was absolutely right about that, he thought. “Talk to me about Judge Kent. He served in Vietnam. What else?”

“I researched him. Got into databases I probably shouldn’t have.”

“And found what?”

“He used to be one of us, way back when. After he left the Army.”

Robie slowly nodded. “That makes sense, actually.”

She continued, “And now he’s a judge on FISC.”

“Who else besides Jacobs and Gelder?”

“Congressman Howard Decker was also on the list.”

“Chairman of House Intelligence?”

“Yep.”

“Is that the complete list?”

“No. There’s somebody else out there. Somebody else that even Joe couldn’t uncover. But he’s out there. I know he is. And he’s highly placed, Robie. Very highly placed.”