Текст книги "The Hit"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Forty somewhat bumpy minutes later it landed with a hard jolt on the runway tarmac minutes ahead of a storm’s leading edge. The turbulence had not bothered Reel. She always played the odds. She could fly every day for twenty thousand years and never be involved in a crash.

Her odds of survival on the ground would not be nearly as good.

She walked off the plane, made her way to the cabstand, and waited patiently in a long line until her turn came up.

Doug Jacobs had been the first but not the last. Reel had a list in her head of those who would, hopefully, join him in the hereafter, if there was such a place for people like Jacobs.

But the list would have to wait. Reel had somewhere to go. She climbed into the next available cab and set off for the city.

The cab dropped her near Central Park. The park was always a busy place, full of people and dogs and events and workers, controlled chaos if ever there was such a thing.

Reel paid the cabbie and turned her attention to the closest entrance to the park. She walked through the opening and made her way as close as possible to where it had happened.

The police had taped off great chunks of the area so they could perform their little forensics hunt, collect their evidence, and hopefully catch a killer.

They would fail. Reel knew this even if New York’s Finest didn’t.

She stood shoulder to shoulder with a crowd of people just beyond the official barricades. She watched the police methodically working, covering every inch of ground around where the body had fallen.

Reel looked at the same ground and her mind started to fill in blanks that the police didn’t even know existed.

The target was what it was. A monster who needed killing.

That didn’t interest Reel at all. She had killed many monsters. Others took their place. That was how the world worked. All you could do was try to keep slightly ahead in the count.

She was focused on other things. Things the police could not see.

She lined up the taped outline of the body on the trail with trajectory patterns in all directions. She was sure the police had already done that, Forensics 101 after all. But soon thereafter, their deductive ability and even their imagination would reach their professional limits, and thus they would never arrive at the right answer.

For her part, Reel knew that anything was possible. So after exhausting all other possibilities and performing her own mental algorithms to figure the shooter’s position, she focused on a stone wall. A seemingly impenetrable stone wall. One could not fire through such an obstacle. And the doorway into the place that was surrounded by the stone wall had no sight line to the target. And it was no doubt securely locked. Thus the police would have discounted it immediately.

Reel left the crowd and started a long sweeping walk that angled her first to the west, then north, and finally east.

She drew out a pair of binoculars and focused them on the wall.

One would have to have two holes. One for the muzzle allowing for the greater width of the suppressor sleeve. And one for the scope.

Reel knew precisely where and how large those holes would need to be.

She worked the thumbwheel on her optics. The wall came into sharper focus. Reel looked at two areas of the wall, one higher than the other, both located in mortar seams.

The police would never see it because they would never be looking for it.

But Reel was.

There was no surveillance camera that she could see pointed at the wall. Why would there be? It was simply a wall.

Which made it perfect.

And on that wall were two patches of mortar that were a slightly 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.”

“I can see that,” said Robie. “I’m sure you have a plan to do just that.”

Blue Man looked at Gelder. Gelder glanced up at Robie.

“Well, actually, you’rethe plan, Robie,” said Gelder.

Robie did not look at Blue Man, though he could feel the man’s gaze now on him. “You want me to go after Reel?” he said slowly. This scenario had never occurred to him and he suddenly wondered why not.

Gelder nodded.

“I’m not a detective,” said Robie. “That’s not my strength.”

Blue Man looked at him. “I would disagree with you on that point, Robie.”

“But regardless, send a killer to find a killer,” said Gelder simply.

“You have lots of them on the payroll,” Robie replied.

Gelder stopped picking his nail. “You come highly recommended.”

“Why? Because of what happened recently?”

“We would be derelict in our duties if we ignored that,” said Gelder. “You’re just coming off an assignment. I think you can be better deployed tracking down Reel.”

“Do I have a choice?”

Gelder stared across at him. “Is there a problem?”

“Despite what you said, I don’t think I’m the right man for the job.”

In answer Gelder slipped a small square electronic tablet from his inside jacket pocket. He scrolled down some screens, reading as he did so.

“Well, let me give you some ‘specifics’ as to why you are the right man for the job. You graded first in your class with record marks. Two years later Jessica Reel was first in her class with a score that would have been a record but for yours.”

“Yes, but—” Robie began, but Gelder put up a hand.

“In a practice scenario you were the only one to track her down and capture her.”

“That was a long time ago. And it wasn’t the real thing.”

“And finally, you saved her life once.”

“Why does that matter?” asked Robie.

“It might make her hesitate for a second, Robie. And that should be all you need.” He added, “Not that I was required to provide an explanation for you to follow a direct order, but there you are. Consider it a gift under extraordinary circumstances.”

He rose and glanced at Blue Man. “Keep me informed.” He looked back at Robie. “As always, failure is not an option, Robie.”

“And if I do fail I better die in the process, right?” said Robie.

Gelder looked at him as though he had merely stated the obvious.

The next moment the door opened and the number two man walked out through it. He closed the door behind him with the finality of a coffin lid shutting.

Blue Man glanced nervously at Robie, who was still staring at the door. Then Robie slowly looked over at Blue Man.

“You knew about this?” Robie asked.

Blue Man nodded.

“And what do you think about it?”

“I think you are ideally suited for it.”

“Dead or alive? Was that bullshit or code or both?”

“I truly think they want her alive. She needs to be interrogated. She was one of our top operatives. We’ve never had one of them turn before.”

“Well, you know that’s not true. There seems to be a run on turncoats in the agency lately.”

Blue Man looked pained by this statement, but he could hardly dispute it in light of recent events.

“So that’s what you think this is? She was turned? So why kill Jacobs? Now we know she’s gone bad. It’s not like she can walk back into the job and start collecting valuable intel for her new employer. Doesn’t make sense.”

“It has to make sense in some way. Because it’s happened.”

Robie said, “Jacobs is dead. Reel is nowhere to be found. Her being turned is only one possibility. There are others.”

“Her voice was on that secure operations line along with Jacobs’s.”

“Still other possibilities.”

“And now you have the chance to explore them, Robie.”

“I’m assuming there is no opportunity to decline the assignment?”

Blue Man did not even bother to answer.

“The target left standing in the Middle East. It would seem that maybe he did the turning. Why not start there?’

“Tricky situation. Ferat Ahmadi is vying to fill the power vacuum in Syria. He has a lot of support on the ground. Unfortunately, he is a terrible choice as far as we are concerned. We’ve had a lot of that happening with the Arab Spring. Those countries are electing people who hate us to lead them.”

“Okay, but I take it the Chinese and Russians would not be happy that we’re picking winners and losers over there again,” commented Robie.

“The assassination attempt coming out would not be in our interests, no.”

“If it had gone according to plan, how was it going to be covered up?”

“Standard procedure. Blame it on opposition leaders to Ahmadi. Not a stretch by any means. They’ve tried to kill him twice. They’re just not very good at it. We were going to leave evidence behind that would lead back to one of them.”

“Two birds with one stone?”

Blue Man nodded. “We try to be efficient. That would leave a third party standing who we can at least attempt to talk sense to.”

“But that’s all been shut down now.”

“Yes, it has.”

Robie stood. “I’ll need whatever you have on Reel.”

“Being assembled as we speak.”

“Okay,” said Robie, but for him, right now, nothing was okay.

“What did you really think of Reel when you worked with her?”

“I already told you.”

“The unvarnished version.”

“She was as good as me. Maybe now she’s better. I don’t know. But it looks like I might find out.”

As he turned to leave Blue Man said, “We’ve had a run of bad luck lately, Robie.”

“Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

“I suppose that the longer you stay in service the greater the chance that someone will try and turn you,” said Blue Man. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked off.

“The more years of service, the more value you might have.”

Blue Man glanced over at him. “Others have been tempted. Successfully.”

“A few out of many.”

“Still a problem.”

“Is it a problem for you?” asked Robie.

“No more than it is for you, I’m sure.”

“Glad we got that straight.” Robie walked out to begin his new assignment.

CHAPTER

6

ROBIE DROVE THROUGH THE STREETS of D.C. with a USB stick in his coat pocket. On it was the career of Jessica Elyse Reel. Robie already knew some of it. By tomorrow he would know all of it, except for the parts yet to be filled in.

The rain was falling more steadily. D.C. in the rain was a curious spectacle. There were of course the monuments, the popular target of busloads of tourists, many of whom probably despised much about the federal city. But they came to gawk at the pretty structures, figuring their tax dollars had paid for them.

In the gloom the mighty Jefferson and Lincoln and Washington memorials and monument, respectively, seemed diminished to a grainy outline one would see on an aged, tattered postcard. The Capitol dome loomed large, towering over all other nearby structures. It was the place where Congress did—or increasingly did not do—its work. But even the enormity of the colossal dome seemed lessened in the rain.

Robie steered his Audi toward Dupont Circle. He had lived in an apartment near Rock Creek Park for years. Less than a month ago he had moved out. That had everything to do with one of his previous assignments. He simply couldn’t stay there anymore.

Dupont was in the middle of town, full of nightlife, dozens of hip restaurants offering cuisines from around the world, esoteric retailers, highbrow booksellers, and retail shops that one could find nowhere else. It was exciting and energizing and a real asset to the city.

But Robie didn’t crave the nightlife. When he ate out, he ate alone. He didn’t shop in the hip shops. He didn’t browse through the highbrow bookstores. When he walked the streets, which he often did, particularly later at night, he didn’t seek out contact with others. He didn’t welcome companionship at any level. There would have been little point to it, especially now.

He parked in the underground garage of his apartment building and took the elevator up to his floor. He inserted two keys into the twin locks—both deadbolts—on his apartment door. The alarm system beeped its warning. The beeps stopped when he disarmed it.

He took off his coat but didn’t remove the USB stick. He walked to the window and stared down at the wet streets. Rain cleansed, or at least that was the theory. There were parts of this town that could never be clean, he thought. And not just the high-crime areas. He operated in the world of government power, and it was as dirty as the grimiest alley in the city.

He’d had a brush with normalcy recently. But it was just a brush. It hadn’t stuck to him, and had eventually fallen away.

But it had left remnants.

He pulled out his wallet and removed the photo.

The girl in the picture was fourteen going on forty. Julie Getty. Small, skinny, straggly hair. Robie didn’t care about her appearance. He admired her for her courage, her intelligence, and her spunk.

She had given him this photo of her when they had parted ways. He should never have kept it. It was too dangerous. It could lead back to her, yet Robie had still kept it. He simply didn’t seem able to part with it.

Robie had never had children, and never would. If he had, Julie Getty would have been a daughter of whom he would have been proud. However, she wasn’t his daughter. And she had a new life to lead. A life that he could not really be part of. That’s just the way it was. It was not his choice.

He put the photo back in his wallet at the same time his cell phone buzzed.

At first he smiled when he saw who was calling, and then the smile turned to a frown. He debated whether to answer, but decided if he didn’t she would just keep calling.

It was simply how she was wired.

“Hello?”

“Robie. Long time.”

Nicole Vance was an FBI special agent. A super agent according to Julie Getty. Julie had also thought that Vance had a thing for Robie. In fact, she’d been sure of it.

Robie had never found that out for certain and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Something in the recent past had turned him off to anything remotely resembling a relationship with a woman. It wasn’t an issue of desire. It was one of trust. Without that, Robie couldn’t muster the desire.

Robie was trained never to be deceived. Never to be played for a fool. Never to be left without a seat when the music stopped. And yet he had been deceived. It had been a humbling experience that he didn’t care to repeat.

Vance’s voice sounded the same. A little too amped up for Robie right now, but he had to admire the woman’s energy.

“Yeah, it has been.”

“You been traveling lately?”

He hesitated, wondering whether she had put the events in Central Park together with him.

Vance had a good idea of what Robie did professionally. As an FBI agent sworn to uphold and protect, she couldn’t be privy to any more than she already knew. They operated in two distinct worlds, both necessary, both not mutually exclusive.

But both incompatible nonetheless. And if their jobs were incompatible, then so were they as individuals. Robie clearly saw that now. In fact, he had always known it.

“Not much. You?”

“Just the mean streets of D.C.”

“So what’s up?”

“You free for dinner?”

Robie again hesitated. He hesitated so long, in fact, that Vance finally said, “It’s not that complicated, Robie. Either you are or you aren’t. No skin off here if you say no.”

Robie wanted to say no. But for some reason he said, “When?”

“Around eight? I’ve been wanting to try this new place over on Fourteenth.” She told him the name. “I hear they strain their tomatoes through linen cloths to make their cocktails.”

“You like cocktails that much?” he asked.

“Tonight I do.”

Robie knew there had to be an ulterior reason for Vance to be calling him to go to dinner. Yes, he believed that she liked him. But she was super agent Vance for a good reason. She never turned it off.

“Okay,” he said.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“I’m officially surprised.”

So am I, thought Robie.

“Any interesting cases you’re involved with?” she asked. “It’s just a rhetorical question, of course.”

“How about you?”

“Oh, this and that.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“Maybe I will at dinner. Or maybe I won’t. Depends on the quality of those cocktails.”

“See you then.”

He put the phone away and watched out the window again as people scurried along the streets trying to escape a rain that seemed to have settled into the bones of the area, making things as wet and chilly and miserable as possible.

Robie slowly moved through the eleven hundred square feet of his apartment. The place was where he lived, but it seemed to be uninhabited. There was furniture, to be sure. And food in the fridge. And clothes in the closet. But other than that there were no personal effects whatsoever, principally because Robie had none to bring here.

He had traveled the world, but had never purchased a souvenir to bring back. The only thing he had to bring home on his return trips was himself, surviving to do what he did another day. He’d never purchased a postcard or snow globe after ending someone’s life. He just got on a plane, or train, or sometimes drove or walked home. That was it.

He took a nap and when he woke he showered and changed into fresh clothes. He had a few hours to kill before going to meet Vance.

He opened his laptop, inserted the USB stick, and the life of Jessica Elyse Reel came to life in all its megapixel glory.

But before he could start reading his phone buzzed.

He looked at the email that had just popped into his box. It was quite to the point.

Sorry it’s come to this, Will. Only one can survive, of course. Selfishly, I hope it’s me. Respectfully, JR.

CHAPTER

7

ROBIE IMMEDIATELY CONTACTED Blue Man and told him what had happened. A trace was put on the email Robie had received. The report came back thirty minutes later and it was not good.

Untraceable.

For Robie’s agency to concede something was untraceable was a big deal. Whoever Reel was working with, they weren’t slackers.

The other point to consider was how Reel had gotten Robie’s email address. It certainly wasn’t public knowledge. Blue Man was probably thinking the same thing.

Reel might have a con federate in the ranks of the agency. A leave-behind who was feeding information to the woman. That information might include that Robie had been assigned to track her down, a fact that was only hours old. Whoever the insider was, he had access to a lot.

Robie once more began reading the file on Jessica Reel contained on the USB stick. Reel had had some impressive hits over the years. She, like Robie, operated at the highest level and had taken down people in situations that would have challenged Robie to the fullest.

He’d never doubted that Reel was good. But he was a little surprised that she was thatgood.

And she may have a spy on the inside telling her all she needs to know to get enough of an advantage to take me out before I get to her. Which means my own agency is a threat.

Robie kept reading until he came to the hit on Doug Jacobs. Quick, clean, ingenious really. Nail the handler while he thinks you’re about to take out someone else.

And a sniper’s nest had been found in the hotel in the Middle East. The gun muzzle had been placed perfectly so that when Jacobs did the satellite zoom Reel had suggested, he could see the gun barrel. But there had been no sniper.

There was no evidence that Reel had been the shooter who had ended Jacobs’s life. But the email Robie had just received left no doubt that she was involved somehow.

So the woman was supposed to be in the Middle East, but she might have been in D.C. drawing a bead on the man talking to her through a headset. Other things being equal, it probably was Reel who took the shot on Jacobs. If it were Robie, he would want to make sure the kill was done correctly. He wouldn’t have wanted anyone else pulling the trigger.

Which meant he had to go somewhere right now, before he met Vance for dinner.

Robie barely glanced at the three-story building where Jacobs’s life had ended. He knew what had happened there, at the end of the bullet’s path. Now he needed to understand the beginning of that path.

The old town house was only a few failed support columns from collapsing. Built in the late 1800s, the five-story building had been used for many different purposes over the years. These included a private school and a men’s club that had ceased to exist over fifty years ago. But no one famous had ever lived there, so it would never become a historical registry building. In the coming years it would probably be knocked down if it didn’t tumble down on its own first.

Robie gazed up at the building’s front. Staring back at him were aged brick, scraggly vines clinging to the walls, dead grass, and a rotted front door. He walked gingerly up the steps, avoiding the holes in the porch planks. The building had been secured, but stealthily. There were watchful eyes that had already cleared Robie to enter the premises. He used a key he had been given to open the front door and entered. The electricity had long since been turned off, so he pulled a flashlight from his pocket and walked on, clearing piles of rubble and giving a wide berth to missing floorboards.

The building was hundreds of yards from the agency outpost where Jacobs had been working. It was a long-distance shot certainly, but manageable ten times out of ten by a capable shooter.

Robie took the stairs up to the fifth floor. He had already been told that that was from where the shot had come. It was the only position in the town house that provided a clear sight line to Jacobs’s office.

He heard raindrops starting to fall more heavily as he reached the fifth floor landing. He walked down the hall. He felt the chill from the outside reach him through innumerable chinks in the building’s walls. He might be able to see his breath if it weren’t so dark.

He shined his light ahead of him, taking care to avoid weak spots in the floor. It would have been dicey setting up your shot from here, despite the clear sight line. You had no way to know if the floor would collapse under you.

But it hadn’t and Jacobs had died.

Robie slowed his walk as he approached the room. It was in a turret on the right side of the building.

He knew the place had already been gone over by agency personnel, but he also had been told that nothing had been disturbed. And the police hadn’t been told about this building yet, but no doubt their investigation would get here at some point. But for now Robie had a small window of opportunity.