Текст книги "The Hit"

Автор книги: David Baldacci

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Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Shell casings. Lots of them.

As though he had actually read Robie’s mind, Whitcomb said, “More than forty shell casings were found by a tree to the left of DiCarlo’s home. The way most of the casings were positioned when they were found on the ground indicates that the shooter was firing toward where you reported the other shooters to be and also where blood and different shell casings were discovered. Also found there were glass shards that have been identified as being from both sniper scopes and flashlights. So the question becomes, who else was out there?”

He stared pointedly at Robie.

When Robie said nothing, Whitcomb said, “You could hardly have missed seeing the person who fired over forty high-powered rifle rounds at a target that was firing on you. So who was your guardian angel? That’s the first question. The second question is, why wasn’t that information already in your report?”

“It’s an issue of trust, sir.”

From his slack expression, this was not the response Whitcomb was expecting. “Excuse me?” he said sharply.

“Ms. DiCarlo expressed to me that things were not as they should be at the agency and other places. Things that troubled her. She indicated that a crisis was approaching. She only had two men guarding her because they were the only two she trusted.”

Whitcomb put his glasses back on, as though doing so would make him see more clearly what Robie had just said.

“Am I to believe that the number two at the agency didn’t trust her employer? Meaning the CIA?” He shook his head slowly. “That is very, very difficult to comprehend, Mr. Robie.”

“I’m just telling you what she told me.”

“And yet that extraordinary assertion also was not in your report. And Ms. DiCarlo unfortunately is not available to corroborate your statement.”

“She invited me to her house, sir. To tell me these things.”

“Again, your word only.”

“So you don’t believe me?” Robie said.

“Well, you apparently don’t believe anything either.”

Robie shook his head but didn’t respond.

Whitcomb pressed on. “My briefings indicate that we have a rogue agent killing agency personnel. You were assigned to come on board, find, and terminate said rogue agent. It does not seem to me that you are any closer to finding her. Indeed, it seems that you are starting to believe that the true enemy is located on the inside instead of on the outside.”

“When one’s own side withholds information from me I think it only natural that my confidence in my side goes down. And it also makes it a lot harder to do my job.”

“Withholds information?”

“Redacted files, corrupted crime scenes, cryptic meetings where more is left unsaid than said. Agendas that seem to keep shifting. Not an ideal platform for success in the field.”

Whitcomb stared down at his hands for a few moments before looking up and saying, “Just answer this simple question. Did you see the person who fired off those rounds?”

Robie knew if he hesitated with his answer it would be calamitous. “It was a woman. I didn’t see the face clearly. But it was definitely a woman.”

“And you didn’t attempt to confirm who it was?” Now Robie had a ready answer that not even a hardass like Whitcomb could dispute. “I had a badly wounded person in the backseat who could expire at any time. There were shooters zeroing in our location. I had no time to do anything other than leave the scene as quickly as possible. My paramount concern was Ms. DiCarlo’s survival.”

Whitcomb was nodding even before Robie finished speaking. “Of course, Robie. Of course, completely understandable. And your prompt actions have, hopefully, resulted in DiCarlo’s survival, for which you are to be commended.”

He paused, seeming to marshal his thoughts while Robie waited for the next query.

“Do you have any idea who this woman might have been?”

“Sir, it would only be a guess on my part at this point in time.”

“I’ll take that, at this point in time,” Whitcomb shot back.

“I think it was Jessica Reel, the rogue agent I’ve been assigned to hunt down.”

CHAPTER

34

GAMESTOP WOULD NOT BE OPEN for several more hours. Yet she knew he always got in early. So Reel sat in her car outside the mall entrance that he would use. She flicked her lights when she saw him drive up and park his vintage black Mustang.

He walked over to her car and got in.

She drove off.

Michael Gioffre wore an unzipped hoodie, baggy jeans, and his “Day of Doom” T-shirt. Reel assumed he had dozens of them.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “I’ve got inventory to check.”

“Not far. And it won’t be long if you have what I need. Just time for a cup of coffee.”

She pointed to the coffee sitting in the cup holder. He picked it up, took a sip.

“You didn’t give me much time,” he mumbled.

“My recollection of you is that you never needed much time. Am I wrong?”

Gioffre took another sip and then wiped his mouth. “I could get in a lot of trouble doing this.”

“Yes, you could.”

“But you still expect me to help you?”

“Yes, I do. If the positions were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

Gioffre sighed. “I hate it when you’re logical.”

“You’re a gamer. I thought you lived by logic.”

“I also appreciate fantasy. I kill guys on the screen. You kill them for real.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“Stupid comment, sorry,” Gioffre finally said.

“It’s the truth, so how stupid can it be?”

“Logic again,” he said. “You have an endless supply.”

“I’ve always chosen that over chaos. When I had a choice, that is.”

For Reel they could have been in a time tunnel, ten years ago, in a car, driving in some foreign land, her seeking information and Gioffre providing it. But then again, every place seemed foreign to her now. Even the one she used to call home.

They drove in silence for another mile. Each plunk of a raindrop on the windshield seemed to Reel to represent a second of their lives draining away.

“Did they deserve it?” Gioffre asked, quietly breaking the silence.

Reel didn’t answer.

He shifted in his seat. “Because knowing you the way I know you, I think they must have.”

“Don’t give me credit for something I didn’t earn.”

“What do you mean?” Gioffre said sharply.

“I’ve terminated lots of people I never even met because someone higher up in the pecking order told me it was not only the right thing to do, it was my duty. Whether they actually deserved it or not never entered into the equation. That’swhat I mean.”

“But that’s what you signed up for. That’s what I signed up for way back when. We were on the side of right and justice. At least that’s what we were told.”

“It was mostly true, Mike. But just mostly. You have human beings in the cycle so nothing is perfect, in fact everything is de facto imperfect.”

“So did they deserve it? This time, I mean.”

Reel made a quick turn, pulled to the curb, and put the car in park. She turned sideways in her seat and looked at him.

“Yes, they did deserve it. But it’s both simple and complicated. The simple part is done. Or at least it’s in progress. The complicated part will take a long time. And it may never get done.”

“So there’s more to come?” he asked.

“Do I look like I’m done?”

“No.”

She put the car in gear and pulled off. “And if I tell you any more you become an accomplice for everything I do. So let’s cut to the end. Do you have what I need?”

He pulled a flash drive from his pocket and handed it to her. Reel put it in her pocket.

“I’ve haven’t looked at it,” he said.

“Good.”

“How did you know it even existed?”

“Because they’re executing on it. You don’t do something like that without planning. Without a map to go forward. Someone had to white paper it. That’s not a puzzle you can reverse engineer. Every piece needs to be in place with every upside and downside considered beforehand.”

“Who’s ‘they’?”

She shook her head. “Not going there.”

“Guess you’d have to kill me too.”

“Guess so,” said Reel. She was not smiling even a little bit.

Gioffre rubbed a hand though his straggly hair and looked away.

“Your coffee the way you like it?” she asked.

He gripped the cup. “Perfect. You have a good memory.”

“When you’re always two seconds from dying violently you remember the little things. One cream put in before the coffee, then one sugar. Don’t stir it. What kept me sane. Probably the same for you, right?”

“What else do you remember from those days?”

Reel stared out the windshield. In her mind’s eye lots of images popped up. Most she would never forget no matter how hard she tried.

“The wind was always blowing. The sand hurt my skin and kept jamming my weapons. I could never get enough to eat or enough water to drink. But most of all I remember wondering what the hell we were all doing there. Because it was going to look exactly the same once we left. And all we were really going to leave behind was a lot of blood, much of it ours.”

Gioffre turned and looked out the windshield. He drank his coffee slowly, methodically, like it would be his last cup ever.

“Mike, you did close the path back to you on this, right?”

“I did the best I could. They would have to be better than me to get to me. And I don’t think they are. I know sixteen-year-old punks who’ve never even kissed a girl who can program circles around the best the NSA has out there.”

“All the same, watch your back. No room for overconfidence on this.”

He said, “Looks like it’s going to rain all day.”

“Looks like it’s going to rain the rest of my life.”

“How long might that be?” he asked. “Your life, I mean?”

“Your guess is probably better than mine. I’m no longer an objective observer.”

“You shouldn’t go out this way, Jess. Not after all you’ve done.”

“It’s because of what I’ve done that I have to go out this way. Because there’s no other way to go and be able to look at myself in the mirror. If people did that simple test they wouldn’t do three-quarters of the crap they end up doing. But at the end of the day people can justify anything they want. It’s just how we’re wired.”

“They must have really hurt you.”

They really hurt someone I cared about, thought Reel. They hurt him so much he’s dead. And when they hurt him, they hurt me. And now it’s my turn to hurt them back.

“Yeah, I guess they did,” she replied.

She drove him back to the mall, parked near the GameStop, and let him out.

“I appreciate the assist, Mike. No one will ever know where it came from.”

“I know that.”

He started to leave but then ducked back inside the car as the rain pelted him.

“I hope you make it.”

“We’ll see.”

“Who do they have coming after you?”

“Will Robie.”

Gioffre sucked in a breath and his eyes grew wide with fear. “Shit. Robie?”

“I know. But he might cut me some slack.”

“Why the hell would he do that?”

“Because I saved his life last night.”

She drove on, leaving Gioffre standing in the rain watching her. She drove for some miles and then pulled into a parking garage, stopped the car, but kept the engine running. She popped the flash drive into her laptop and thoroughly read the contents.

This would require a plane ride.

And what would be would be.

She drove off.

CHAPTER

35

THE SUV DROPPED ROBIE OFF in front of his apartment building. The men said nothing to him on the short ride over from the White House, nor did they speak as they opened the door and let him out. Robie watched the vehicle disappear into the early morning rush hour traffic.

Whitcomb hadn’t said much after Robie had told him he believed that Jessica Reel had come to his and DiCarlo’s aid the night before. He had written some things down in his electronic tablet, given Robie a few suspicious glances, and then risen from his chair and left.

Robie had remained sitting until a guard came and retrieved him a few minutes later. It was both a memorable and disturbing visit to the White House.

Now he stared at his apartment building and couldn’t remember feeling this tired before. That was saying a lot, because he had gone days without sleep and not much to eat, laboring under the most intense conditions.

Maybe I really am too old for this anymore.

It was not a concession he wanted to make, but his aching body and tired mind were two stark reminders that there was probably more truth in that statement than not.

He took the elevator up to his apartment, opened the door, turned off the alarm, and closed the door behind him. He had turned off his phone while at the White House because they had asked him to. He now turned it back on and the text popped up on the screen:

Everything I do has a reason. Just open the lock.

Robie sat down in a chair and stared at the screen for a full five minutes. Then he laid his phone down on the table and took a twenty-minute shower, letting the hot water pound the exhaustion out of him. He dressed and had a glass of orange juice. Then he sat back down with the text.

Everything I do has a reason. Just open the lock.

Reel had done many things. Which ones was he supposed to focus on? What was he supposed to unlock?

The killings?

Her coming to his aid?

Her sending this latest text?

All of the above?

He expected to get another phone call from the agency. They would have already read this text and probably had a dozen analysts trying to decipher it. But no call came. Maybe they didn’t know what else to say to him. He thought about texting Reel back, asking her what she meant. But she knew as well as he that the agency would be able to read every word. He decided not to bother answering.

He slipped the phone into his jacket pocket, stood, and stretched. He should try to get some sleep, but there was no time for that.

He suddenly realized he needed to rent a car. His was lying shot full of holes at some secure government evidence lot.

He had run through quite a few vehicles in the past year. He was glad the rental fees were deductible. Sanctioned assassins didn’t get many tax breaks.

He took a cab to a car rental outlet and signed the papers on an Audi 6. The last one he’d driven had gotten shot up too. He wondered if he was on some rental car company watch list of bad-risk clients. If he was, the place he’d just done the deal with hadn’t gotten the message to stay the hell away from him.

He drove off in his new vehicle, toward the hospital where Janet DiCarlo was currently a patient. He’d gotten the necessary info from Blue Man in an email that morning. He arrived there forty minutes later after the weather and rush-hour traffic took their toll on his journey.

He expected DiCarlo’s floor to be surrounded by security. It wasn’t. Robie took that as a very bad sign. That the intensive care unit was practically empty when he walked in was an even worse sign.

When he asked one of the nurses where DiCarlo was, she looked at him blankly.

Okay, Robie thought, they hadn’t been given her real name.

He looked at the room numbers and pointed to one. “The woman in that room,” he said. Blue Man had been very clear: ICU, Room 7.

The woman still said nothing.

“Did she die?” he wanted to know.

Another woman came up to him. She looked like a supervisor of some sort. Robie put the same questions to her.

The woman took him by the elbow and led him over to a corner. Robie showed her his creds, which she scrutinized.

She said, “That patient’s condition and current location are unknown to us.”

“How can that be? You’re a hospital. Do you just let people take critically injured patients out of here?”

“A re you the woman’s associate?”

“Why?”

“Because I’ve been working in this area for a long time. And we get all types. And the type that this woman was, I believe, is highly classified. They gave no name. And they came and took her early this morning. They didn’t tell us where. I assume that they have appropriate medical care for her.”

“Who took her?”

“Men in suits with badges and ID cards that scared the hell out of me, if you want to know.”

“What did the badges and ID cards say?”

“Homeland Security.”

It was Robie’s turn to stare blankly.

DHS was involved. CIA and DHS did not play nice together, that was just how it was. But for DHS to get DiCarlo out of this place they had to do so with Langley’s blessing. So the two federal behemoths had defied all odds and wereworking together.

Robie refocused on the woman. “And they didn’t say where they were taking her?”

“No.”

“Was it safe to move her?”

“As a nurse with twenty years’ experience in the ICU, I would say emphatically no. But they did it anyway.”

“How badly injured was she?”

“I can’t get into that with you. It’s confidential.”

“I was with her last night when she got shot. I was the one who got her away from the people trying to kill her. I was sent here by my agency to check on her condition. You can understand that I’m surprised that she’s not here. I know there’s confidentiality involved, but you don’t even know her name. She was just the woman in Room 7. I don’t see how you would be violating any HIPAA regs.”

The woman mulled over this and said, “It isan unusual situation.”

“No truer words have ever been spoken.”

She smiled briefly. “She was in the ICU. And she wasn’t going to be leaving here anytime soon. The wound she suffered had done a lot of internal damage. The surgery removed the bullet, but it had hit a lot of things inside her. She’s going to have a long rehab. If she pulls through. That’s all I can tell you.”

Robie thanked her and left.

On the way to his car he called Blue Man and relayed this news. He was listening carefully to Blue Man’s reaction. Robie wanted to know—no, he neededto know—if Blue Man was already aware of this.

The man’s next words made Robie feel confident that he wasn’t.

“My God, what the hell is going on?”

“I’ll let you know if I find out,” answered Robie.

He clicked off and got into his car.

There were a number of ways he could pursue this, but only one was the most direct. And right now, Robie needed to be direct.

He punched the gas and cleaned out the fuel injectors on the Audi.

When you wanted real answers, sometimes it was best to go straight to the top.

CHAPTER

36

EVAN TUCKER’S MOTORCADE PULLED OUT from his house and headed down the street. The lead SUV suddenly screeched to a halt and men with guns jumped out.

Blocking the road was an Audi 6. Standing in front of the Audi 6 was Will Robie. In an instant, he was encircled by five security agents.

“Hands up, now!” shouted the lead agent.

Robie did not put up his hands. “Tell your boss that unless we have a chat right now, my next stop will be the FBI, where I will tell them all I know about everything. And he won’t like that. Trust me.”

“I said to get your hands up. Now.”

Robie turned to look at him. “And I’m telling you to go get your boss. Now.”

The agents moved in to tackle Robie. One ended up on the hood of the Audi. A second was thrown flat down on the pavement. A third agent was about to try his luck when a voice shouted, “Enough!”

They all turned to see Evan Tucker standing next to the middle SUV.

“Enough of this ridiculous behavior.”

The fallen agents picked themselves up, stared grimly at Robie, and retreated.

Tucker focused on Robie. “Is there a problem?”

“Yes, actually there is. And her name is Janet DiCarlo.”

Tucker glanced around at several of his neighbors, who were standing openmouthed in their yards or next to their cars, or holding their young children’s hands.

“Robie,” he hissed. “We are out in public.”

“Not my problem. I told your guys I wanted to talk to you. In private. They didn’t seem to get the message.”

Tucker eyed one of his neighbors, a young mother gripping the hand of her five-year-old, who looked ready to pee in his pants at the sight of all the men with guns.

Tucker smiled. “Just a little misunderstanding. We’ll be leaving now. Have a nice day.” He pointed at Robie. “You, come with me.”

Robie shook his head. “I’ll follow you in my car. It’s a rental. Don’t want to lose it. You know what happened to my last ride.”

Tucker chewed on that answer for a few moments and then got back into his SUV and slammed the door. Robie climbed into his Audi, backed it up, let the motorcade pass him, and then followed.

When they reached a major street, Robie saw what he needed. He did a quick right turn and pulled into a parking lot. He got out of the car, and before he went inside the IHOP he saw out of the corner of his eye the motorcade stop and start to back up. Cars all around started honking in protest.

Robie walked inside and up to the hostess stand. A young woman approached him, a menu in hand.

“Will it be just one for breakfast, sir?”

“No, actually it’ll be two. But we’ll need room for about five large men to surround the table.”

The young woman’s eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“And if you have a private room, that would be great.”

“A private room?”

Robie pulled his creds and flashed them to her. “It’s okay, we’re the good guys.”

Robie had ordered two cups of coffee by the time Evan Tucker stormed in with his entourage. The hostess escorted them back, looking terrified.

“It’s okay,” Robie said to her. “I’ve got it from here.”

The hostess had sat Robie in the back and around a corner, which was about as private as it was going to get at the IHOP. Luckily, the place wasn’t very busy. The closest customers were at least a half dozen tables away.

Tucker snapped, “What the hell game are you playing?”

“I didn’t take time for breakfast. And I’m hungry. And I ordered you coffee.”

“We cannot discuss the matter here.”

“Well this is the only place I’m prepared to discuss it.”

“Do you want me to have you arrested?”

“You have no arresting authority in the United States, Director. And I don’t think you want to get the local cops involved. Way above their pay grade. They might arrest us all and let someone else figure it out. So why don’t you sit down, have your guys surround the table, eyes outward, deploy their anti–electronic surveillance devices that I know they carry, and we can talk about this.”

Tucker finally marshaled his fury, took a deep breath, and sat. He motioned for his men to do exactly what Robie had suggested. A low hum emanated from a device one of the guards held in his hand.

“You take cream and sugar in your coffee?” asked Robie.

“Black is fine.”

A timid waiter barely out of his teens approached. In a shaky voice he said, “Uh, are y’all ready to order?”

Before the guards could shoo him away Robie said, “I am. Director?”

Tucker shook his head and then glanced at the menu. “Uh, wait a minute, I haven’t eaten yet either.” He asked the waiter, “What do you recommend?”

The young man looked like he would rather be eaten by sharks than open his mouth. But he stammered, “Uh...we’re sort of known for our pancakes.”

Tucker aimed a small smile at Robie. “Well, I’ll have two eggs sunny side up, bacon, a stack of your recommended pancakes, and some grapefruit juice.”

“Make that two,” said Robie.

The waiter nearly ran away and Robie settled his gaze on Tucker.

Tucker said, “Now, can we get down to it?”

“One question. Do you know where Janet DiCarlo is?”

“She’s in the hospital, Robie,” Tucker snapped.

“Okay, which hospital? Because the one she was in last night has no idea where she is now.”

Tucker froze with his cup halfway to his mouth. He set it back down.

“You really didn’t know,” said Robie incredulously.

“That’s impossible. Where could she have gone? She just got out of surgery. She’s in critical condition.”

“So you’re telling me that your men at that hospital didn’t tell you that guys from DHS came and took her away to God knows where? Now, I would have said thatwas impossible, but I guess I’d be wrong.”

Tucker licked his lips and took a sip of coffee, slowly setting the cup back down.

Robie watched this, thinking, He’s just buying time because his brain is racing.

Tucker finally said, “DHS? You’re sure about that?”

“That was the creds they flashed to the nurses to cut DiCarlo loose.”

Tucker said nothing.

Robie said, “While you’re mulling that over, Director, I should tell you that I also had a chat with the APNSA.”

“Gus Whitcomb? Why?” Tucker said sharply.

“They came and got me. Mr. Whitcomb was blunt, to the point, and not very happy with what I told him.”

Tucker took another sip of coffee. This time it was a tactical mistake on his part, because Robie could see his hand trembling.

“What exactly did you tell him?”

“You really want to know?”

“Of course I want to know.”

“There was a good reason that I was able to get DiCarlo out of that ambush alive last night.”

“What was that?”

“We had a guardian angel who came to our rescue.”

“What angel?”

“Her name I think you know. Jessica Reel?”

Tucker’s lips parted, but no words came out at first. Finally, he blurted out, “That’s ridiculous.”

“I would have thought so too, since I’ve been tasked to find her because she’s a traitor to her country. At least that’s what I was told.”

“What did DiCarlo want to meet with you about?”

“She had some interesting things to tell me about past missions.”

“Like what exactly?” demanded Tucker.

“Like missions that shouldn’t have been, missing personnel and equipment. Dollars into the abyss.” Robie went on to tell Tucker in greater detail what DiCarlo had shared. After he was done, Tucker was about to say something, but Robie held up his hand and pointed to his left.

Their food was here.

The circle of men parted and the plates were set before them.

“Anything else?” squeaked the waiter. “Coffee freshened up?”

“I’m fine,” said Tucker, and he glanced at Robie.

“Little more coffee, thanks.”

The waiter filled Robie’s cup and fled.

Robie started eating but Tucker just sat there.

“Did DiCarlo give you exact details of these missions, personnel, equipment, and money?”

“No. But if I were you I would try to find out.”

Tucker slowly shook his head. Robie couldn’t tell if it was to indicate disbelief or frustration or both. “Are you certain it was Reel?”

“Same height, same build. It was a woman.”

“So you can’t be sure?” said Tucker.

“How many women do you have on the payroll that could take on a half dozen trained killers in a gun battle and win?” said Robie. “Hell, how many guys do you have who can do that?”

Tucker started cutting up his eggs. The two men ate for a few minutes in silence.

Robie put the last bite in his mouth, drained the rest of his coffee, and sat back, tossing his paper napkin on the table.

Tucker did the same. “If it was Reel, why?” he asked.

“That’s what I was hoping you could tell me.”

“Why would I have the answer to that?”

“You’re the DCI. If you don’t have the answer, who the hell does?”

“Maybe DHS.”

“Are you still not playing well with your big brother?”

Tucker shrugged. “For decades the FBI was the eight-hundred-pound gorilla everybody else hated. Now DHS is the nine-hundred-pound grizzly we hate even more than the Bureau.”

“It’s not like you guys go out of your way to cooperate with anybody.”

“More than you think, Robie.”

“Then pick up the phone and call your counterpart at DHS and ask nicely for the return of your employee.”

“It’s not that easy.”

“Why?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Explain it.”

“I don’t have time to explain it. I have important meetings I’m already late for.”

Robie stood. “Okay. Then I’ll let you get on to your importantmeetings. But if you can find the time you might want to see if DiCarlo is even still alive.”

“I care very much about Janet, Robie, don’t make it seem like I don’t. She’s a friend as well as a colleague.”

“Actions, Director. They always trump the rhetoric.”

“What’s your next step in finding Reel?”

“There is no next step. Until someone explains to me what the hell is going on, I have officially retired from the field.”

“You would be disobeying a direct order,” barked Tucker.

“So arrest me.”

Robie pushed through the shield of guards and left the IHOP.

When Tucker started to leave, the trembling waiter sidled over and handed him the bill and then fled. The CIA director stared down at it for a moment and then slowly pulled out his wallet.

CHAPTER

37

ROBIE SAT IN HIS APARTMENT, thinking that he needed information in a way that was discreet. Such information was often hard to come by when people were watching you.

Yet he did work in the clandestine division. And thus he had resources and a certain skill set. He intended to employ some of them right now.

He drove to a mall, parked in the covered garage, and went shopping. In one hour he had visited three different shops and carried three different bags.

He got some coffee, sat at a table, and drank it all down. He also had a muffin, even though he wasn’t really hungry.

He got up, threw the empty cup away, and walked on.

He wasn’t certain he was being followed, but he had to assume he was.

He had to believe his interest marker at the agency had gone up significantly. And there were other agencies that might be involved now too.

DHS apparently had Janet DiCarlo. They had a lot of resources available to them, including satellites. Satellites were hard to beat. But there were ways to do so. They could only spy on what they could see. And sometimes what they thought they were seeing wasn’t what it really was.

He checked his watch. As good a time as any. They were really going to have to hustle now.

He didn’t go back to his car. He took an escalator down to the Metro.

He was instantly surrounded by a horde of commuters scrambling to make trains. He wedged in with a group trying to board the train just entering the station. He got on and dropped his bags, which caused a scrum at the entrance to the train.

A voice announced that the train doors were closing. Robie kept walking, down the aisle of the train car. He looked back as he reached the end of the car. Two men were fighting their way onto the car by forcibly pushing the scrum out of the way.

Robie didn’t know them. But he did know what they were.

They were his tail. The signs were unmistakable.

Right before the doors closed, Robie stepped out of the other door.

The train slid away from the station while Robie walked to the exit, invisible within a wall of other travelers.

He didn’t go up the escalator. He slipped through a door that was nearly hidden in the wall. It led to a maintenance area.

Robie ran into two men in the hall inside this area. When they asked him what he was doing there, he flashed his creds and asked for the nearest exit. They told him and he was through it in under a minute.