They’d done pretty well for themselves with the two of them working. But the big house in Ann Arbor had been a stretch, and with Sally on unpaid maternity leave, money had been tight. Doug’s response had been to put in more hours at work, not that it would net him or the office more money. He did it to hang onto his job, to show Toby—and Elizabeth—that he took what he did seriously. And the hours he’d put in today had been relatively short. He knew he needed to at least make an attempt to show some support at home. If he didn’t mollify Sally somehow the pressure at home would start affecting his job.
The drive along the river to the northwest neighborhood he and Sally called home took less than ten minutes. Seven homes rimmed the circle at the end of their tree-lined cul-de-sac. Two of their neighbors had tennis courts in their backyards. Doug didn’t even know how to play tennis, let alone have the time. He shook his head as the car rolled slowly up the lane toward his drive, wondering if he and Sally had made a huge mistake. Of the seven families on his street, Doug could think of only the names of his next-door neighbors, Jack and Annie Something-or-other. Mueller, that was it. Sally probably knew all of them, but he simply hadn’t had the time or the inclination to cozy up to people he probably didn’t want to know anyway. He pulled the car into the garage and closed the door before getting out, thankful to shut suburbia out.
In the kitchen, he dropped his briefcase on a counter and opened the fridge. He bypassed the bottle of merlot and grabbed a beer. His friends all drank wine, and he thought they were all pretentious—his friends and most wines.
“Doug?” Sally called. “Is that you?”
A squeal of delight erupted from somewhere upstairs followed by pounding of feet down the stairs so loud that it put stampeding cattle to shame.
“Daddy-y-y!” shrieked the little girl who ran into the kitchen.
Doug barely had time to put the beer bottle down before his three-year-old daughter Amy threw herself at him. He scooped her up as she wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in the crook of his collarbone. He pressed his nose into the cascade of curls dangling in his face and sniffed the clean scent of shampoo.
Sally followed her into the room a moment later, stepping gingerly under the weight of her swollen belly. He turned the mega-watt smile Amy had put on his face toward Sally and got a wan grin that faded quickly in return.
“The kids eat?” Doug said.
She nodded. “I thought you’d be home earlier. They ate a while ago, and Amy just had her bath.”
“I thought so, too,” he said. “I left early hoping I might make it in time for dinner, but traffic was a bear.”
She sighed. “Well, at least you made it before they went to bed.”
Doug’s lips tightened, and he bit back a retort. “Rough day?”
“You could say that.” She managed to keep her tone neutral, but her expression was venomous.
Doug kept out of striking distance and put what he hoped was a look of empathy on his face. “Where’s Preston? Upstairs?”
“In his room.”
“So, why don’t I take Amy up and tuck her in, and check on Preston while you relax and put your feet up.”
She shrugged. “Sure. Whatever.”
Determined not to let her goad him into a fight, Doug grabbed Amy under the arms and swung her up high over his head to another squeal of pleasure.
“Hey, pun’kin’, how about we go upstairs and read a story?”
“Big Hungry Bear!” she said.
“A big, hungry bear it shall be,” he said, and growled at her.
Amy wriggled and screamed in mock fright, laughing at the same time. He swung her onto his shoulders, and carried her out of the kitchen, down the hall and upstairs to her room. She giggled all the way through the book, her eyes getting as round as saucers when the little mouse tried to hide the strawberry from the bear. When Doug finished, she made him read it again. The second time through she fell asleep. Doug tucked the covers under her chin, kissed her forehead and tiptoed out.
When he poked his head in Preston’s room a moment later, his son stared at an elaborate playscape of Lego blocks on the floor. His mouth moved but no sound came out. He was counting again, something he did when confronted with a puzzle or challenging situation.
“Hey, Preston,” Doug said softly, hoping to pull his attention away.
Preston continued to count, then the creases on his forehead smoothed and he looked up. “Hey, Dad.”
“How’re you doing, kiddo?”
Preston shrugged. “Okay.”
“Have fun with Grandpa today?”
“Uh-huh.” His head bobbed and his voice was a bit more animated.
Preston had always been a serious child, and precocious. And special. No one had mentioned it, not his teachers, not even Sally. Doug wondered if they failed to see what he did or if they all had contracted serious cases of denial, as if ignoring the problem would cause it to cease. Then again, maybe people chose not to see what Doug saw because Preston had never posed a problem to anyone.
But tonight, Doug recognized one of his son’s contemplative moods. “Something on your mind?”
“The contest ends tomorrow.”
“That’s right, it does.”
“What if I don’t win?”
“Then I’ll take you to Washington myself.”
Preston’s eyes widened. “You will?”
“Sure. We’ll all go. Maybe next summer, after Mom’s had the baby. And we’ll see lots of stuff, not just the National Archives. The Air and Space Museum, the Washington Monument.”
“FBI Headquarters?”
Doug nodded. “Why not?”
“Cool. Thanks, Dad.”
He turned back to the layout on the floor. Dismissed, Doug headed back downstairs with a small grin on his face.
Sally perched on a stool at the island counter in the large kitchen. She shifted her weight as Doug entered, and grimaced. He retrieved his beer and took a large swallow before facing her.
“How’d your ultrasound go today?” he said.
“Dr. Shelby says I should be in bed.”
“And you don’t? Christ, Sal, you said yourself this pre-eclampsia is serious stuff.”
“What am I supposed to do, Doug? Let the kids run around on their own? Ignore all the things that have to be done around here?”
“Like what? What’s so damn important you’d risk everything? The baby’s life, your life.”
“You don’t understand. You don’t know what it’s like to have two small children and a big house to take care of.”
“The house can go to hell for all I care. So what if it’s not the most pristine house on the block? It won’t kill us to live with a little mess and dirt.”
“I care, damn it! Until I go back to work, this is my job. I want to do it right.”
“Your job is to stay healthy and keep that baby inside you healthy, too.”
Sally’s eyes brimmed with tears, whether from frustration or anger Doug couldn’t tell.
“It’s not my fault! I didn’t ask for this condition. I didn’t even ask for this baby!”
Doug stared at her, dumbfounded. All along he’d thought having another child had been her idea, but he’d been okay with it, welcomed it, even. And now she was telling him she’d gotten pregnant by mistake?
He opened his mouth; closed it. Started again, keeping his voice calm and low. “If you need help, get help, for crying out loud. Preston’s in school most of the day. Get a babysitter for Amy. Get a housekeeper, if dusting and vacuuming is that important to you.”
“I thought we couldn’t afford it.”
He shook his head. “What we can’t afford is losing you. Please. I know I haven’t been much help around the house lately. Work has been all-consuming. But it won’t always be this way, I promise. In the meantime, get whatever help you need. Just do what the doctor tells you.”
Her eyes narrowed, and she waved him off. “Okay, okay. You’re beginning
to sound like my mother.”
Doug shuddered. “God, I hope not.”
As soon as he said it he threw up his hands in mock surrender, cutting Sally off. “You should call her, you know. She could help, at least until the baby is born.”
“We’ve been through this,” she said. “I don’t think I could take the two of you at each other’s throats.”
“I promise I’d be on my best behavior.”
“I know you’d try, but you know my mom.” She sighed. “Besides, I don’t think she’s forgiven me for not asking her to come stay when Amy was born.”
“Just give it some thought, okay?” Doug took another slow sip of his beer, and changed the subject. “Preston’s pretty worked up over this contest at school. I told him if he didn’t win, we’d all go to D.C. next summer, maybe.”
“Just don’t make him any promises, okay? You’ve broken his heart enough.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She looked away. “Nothing. Forget it.”
The beer suddenly soured in Doug’s stomach. He’d always promised himself that when Preston got a little older, he’d take more time to be involved in his life. Maybe volunteer to coach Little League or basketball. Take Preston camping. Help with Cub Scout projects. But Preston hadn’t shown interest in those things. Instead, he seemed to be much more at home in an interior world, more comfortable inside his own head, his own imagination. And he’d already gotten a little older, and Doug still hadn’t taken the initiative to play an active role in his life. The two of them hadn’t even communicated via FaceTime recently, something Preston had enjoyed. Lately, Doug had discouraged those calls at work.
Too busy, always too busy.
“What if he does win?” Sally said quietly, breaking into his thoughts.
Doug looked at her in surprise. “That would be terrific. Think about it. Preston has a chance to be one of fifty kids getting a free trip to D.C. and the National Archives to meet with the president’s children and see the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution. He’ll remember it his entire life.”
“He’s too young, Doug. Since when did they start sending seven-year-olds on overnight field trips?”
“You mean you never did one of those camping trips when you were a kid?”
“Not in second grade. My God! He’s still a baby!”
“He’s smart beyond his years, and tough, too. He’ll do great, Sal. Give the kid some credit.”
“But Washington, D.C.? That’s so far away. And he’ll be gone for so long.”
“What? Four days? Five? Look, if you’re that worried, go with him. Be a chaperone.”
She held her hands up. “I can’t do that. Doctor’s orders, remember?”
“So let him go if he wins. It’ll be the trip of a lifetime.”
Sally bit her lower lip and shook her head. “I can’t talk about this now.”
Doug glared at her, but she wouldn’t meet his gaze. He itched to push it, wondering if there would ever be a good time for anything with Sally again. He turned and walked out.
15
On the monitors, the windows in the house up the street glowed brighter as evening gave way to night. Nothing moved within for a long time. Then shadows played across the windows, and the blue flicker of a television screen joined the warm yellow lamplight spilling from inside. Stakeouts bored the hell out of most agents, especially after subjects had retired for the night. Hunt admonished the team to take shifts and get some shut-eye when they could. Tired as she was, Roberts felt too wired to sleep. And she had a suspect to watch.
Every twenty minutes, the team checked in, responses more terse and sounding more weary each time. Around seven, Davis got on his cell phone and called the ninja-mobile to negotiate who was going to get food, and what kind it would be. They evidently called the agents in the car Machowski drove. Ten minutes later Davis’s phone vibrated, and after speaking in low tones for a moment, he held the phone away from his mouth and turned to Roberts.
“Peters is ordering Chinese. What would you like?”
She thought a moment. “Get two orders of beef and broccoli. I’ll take some to Hunt.”
Davis took Brown’s order and relayed them all to Peters.
Half an hour later, Roberts heard a soft knock on the van’s rear door. She turned in the small space and opened it. One of the SWAT officers held out a plastic bag full of take-out boxes. She took it with a low murmur of thanks, and the black-suited cop faded into the night. She unloaded the bag and passed orders to Brown and Davis. Without opening hers, she opened the rear door again and hopped out with the remaining order. Two minutes later, she stepped inside the rental.
“Dinner, skipper,” Roberts called out softly.
“No lights,” Hunt warned.
She made her way down the hall, pushing the scent of sesame oil and soy sauce ahead of her into the living room. Light from the street illuminated Hunt’s face across the living room.
“Chinese?” Hunt said.
She lifted a shoulder as she held out a paper bag and let it drop. “Either this or pizza. You wouldn’t have liked the pie from what I heard.”
He took the sack from her grasp and peered inside it. He might as well have been looking into a black hole, but the smell of the food made even Roberts’s stomach growl.
“No Thai restaurants around here?” He sounded plaintive.
“SWAT placed the order since they’re off the block. They brought the food around.”
“Chinese it is.” He pulled chopsticks and a container from the bag, set the bag down and dug into the contents. Mouth full, he suddenly remembered his manners and waved the container at her.
“Want some?”
“Thanks. Got my own. I’ll eat in a minute.”
Hunt jabbed his chopsticks toward the window. “Subject could have seen them.”
“Could’ve. Want me to take it back?”
He pulled the container away from her. “Hell, no.” Roberts saw the corner of his mouth turn up in the half-light from the street.
“They were careful,” she assured him.
“And our subject looks like he’s in for the night. No contact with anyone?”
With a shake of her head she said, “All quiet. Only thing we’re picking up is the TV.”
“Well, better get some rest. Could be a long night.”
“Will do. You, too.”
He raised the carton of food in salute. “Thanks for dinner.”
Roberts slipped silently down the dark hall, out onto the porch, and shut the back door softly.
* * * * *
The lights on the ground floor of the house across the street winked out at about 9:00 p.m., and a moment later a dark upstairs window suddenly glowed. A half-hour after that, the house went dark. Roberts spelled both of the techs and continued to watch for another two hours. She mentally reviewed everything she knew about al-Qadir, going over purported conversations with lieutenants in various branches of al-Qaeda and other terrorist groups as well as possible sightings. Stacking that up against what she’d learned about the suspect in the house across the street made her even more uneasy. They knew almost next to nothing about the terrorist known as Zayn al-Qadir, and very little about the man across the street calling himself Zane Keator. And what they did know didn’t quite add up. They had no real reason to be there.
She wondered if Hunt was chasing a ghost, someone few people believed existed and who no one had ever seen. Hunt had proved himself so valuable in taking down living, breathing terrorists that the agency had tolerated his excursions on the trail of the illusory al-Qadir. But this time he was dragging half the fly team into his personal vendetta. The fallout, if this mission went south, could impact all of them. As a more junior member of the team, Roberts wasn’t as concerned for herself as she was for Hunt. He could be throwing away a distinguished career. She wanted to save him, and herself, from that, but didn’t know how far she could push him. She’d have to keep digging for
real evidence. The only thing that might sway him.
Her radio hissed and came to life.
Peters’s voice came over the radio. “Four, clear.”
She picked up the radio and checked in. “Two, clear.”
“Kids are asleep and everything’s peachy.” Machowski yawned loudly into the radio before releasing the mic.
Hunt’s voice came over the air next. “All accounted for. Four, any alternatives to a ram?”
“To gain entry?”
“I’d like to affect a silent entry, if possible,” Hunt said.
“I can pick a lock, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Bring your team for back-up,” Hunt said. “We’ll give it a shot, but if we’re not inside within sixty seconds, or the subject is alerted, we go in hot and hard.”
“Copy that,” Peters said.
“Three, I want you and your team to cover the sides and rear,” Hunt continued. “Two, you’re with me. We’ll go in right behind Peters and his SWAT team. Leave your boys at home to monitor the situation.”
“Roger,” Roberts’s replied.
“Three, do you copy?” Hunt said.
“I got it, I got it,” Machowski grumbled. “Christ, it’s like babysitting.”
“Let’s be professional,” Hunt said crisply. “By the book. No mistakes. We’ve got about four hours before go time. Divvy up your watch in shifts and get as much rest as you can, people.”
”Copy and out,” Peters said.
“Ditto,” Roberts said.
“See you all in the morning,” Machowski yawned.
The radio exchange had woken Davis, and he now stood behind Roberts in the cramped space.
“My turn,” he said. “Get some rest.”
Roberts scrutinized the image on the monitor carefully before nodding. The street outside the van was still and silent. She needed to be alert when they breached the house. A little downtime wouldn’t hurt. She slid out of the seat and traded places with Davis, then made her way to the back of the van, set the alarm on her phone to vibrate, settled down on the floor with her back against the wall and closed her eyes.
16
Stolen Identity Page 6
