Twenty-Five
We take the orange line to Metro Center, then get on the red line and take that to Gallery Place-Chinatown. It’s almost noontime and the trains are busy, the stations even more so.
Both David and Casey are excited. The movie they’re seeing today is the new Pixar; they’ve been talking about it ever since they first saw the teaser trailer a year ago.
We come up from under the Verizon Center to the movie theater. Tina and the boys are waiting for us.
“I’ve already got the tickets,” my sister says.
Matthew and Max smile and talk with David. Nobody pays attention to little Casey, who stands beside me, holding my hand.
Tina leans forward and smiles at Casey. “Excited about the movie?”
Casey nods.
Tina holds out her hand. “Well, come on then, let’s go inside. We’ll get some popcorn.”
“Popcorn!” the three boys yell at once.
Casey looks at Tina’s outstretched hand, looks up at me.
“Go ahead,” I say. “Have fun.”
Casey is still hesitant. That’s just the way she is, even around people she knows.
“Come on, Casey,” David says, grabbing her other hand.
She lets go of my hand, allows her brother to drag her toward the boys.
Tina smiles at me. “The natives are restless.”
I just nod, sweeping my gaze around at the people walking here and there. I’m wearing one of Tina’s old pantsuits—there was nothing suitable in my closet—and it’s a little too tight around the shoulders.
“Nervous?”
I nod again.
She reaches out, places a hand on my arm. “Don’t worry, Holly. You’ll do fine.”
I try to smile but it’s difficult, almost impossible, and so I just shrug my tightly wrapped shoulders and say nothing.
“Remember what Ryan said. Just relax and be yourself.”
“Mom called me this morning.”
“She did?”
“She invited me to dinner tonight.”
“And you’re going?”
“I couldn’t think up a good enough excuse in time so I had no choice.”
“That’s good,” Tina says. “You both should talk.”
“Oh, shut up.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’s pretty odd Mom calling me up out of nowhere on the day of a job interview. I could tell she was dying to wish me good luck.”
Holding a hand to her chest, looking completely perplexed, Tina says, “And you think I had anything to do with it?”
I glance past her to where the kids are congregating, David talking to the boys. He keeps pulling away from his sister but Casey keeps grabbing at his hand, wanting that physical link.
“You better get going,” I say.
Tina glances at her watch. “You better get going, too.” She leans forward, kisses me on the cheek. “Good luck.”
I nod again and then just stand there and watch Tina lead her charges into the lobby, each of the kids glancing back and waving. Casey is the last and it’s no surprise when she breaks away from the group and hurries over to me. Her eyes are starting to water.
I crouch down so I’m on her level and she wraps her arms around my neck.
“Why are you leaving us?” she near-sobs.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“But you aren’t coming with us.”
“I’ll be right back. When the movie’s over, I’ll be waiting for you.”
She wipes at her eyes, at her nose. For an instant I understand she never acts this way with her mother and a heavy needle pierces my heart.
“Promise?” she asks.
“I promise.”
Tina slowly makes her way over to us, asking me with a look if everything’s okay.
“You don’t want to miss the movie now, do you?” I ask.
Casey wipes again at her eyes, quickly shakes her head.
“Then you better hurry. Especially if you want popcorn.”
Tina steps up behind her, leans down and whispers in her ear. Casey stares back at me as she listens and then she nods and takes Tina’s hand and walks with Tina toward the boys.
I want to keep standing there, watching them, but I don’t want to be late either, so I quickly turn and head back to the station.
I take the red line to Metro Center, switch to the blue line that takes me to McPherson Square. Soon I start up 15th Street, take a left and head west on K Street. Five minutes later I come to the large glass building that is Ryan’s firm and I open the door to enter but pause.
This is it, I think. Through these doors is another life. No more Walter. No more Nova. No more killing. No more Casey and David, either. No more trying to make the world a better place. No more Holly Lin.
Twenty-Six
The interview doesn’t last long. A glance at my résumé, a few questions asked, and then a handshake and a promise that they’ll be in touch.
I wait in the lobby of the movie theater almost an hour before the film lets out. David and the boys lead the pack, David bear-hugging the nearly empty tub of popcorn. Matthew keeps sticking his hand in, keeps shoveling popcorn into his mouth, Max and David laughing and laughing while yellow puffs fall everywhere.
Tina doesn’t notice their shenanigans because right now she’s busy tending to Casey. Casey’s face is red and there are tears in her eyes. She isn’t crying now but it’s clear she has been.
When the boys see me they head in my direction. Tina follows, holding Casey’s hand, and when Casey sees me she lets go and hurries toward me.
“What’s wrong?” I ask her, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu, understanding in this moment that I cannot leave this girl, not ever.
Tina answers for Casey. “There was a sad part near the end. You know, they make you think the hero doesn’t make it but she overcomes it and everything is okay.”
“Then why are you so sad?” I ask Casey. “Everything turned out good, didn’t it?”
Casey mumbles into my shoulder: “Just because everything turned out good doesn’t mean it’s a happy ending.”
How about that—profound thoughts from a four-year-old.
Casey won’t let go of me so I pick her up and cradle her in my arm.
Tina asks, “So how did it go?”
I shrug.
“That bad?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never done one of those before.”
“Did they have you do a typing test?”
“Nope.”
“Oh.”
“Yep,” I say, making the word pop with my lips. It brings Casey out of her dour mood, enough so that she giggles. “What—you like that?” I ask, and do it again, and again, and again, every time the little girl giggling harder.
Still holding her, I ask, “Ready to head back home?”
Smiling now, she nods.
I force my own smile at Tina. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem. Good luck with Mom tonight.”
“Yeah, thanks. I’m going to make sure I get you back for that, by the way.”
Together we head down into the station. We say our farewells. Tina and the boys get on the red line leading toward Glenmont; David and Casey and I get on the red line leading back toward Metro Center.
We sit on one of the plastic benches, Casey on one side, David on the other.
“So why’d you miss the movie?” David asks.
“I had an appointment.”
“With a doctor?”
“Yeah.”
“You ain’t sick, are you?”
“Don’t say ain’t.”
The buzzer dings and the doors close. The train starts to move.
Casey says, “Can we go to the zoo?”
“We were just there yesterday.”
“But we didn’t get to see everything.”
“What’s so special at the zoo that you need to see it again today?”
“She likes the elephants,” David says. H
e has a particular giggle in his voice, something I think Matthew and Max manage to infect him with because every time they get together it’s there and David becomes a brat. “She likes them because she’s as fat as them.”
“I am not fat!” Casey yells. Her soft but high-pitched voice causes everyone on the train to glance our way.
“Enough,” I say, my teeth clenched. I reach out and grab a spot on David’s thigh, just above his knee. I give it a slight squeeze and the smile vanishes as he takes a quick breath.
Keeping my hand on the pressure point, I lean down and whisper into his ear, “Done?”
He nods.
I let go and sit back. We’ll be at our stop any moment now. My heart rate is up, just a little, and somehow I’ve come back to myself, the true Holly Lin slipping back into the shell that was created when she stepped into the lobby of Ryan’s firm. My senses become heightened. I begin to hear every noise, smell every smell, see every little detail there is to see.
So it’s no wonder that when the train stops and we get off and head toward the orange line train, I realize we’re being followed.
Twenty-Seven
There are certain rules one must follow when properly doing a tail. Keeping a healthy distance, looking as if you’re busy, acting as if you belong where you are and that the very last thing you’re doing is following someone else. You have to keep your target in sight at all times, while at the same time you have to act like your target barely even exists.
Of course I know all this. I was trained for it. I followed people, had people follow me. I know what to do when I’m working a tail. Likewise, I know what to look for when someone is tailing me.
Which two men are doing right now, following me and the kids toward the orange line train.
They’re not together, these men, which may be what makes them even more conspicuous. One is wearing a business suit, carrying a briefcase in one hand while he looks at his cell phone in the other. The other is in blue jeans and a T-shirt, a Nationals cap on his head. He’s carrying a copy of the Post.
Both men are wearing Bluetooth headsets.
Both are keeping their distance from me as well as from each other.
How do I know for certain these two are following us? I don’t. But it’s a sense I have, an instinct, one that I’ve come to trust in the past four years.
These two men are trying too hard to act normal, so much so that I peg them right away.
And instead of heading toward our orange line train, I take us toward the escalators.
“Where are we going?” David asks.
I don’t answer. I’m carrying Casey and she kicks one leg freely.
We get on the escalator and ride it to the top level. Washington, D.C. has one of the cleanest metro systems in the country. The stations remind me of those in Europe, with their high arched ceilings, clearly positioned signs, and easily accessible trains.
I glance back and see that Suit is just now stepping onto the escalator. Blue Jeans has fallen back, looking at his newspaper, not dedicating himself to any one train.
“Holly?” David says. “I thought we were going home.”
“Change of plans.”
As we walk I do a quick sweep of everyone else on this level. A few businesspeople, a few students, but mostly tourists. Nobody else sticks out as being a threat.
We head toward a train that has just arrived. It’s a blue line train headed toward L’Enfant Plaza.
“Where are we going?” David says.
“David, do you want to play a game?”
“What kind of game?”
“The silence game.”
“That’s a stupid game.”
“Oh look, you lost.”
We wait for the train to clear of its passengers. I glance around us again. Blue Jeans is missing, but Suit is forty yards away. He stands in line for the train but not with everyone else right on the edge of the platform. He’s still looking at his phone, and as I look at him, he glances up. It’s just for an instant and then he’s looking back down at his phone. But it’s enough. I’ve made him and he knows it and now he’s stuck. Can’t move forward, can’t move away. Frozen in place until I make my move.
We get on the train and take our seats. I glance back out the window and see that Suit quickly does the same. He’s three cars down.
There’s a ding and the doors close and we start moving.
Casey now sits beside me. She’s humming something, a tune I don’t recognize, maybe something from the movie. David looks around, the start of a scowl on his face, something he inherited from his father.
I place my purse on my lap. My gun isn’t inside it. I’d taken it out because of my job interview today. I’d taken it out because in the past two years there has never been any reason to carry it.
The train slows and stops at Federal Triangle. People get off, people get on. From what I can see Suit hasn’t left his car.
The doors close, the bell dings, and then we’re moving again.
Next stop is the Smithsonian. It’ll let us up into the National Mall. A lot of space, a lot of people.
As the train moves, I stand up. I grip the metal rail. My hand is sweating. Strange, it wasn’t even sweating during my interview.
When the train starts to slow, I reach out and take Casey’s hand. Then the train stops and I lift Casey up into my arms. I motion for David to follow, and we walk out onto the platform.
I don’t bother glancing back to see whether Suit has gotten off, too.
We get onto the escalator and ride it up to the top level. We follow everyone else and take another escalator up to the surface. I walk the kids a good twenty feet away from the exit and then turn around to watch the people coming up.
“Holly”—David again—“what are we doing?”
“You lost again, David.”
“I don’t want to play that game.”
“That’s probably for the best, because you’re not good at it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It’s not?”
“No.”
“Then prove it.”
David crosses his arms and starts to pout, his face growing red.
I keep watching the exit. Watching students and tourists. Watching men and women and children.
Then watching Suit, still holding his briefcase, still holding his phone, rising to the surface.
He doesn’t even look once in our direction.
He turns south and starts walking toward Independence Avenue. He waits at the corner for the light to change and then continues forward with everyone else.
“Holly?” Casey says hesitantly.
“There,” David says. “She lost.”
“She wasn’t playing,” I say.
“What are we doing?” Casey asks.
“Going for a walk, honey.”
We head north over Jefferson Drive and take one of the pathways across the Mall. The sky is clear and blue. A nice breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. Two people are throwing a bright yellow Frisbee, three others are juggling a hacky sack.
I figure we’ll enjoy the afternoon and walk a couple blocks uptown to Federal Triangle. There we’ll take the orange line train back to our stop.
Only as we cross over the Mall and reach Madison Drive do I get that sense again, that instinct, that we’re being followed.
I pause and glance around us.
The guy in the blue jeans and T-shirt and baseball cap, the Post in his hands, the Bluetooth flashing in his ear, is headed our way.
Twenty-Eight
Blue Jeans is crossing the Mall directly behind us, coming up the same pathway we’ve just walked. He walks casually enough, the paper swinging at his side, his attention on the three juggling the hacky sack.
I glance around quickly, considering my options. The National Museum of American History to our left, the National Museum of Natural History to our right.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Where are we going?”
David says.
“Lost again.”
“I’m not playing.”
“Look, think of this as a game, okay? We’re playing hide and seek.”
“Really?”
Casey says, “Who are we playing hide and seek with?”
“Trying to figure that out is half the fun.”
As we approach the Museum of Natural History, David starts looking around.
“Don’t,” I tell him.
“Why not?”
“You don’t want to make it obvious that you’re playing.”
“I don’t?”
“No. The idea is to act like everything’s normal.”
Outside the Smithsonian buses are lined up, off-loading and on-loading day camps. The steps are littered with parents and children and counselors and campers. We weave through the crowd toward the entrance, then wait in the line that takes us to the metal detectors. If Blue Jeans is definitely following us, and if he is packing anything from a gun to a knife, he won’t be able to come in here.
We head toward the African elephant display in the lobby. I set Casey down, take her hand and place it in David’s.
“Stay right here,” I say.
“Where are you going?”
“Not far. You’ll be able to see me and I’ll be able to see you. Just make sure you stay here and don’t let go of each other’s hands.”
I head back toward the entrance, glancing over my shoulder every few seconds. Casey and David stay right where I told them to, holding hands. Both of them watch me just as I keep watching them.
I’m not too worried about them getting snatched. At least not in here, not with a thousand witnesses. And if anybody did try to make a move on them, it would take me less than five seconds to make it back to their location. And even with witnesses, the sorry son of a bitch who tried laying a finger on those kids would be lucky if I didn’t break his neck.
My only purpose now is seeing what’s become of Blue Jeans.
And I guess I’m not surprised to find that he’s outside, waiting in line, almost ready to enter the main doors.
I turn back around, quickly return to the spot I’d left the kids. I pick Casey up and motion for David to follow me.
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