Then the children arrived and the movies, restaurants, trips and holidays slowed to a crawl. They were replaced by shopping trips and lunches at franchise restaurants in malls. There were walks in the park, and then hanging out with other families as the kids got older. Sam scrolled more quickly through it all until she reached the final post, just three days before Roger's death. Madeline had been complaining about being left alone with the children while Roger was away on a business trip.
"I bet she regretted that when she heard what happened," Lucy said.
"Poor woman." Sam turned off the tablet. "So that's it, we have the sorority house, and the church, and maybe the cinema." She started to rise. "Let's go."
Lucy grabbed her hand. "No, not today, the place is going to be crawling with cops. You said that they can link you with Pete, so they are going to be looking a hundred times as hard for you right now. Let's do it first thing in the morning. It might have calmed down a bit by then. And you look completely beat up, get some rest before we do this, we're gonna have to be real careful out there." Lucy let go of her hand, and took the tablet and the notebook from her.
Sam didn't resist.
"Maps I can do, I can figure out where these places are and how to get there. Let's get the bedroll out, you lie down on that grass — there's a nice soft spot over there — and try to get some rest."
"I really miss him," Sam said, the tears coming back.
"I know, honey, we're gonna get him back."
Jobert was leaning against the hood of the Japanese rental, wishing to hell that he had a cigarette, or at least a cup of coffee. Or a partner to send out for either or both. His gaze rested on the door of DeChip's offices. Until Halland woke up, or Blackett was caught or turned herself in, New was all he had, there was no other way into this case. And he didn't have much time.
He had lied to Rice about Halland's involvement to keep the detective compliant, but that lie wouldn't stand any amount of checking. It was only a matter of time before Rice started to question things and make some awkward phone calls.
Nothing moved on the street. The office buildings were all silent. A handful of cars dotted the car parks. And with the sun still having a couple of hours in its day, only a few of those still inside had bothered to turn on interior lights. There was no other evidence of human occupation. Jobert got back in the car and pulled out his phone.
"Nothing's changed," said Wallace as the call connected. "Except they were round here looking for you again. I can't stall any longer."
"It's about to get a lot worse," Jobert said.
"What do you mean?"
Jobert told him what had happened at the Ravert's house.
"Why the hell did you shoot him?" Wallace said, as soon as he had finished.
"He was going to get away, I need him as bait - Blackett will come in for him eventually. I know she will. And in the meantime he might even be able to tell us what the hell is going on."
"And if he dies? We're going to be in a world of trouble."
Jobert was silent.
"Hell, Paul, this is way off the reservation."
"It'll be all right. Halland's gonna make it, he's a tough kid. And when he wakes up, he can tell us what she's thinking."
"And how long is that going to take. They are gunning for you already. If word of this gets back here somehow—"
"I just need some more time. Halland will talk, or Blackett will come in for him, or the wire on New will give us something," he repeated.
"I can't front for you much longer, Paul. You need to come back here and talk to them. If they have to hunt you down to get an explanation for all this, it's going to look really bad."
"I know, but if I can crack the case before I do that..."
There was a steady silence on the other end of the line.
"Look, I'll fly back tomorrow afternoon," conceded Jobert. "Let's give it till midday. Anything could happen in that time, but if nothing has broken on this case by midday, then I'll come back and talk to the Director."
"All right, that's a deal. I'll tell them you'll be back in the office late tomorrow afternoon when they come looking in the morning."
Jobert said nothing this time.
"He's moving," said Wallace. "Packing up and headed out of the office I'd say."
Jobert started his engine. Anxious to do something. "I'm on it, keep your fingers crossed." He cut the phone and tossed it onto the seat beside him. A minute later Terry New came out of his office, locked the door and then walked to his car. Jobert took a deep breath.
"Take me home, bubba. Take me home," he muttered.
The Merc bowled out of the car park and once again took a left. This time Jobert was ready and was parked facing the right way. He pulled out after the Merc, a tidy 150 yards behind. New took the same left as last time and Jobert followed. He let New go over the little hill a couple of hundred yards in front, and just got there in time to see him turn right onto the two-laner.
He already knew where they were going, and kept well back as he trailed west for ten miles, and then in amongst the familiar, expensive real estate. Jobert pulled up a couple of hundred yards short, and watched as New went through the electric gates, then parked outside the big, white, double front door. Jobert sighed, switched the engine off and settled down to wait.
Chapter 10
Jobert was woken with a jolt by the phone ringing. It took him several moments to figure out where he was, and several more to work out that the silver Mercedes hadn't moved from Terry New's driveway. He relaxed a little; it looked like he hadn't let New slip away. On the downside, it didn't look like New was going to lead him anywhere tonight, or give anything more away. He realized that the phone was still ringing. He didn't recognize the number.
"It's Rice. Your boy is out of surgery. They tell me that he's stable, but he's still in critical care and will be for a while. Tomorrow afternoon will be the earliest that you could talk to him."
"Damn, but he's going to make it?" Jobert sat up straight.
"It's not a sure thing, there's a long way to go, but he's no longer bleeding to death at least."
"You got a guard on him?"
"Two, one inside and one outside the room. And I forgot to tell you about the enquiries at DeChip. We had a detective there all day like you asked and we found a couple of people that claim to be friends of Ravert."
"Yeah?" He pulled his pad and pen out of his jacket pocket. "Give me the names and addresses, workplaces if you've got them..." Jobert jotted them down as Rice read them out. "Thanks," he said, as he finished. "I might need someone to help smooth access to these people."
"Give me a call in the morning and I'll sort something out when I see who's rostered. Oh, and there's one other thing. Some guy just phoned in to say he thought he saw Blackett in downtown Ann Arbor."
"What? Seriously?"
"Good question, I'm not sure how seriously to take it. He was walking with his wife along Main Street. It's close to where we had coffee, this was early afternoon. Anyway, he spots this 'smoking hot chick' — his words, not mine — she's in a tiny little short vest, with equally tiny hot pants."
"Doesn't sound serious to me."
"Yeah, but anyway, the only thing he was thinking about was the obvious — that and not getting caught staring by his wife. Then he gets home late this evening and turns on the TV and catches the news, and sees Blackett's picture. He says he's 80% sure it was her. She's changed her hair to blond, and cut it very short, but he says he has a great memory for a pretty face."
"Which is all fine, except to ask what the hell a fugitive for a double murder would be doing dressed to attract the maximum amount of attention on a busy street? You think she's out to pull? How can this possibly make sense?"
"It doesn't, that's why I'm not sure whether to take it seriously or not. I'm going to notify all stations that the suspect may now have short blond hair, and leave it at that."
"I want to talk to this guy."
"Ok, I ca
n give you his number, but leave it till the morning."
"All right, I'm done for today anyway." Jobert added it to the list, thanked Rice and rang off. He put the phone in his pocket and sat for a long time, wondering. At least Rice was still cooperating, but the rest didn't make sense, none of it made any sense.
He was still in the game, but if he took the flight back to Langley tomorrow he would be lucky to stay out of jail, never mind stay in his job. He couldn't just sit here and hope that something turned up. It wasn't his way. He wasn't going to sit back and let it all fall apart around him. He had worked too damn hard right from winning the football scholarship that had got him out of the little town deep in west Texas.
White running backs with more courage than talent rarely cut it in the pro leagues, so he had busted his nuts to come out of the three years with a degree in politics. The first Gulf War had put the US military front and centre in people's minds, and he had thought long and hard about the army, but in the end had decided that the discipline wasn't for him. So he had applied to the CIA, and they had been quick to recognize his talents. He'd gone through the Clandestine Service Trainee Program and then out into the field as an Operations Officer.
It had been a glittering, if gritty, career, but in the end, the relentless travel, the stress and the complete absence of a normal family life had got to him. Then he'd bumped into his high school sweetheart in a Washington bar on a rare trip back to the US. It was ten long years after his first overseas posting with the Agency, and that posting had been the thing that had split them up. He'd decided that God was trying to tell him something.
They'd given him Head of Station in Uruguay for a couple of years, and then brought him in from the cold. No one that had watched him playing college football would have expected that strategic planning and management would be strength, but it turned out it was. He'd ended up running the Central Asia desk, and until the plan for Shibde had unraveled, anything and everything had seemed possible.
And now here he was. He'd shot a civilian and he was seriously considering breaking several more laws in an effort to get his career back on track. Was it that bad? He'd lost a couple of agents to unknown circumstances, and blown tens of millions of dollars. He wasn't the first, and he wouldn't be the last to have an op unravel. The problem was that the whole plan had looked flaky to everyone but him at the outset — and that had been made clear by all the people above him. He had gone ahead anyway. If it had worked he would have been a genius, but when it didn't, he'd just proved them all right. And the vultures — jealous of a previously smooth, upward career progression — had been waiting.
He had two great kids, a nice house and a beautiful wife. He wasn't going to lose it all. That wasn't how his life worked... had worked. Still worked. He wasn't going back to DC with his tail between his legs to beg forgiveness. He was going back triumphant, or not at all. Fuck it, he thought, and started the car.
Jobert drove slowly and steadily back towards the hotel, thinking through what he had to do. There was no rush; 2am would be the best time. So he stopped at a diner and ate. Back at the hotel, he changed into the dark, navy blue suit and matching shirt that he always packed, just in case he needed it for one of these jobs. He pulled the laptop bag with his gear out of its home in the suitcase. He hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. He headed for the door.
The drive back to New's office didn't take long. He parked half a mile short, leaving the car facing away from the office, got out and locked it. He shrugged the bag onto his shoulder and started to walk. The night was pleasantly cool. The sidewalk was only illuminated by weak moonlight, brightened occasionally by an overhead street lamp. He skirted the pools of light as well as he could, but stuck to the path.
He ran through what he had seen of New's security while he walked. The first problem would be the alarm and then the door. This was going to stretch some very rusty skills; he had no doubt about that. On his side, he had the latest Agency technology.
He had covered half the distance to the office when he heard the car. He looked behind him and saw the lights swing around a corner at the end of the block. He took off to his right, into the car park of another office block, where he ducked behind a Ford van. He watched the PD cruiser go past with its distinctive silhouette of lights on the roof. OK, they had just patrolled this road, so they shouldn't be back for a while.
He trotted back to the sidewalk and soon reached the edge of New's office where he stopped. Nothing moved on the street. There were no lights on in any of the offices now. Just a faint rustle of wind in the trees. He crouched and ran up the edge of the car park under cover of the hedgerow border.
Once he reached the building, he slid his way tight to the wall, down towards the front door, and then cautiously on and around the whole of the outside of the building. He didn't find a single cable run exiting the place. No power. No phone or broadband. And certainly no alarms. So it was all buried. If the alarm was wired into a direct phone or broadband line then he was screwed. There was no way he could intercept the alarm call when it went out, unless he got help from Langley, and that wasn't an option. If it was just using the mobile system then he had the technology to deal with it, but the only way to find out was to go in and hope he could disarm the alarm before it kicked off.
He returned to the front door, and pulled out the alarm disabler and a set of bump keys from the bag. He took one last, long look around. It was still quiet — as it should be at 2.30am. He choose the bump key to match the lock, and inserted it all the way in. Then he withdrew it a single notch, before knocking it back in while putting slight pressure on the key to turn. It opened first time. Magic. He still had the knack.
No time for self-congratulation. He slid through the door, his heart pounding in a way that he didn't remember from the old days. The alarm was on the wall beside the door. A grey box with a single green light, keypad and screen. It had started to beep. He dropped the disabler on to the top of the alarm box and flipped it on. A message came up in the little LED screen...
Connecting...
A polite way of saying breaking into your shit. He waited. Wiped the sweat away from his forehead.
Connected.
Entering...
All right! His box was talking to the alarm through its mobile phone connection, now it just had to intercept the alarm call going out to the cops. Sometimes, he loved the technology. Then the green light started to flash more quickly, and the beep became more urgent.
Entering...
Come on!
GSM Alarm Call Intercepted
He held his breath. This was where some tech nerd at Langley usually tapped in remotely via the box and disabled both the audible alarm, and any alarm going out to the cops on a direct phone line. The only way he'd know if either was still live was if... at that moment, the green light went red.
Goddamn!
A millisecond later, an ear-splitting howl went off just above his head. Jobert grabbed the box and was out of the door as quickly as he had ever moved. He slammed it shut and ran down the side of the building. He didn't bother crouching as he ran down the hedgerow, but as soon as he got to the road he slowed to a walk. He could already hear a siren in the distance. Probably the same cruiser that he had seen earlier, fortunately it was coming from the opposite direction to the way he wanted to go. He walked quickly back towards the car, pulling off the gloves and pushing everything back into the bag.
The PD arrived when he was about half-way there. He heard the engine roar, and saw the lights turn into New's car park. He held his pace, despite the temptation to run, and made it to the car in three more minutes. He threw the bag in the trunk and started the engine. He didn't turn the lights on until he'd made the left turn at the end of the block. Only when he was three more turns and a mile away from the place did he start to relax. What a frickin' disaster. He was screwed.
Chapter 11
Sam had woken several times overnight. In fact, it would have been more accu
rate to say that she had slept a few times. She had been awake for most of the night. In the end, she had given up even trying to get back to sleep, and just lay there, waiting for the dawn. It was a warm dry night and she had been quite comfortable with her sleeping bag and mat on the lush grass.
That wasn't the problem. The trees whispered in the light breeze overhead and she couldn't help but listen. What if Pete was dead? What if he survived and the letter wasn't there tomorrow? What if they couldn't find whatever it was that Roger had left for his wife? There was no plan b. She was going to jail for a long time. And even if he survived, she would probably never see Pete again. A week ago, she'd had no idea how painful that thought was. She wanted a second chance with him.
Lucy woke just after sunrise, and they ate a little of the food that they had brought with them, although neither of them was really hungry. And then they waited. They waited in the shade of the trees until just before 9.00am. Then they pushed the bags and gear under a bush until they got back, and started to walk through the cemetery towards the exit that Lucy had picked out on the map. They were a hundred yards short of it when a car pulled up at the big iron gates, opened them, drove inside and parked.
A silver-haired man got out, and walked over to the biggest of the stone buildings gathered around the gate. He unlocked a door and disappeared inside. They could just hear the ticking of the engine as it cooled. It was a calm, still morning.
"We'll give him ten minutes, and then just stroll out, as though we had just strolled in. If he says anything, then we can ask about a plot," Lucy said.
It felt like a long ten minutes.
"That's it" Lucy said, finally. "Let's get out of here. The church isn't far; it's on the way to the sorority house so we'll do it first."
They got up and strolled deliberately casually onto the road and out towards the gate. No one stopped them, and they were soon back on the main road. The traffic was light, and there was no one else around. They took a left and walked down a wide single carriageway road, bordered by occasional houses. They reached some lights and took a left onto a two-lane highway. They had walked less than a 100 yards when the black cruiser with a blue stripe went past. Sam stiffened.
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