Sympathy For the Devil (21 page)

“General appearances and impressions,” she told him. “Your state of mind. Your mood. How you conduct yourself in social situations. Are you chatty in situations where alcohol is involved? Do you say too much or too little? Your superiors seem to be concerned that you might be showing signs of field rust and are in need of a sabbatical. I’ve read your record and god knows you could use it. Moscow. Tehran. Guatemala.”

Hicks wasn’t interested in going down memory lane with a total stranger. “How did you know I’d be here? Not just where I was, but where I’d go. Hell, I didn’t even know where I was going until I got over the bridge.”

She set her glass of wine on the bar. “I don’t think I can tell you that.”

Hicks pulled out his handheld. “Then update your resume, sweetheart, because you’re going to need a new job.”

“Okay, okay.” She slumped, ruining her perfect posture for the first time since he’d gotten there. “I didn’t know you’d be here, but I had an educated guess.”

“How?”

“It’s part of a new system the University is putting in place. It’s called Coherent Speculative Analysis. It measures metrics of faculty personnel based on their actions in the field. It takes all the data of where they go, what they do, and when they do it, adds in factors like stress and mood, and uses it to predict what a subject might do next. It takes time to build up a composite, but after a while, it can be a fairly good predictor of movements.”

Hicks had heard rumblings about that kind of program within the University for a while, but had never heard anything concrete about it until now. It wasn’t enough that the University was already plugged into almost every network device on the planet. They were spying on their own people, too. “Go on.”

“Your metrics predicted a strong likelihood that you’d come here after what you’d done today and where you were driving from,” she explained. “It also took your past actions into account and, since you hadn’t been here for a while, I took a gamble you’d stop at a bar in midtown. When I saw you had begun to look for a parking spot in this area, I took a gamble and came here.”

Hicks hated being predictable, even when a supercomputer was doing the predicting. “Jesus. They don’t even trust their own people anymore.”

“They never have. This program has been in development for over a decade and it’s finally starting to become reliable.” She took her glass of wine. “You’re right about me reading your file. I know about what happened to your agent and, believe it or not, I have helped field personnel deal with that kind of loss in the past. That kind of thing is never easy, and I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

“No you can’t, so don’t even try.” He took a long pull from his glass and signaled the bartender for another round. “And another wine for the lady. She’s earned it.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll have what he’s having. Exactly the same way.”

Hicks looked at her. “You sure? You said it smelled like an ashtray.”

“It does, but I really hate wine. I’m a tequila girl, actually. Your file said you preferred elegant blondes and, since I don’t like cocktails either, so white wine was the best I could come up with.”

Hicks smiled. “Is that really in my profile? That I like elegant blondes?”

“It is, along with a lot of other things. But your real name has been redacted. It’s the only file I’ve ever seen where an Office Head’s entire background was missing. All it lists is your current identity and your safe identity as Warren.”

“Adds to the mystery,” he said. “You haven’t told me your real name, either.”

She took the glass of scotch the bartender placed on the napkin in front of her. “Do we really need names at this point? It’d kill the mystery, right?”

Hicks clinked glasses with her. “Touché, madam. Speaking of mysteries, are you really a blonde.”

She drank the scotch and didn’t even flinch at the taste. Maybe she really was a tequila girl after all. “That’s smoother than I thought it would be.”

Hicks drank too. “The booze or my line?”

“Both,” she smiled. “And just like with the Laphroig, there’s only one way to find out. By sampling it for yourself.”

H
ICKS FOUND
out for himself after the third round of drinks.

The University had allowed her to book a room in the Waldorf for the rest of the week, so the mystery was solved after a short elevator ride to her room on the eleventh floor.

She was different than Hicks had expected her to be, even after she’d lowered her guard. Her body was lean and toned, yet soft in all the right places. Their lovemaking was more sexual than sensual and kissing hadn’t entered much into the equation. She squeezed his neck when she climaxed, but no nails across the back or moans of ecstasy.

When he climbed off her, he thought she’d be distant and avoid being close. She surprised him by laying her head on his chest.

“Well, I would’ve lost that bet,” he admitted.

“What? That I’m not the stuck-up bitch you thought I was?”

“No. That you really are a natural blonde after all.”

She ran her hand over his chest. “That’s one mystery solved.” He felt her tense. “You know none of this was part of the assignment. This was about you and me, not work.”

Hicks had run honey trap operations for a good portion of his life and knew this wasn’t one of them. “I know that, but I thank you for telling me anyway.”

“Yes, of course you would.” She settled back down. “Stupid me.”

Hicks held her closer. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“Was it that obvious?”

“No, just a feeling I got.”

“I suppose you have to live off your feelings, don’t you? Your impressions?”

“I do. They’re usually right for the most part, the way my impression of you was right about you working for the University.”

“And the way your impression of Colin was wrong?”

He wanted a cigar or a cigarette, but could tell she didn’t smoke. “It’s not the same thing. He died because of outside circumstances that were beyond my control. With you, everything was right there. I was just smart enough to see it.”

“That’s why I know you would’ve seen it with Colin if there’d been anything to see. Deep down, you have to know that.”

Now he really wanted a cigarette. “It doesn’t help much. He’s still dead.”

“And you’re alive and doing something about it. That’s what’s important. Your work is important and you’re very good at what you do. Your reputation in the University is very impressive, though a bit…”

“A bit what?”

“Troubling, I guess. Your file is full of professional accomplishments, all of them impressive, but nothing personal. Nothing about your real name or where you’re from or what you did before the University. The only hobby they have listed for you is that you like blondes and drink scotch.”

Hicks smiled. “There are worse pursuits. Some might call them virtues.”

“But other members have many hobbies listed. Painting or art or travel. Things like that. Nothing like that is listed for you, and I have a feeling I know why.” She picked her head off his chest and looked at him. “You don’t have anything else besides this, do you? All of you have is this job, this life. And you don’t want anything else.”

Hicks liked the way she looked now. Not as hard as she had looked downstairs, but her eyes were still just as cold. He’d never been big on self analysis, mostly because the subject bored him. And a one night stand wouldn’t change that. “I can see why they sent you to make a field analysis of me. Says a lot about your skill set, too.”

“I’m obviously not much of a field agent.” She ran her hand down his chest to beneath the sheet. “But I’ve got my talents.”

“Is that so?” He felt himself begin to harden again. “Prove it.”

And that’s exactly what she did.

H
ICKS LEFT
her early the next morning and stopped by the Office to change clothes and gear up. He knew he’d be spending a lot of time in the car, so he wouldn’t need the parka. Instead, he wore a lighter winter coat complete with Kevlar lining. He wasn’t expecting things to get hot, but he took extra speed loaders for the Ruger and six extra clips for the Glock backup.

According to the tracker in Kamal’s phone, he had been picked up by Omar’s men in Astoria and driven out to the Midwood section of Brooklyn.

Judging by the audio Hicks could hear from the phone, the drive to Brooklyn was a quiet one. Hicks wasn’t surprised. Over the past several months of surveillance, he knew Omar had run a very tight ship. He never told any one person more than they needed to know; either at work or in his personal life. Omar was a confirmed bachelor with few habits and none of them bad. He read the Koran, prayed every day at exactly the same time, and went to bed before nine.

Most likely, he’d sent two of his stooges to go pick up Kamal rather than risk the exposure of going himself. They probably weren’t like the rookies he’d sent to the park. Omar wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. These boys probably weren’t hired guns, but Hicks bet they’d be sharp enough to spot a tail. Omar had always been careful and he’d be even more careful now.

Hicks knew he didn’t have to drive out to Brooklyn. He could’ve easily monitored everything via OMNI from Twenty-third Street. Kamal could handle himself if things got dicey and didn’t need backup, even if he was unarmed.

But Hicks drove out there anyway because nothing about this operation felt like a regular op. It wasn’t just because of Colin’s death. He’d lost men in the field before and probably would again. Death was part of the job.

It was because of something the woman had said to him last night in bed. ‘If there’d been something to see, you would’ve seen it.’ He knew she was right, but it helped to hear it from someone else.

There was desperation to Omar’s actions that felt like something was about to happen and happen soon. Something big and permanent. Omar had led a quiet and deliberate life up until this point. If he was getting worked up now, it must be for a very good reason.

Hicks had just gotten to the Brooklyn Bridge when his dashboard monitor showed that Kamal’s cellphone had stopped moving. Judging by the audio feed he caught via the phone, the men had gotten out of the car and were walking inside. He selected the GPS on the touch screen of his dashboard and started in that direction.

The audio quickly became muddled as several men began speaking in Arabic at once. Hicks was hardly fluent in Arabic, but he’d picked up enough of the language to know it was just the customary exchanges of blessings and platitudes.

Hicks was encouraged by the sound of a familiar voice in the mix. Omar’s. If he was there, then they’d learn more about his operation and fast.

The other voices dissolved into mumbles as Hicks heard Omar beckon Kamal to come with him. That was followed by the creak of a door and the sound of metal chair legs scraping on hardwood. A private conversation between Omar and his patron’s emissary.

Good.

Hicks let another car cut in front of him as he concentrated on hearing what was going on in that room. If he’d been in the command center, he could’ve pulled up the video from Kamal’s camera phone, but he knew the system was already doing that. He’d check it later. For now, he concentrated on hearing what was going on there while not crashing his car.

He heard Omar begin speaking in Somali, but Kamal tactfully shut him down.

“My apologies, my brother.” The Nigerian accent on his English was perfect. “I am from Nigeria and am not familiar with your language. We can speak in English or even French if you prefer.”

Omar chose French. “Then let us speak in the language of the somewhat lesser white devil.”

Kamal laughed and responded in kind. “A wise choice, my brother. Now, our wise uncle who shall go unnamed has asked me to come visit you to help you with some difficulty you are having.”

“You are wise to avoid mentioning him by name, but before we speak of him, your wounds trouble me. The cuts and swelling on your face.”

Hicks gripped the wheel tighter. He knew he shouldn’t have hit him yesterday in the parking lot, but he’d needed to make a point. He only hoped Kamal’s bruises didn’t throw him off their game plan.
Stick to the script, you son of a bitch. Stick to the script.