The Hit (22 page)

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?”

“Are 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
were
working 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
is
an 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
needed
to 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.

E
VAN
T
UCKER’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
that
was 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.