The Strategist (5 page)

Camille lingered in the bedroom long after she was gone. Though their conversation ended on a positive note, it still left her with an uneasy feeling. She couldn’t remember a time when Julia spoke in such vague terms, especially when it came to personal matters. And though most of the conversation centered on Julia’s work colleagues, Camille knew there was indeed something much more personal behind it all.

She couldn’t pretend to know what that something was. She hoped it was nothing more than some pre-midlife crisis that made Julia want to quit her job and join the Cirque De Soleil. It was a preposterous notion, but one that Camille knew she could handle.

In reality, she knew that the situation was likely not the least bit preposterous, nor was any kind of pre-midlife crisis. And considering Julia’s hesitation in revealing that situation, Camille wondered, with mounting fear, if it would ultimately turn out to be more than she could handle.

CHAPTER 8

The last guest didn’t leave Camille’s house until six that evening. Even though she was thankful for everyone who came out, and tried to give each person word of gratitude as they left, she could barely contain her joy when the house was finally empty. It was as long and emotionally draining a day as she could remember having, and she wanted nothing more than for it to be over.

After she closed the door for the last time, she sat down on the recliner that had been her father’s favorite for nearly thirty years. It was surprisingly comfortable, and Camille thought that if she actually reclined in it she would be asleep within five minutes.

Before she could close her eyes, her father came into the living room and took a seat on the couch next to her. He looked tired, and Camille imagined it had been a long day for him too. But behind his heavy red eyes, she saw a familiar gleam. She saw that same gleam after every dance recital she ever had. She saw it when she graduated from college. She saw it when she showed him her FBI shield for the first time. Tonight, the gleam said, “
I couldn’t be happier to have you home
.”

The two sat in comfortable silence for several minutes before Paul finally spoke. “So is everythin
g how you remember it?”

From the built in bookcase on the east wall, to the green couches that were supposedly imported from Italy, to the hideously outdated popcorn ceilings, most everything in the room had remained unchanged since Camille was a child.

“Feels like 1992 all over again.”

Paul smiled. “I’m not big into updating.”

“You realize that you can actually hire people to do that for you, right?”

“I’m more of a do-it-yourself kind of guy. My idea of remodeling is patching up the cracks, changing the light bulbs, and stopping the leaks. I don’t need anybody else’s sense of style wrecking this place.”

Camille thought about her mother and wondered what she would have to say about that. The image of her face put a knot in Camille’s throat so large she could barely fight it back.

“I’ll see if I can change your mind,” Camille replied, her voice cracking.

Paul noticed. “Are you okay?”

Camille took a moment to steady herself. “I’m fine. It’s just strange, that’s all.”

“Being back here?”

She nodded.

“I know it’s going to be an adjustment. But right now it’s the best thing. You need time to get yourself–”

“I should probably start cleaning up this mess,” Camille said as she abruptly stood up and began picking up paper plates and beer bottles.

“Camille, stop.”

She continued as if she hadn’t heard him.

“Sit down please? We’ve hardly had a chance to talk since you got here. This other stuff can wait.”

Camille promptly stopped and sat back down in the recliner.

“I just want you to talk to me,” Paul continued.

“About what?”

“About whatever is on your mind.” 

Camille stood up and started collecting beer bottles again. “There isn’t anything on my mind right now e
xcept cleaning this place up.”

“Cam, sit down.”

This time it wasn’t a request. Camille let out an exasperated sigh as she complied.

“Listen, I know this has been a difficult time, and you’ve had to make some decisions that you never thought you would have to make
. Believe me, I understand how–”

“How could you possibly understand?” Camille interrupted. “You’ve never quit on anyone or anything in your entire life. You were a cop for twenty-seven years, and you were out there every single day, no matter how shitty it got.”

“There were plenty of times I wanted to quit.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I never had to deal with anything close to what you had to deal with, even in the worst days. I saw some things in my time on the street, but never anything like...” He paused as if to clear his mind of something very much unwanted. “I don’t know how I would have handled it.”

“Dad, it was my job to handle it.”

“Just because you had an FBI badge didn’t mean you weren’t human. They didn’t train you to be some unthinking, unfeeling robot whose sole mission was to hunt down terrorists and serial killers. You saw things on a regular basis that would have sent the average person to a psychiatric hospital, so I get that you’re tough. But everyone has their limit, Camille. You reached yours and you rightly walked away. And it was the best thing you could have done for yourself. I’ve worked with plenty of men who exceeded their limits and thought they could fight their way through it. If you want to know how that worked out for them, ask their wives and children, because quite a few of those men are no longer here to answer for themselves.”

Camille felt her knees buckle and was glad she was sitting. “You certainly know how to drive a point home.”

“It’s more like trying to drive some sense into you. It’s been killing me to see what you’re doing to yourself over this. Before all of this Circle Killer stuff, I never used to worry about you. I knew from firsthand experience how dangerous it was for you out there, but you were part of the finest law enforcement agency in the world, which meant you knew how to handle yourself. But there’s no amount of training in the world that could have prepared you for what you encountered with Daniel Sykes or what happened to you as a result. I’ve never worried more about you than I have for the past two months. From the night you called to tell me you were thinking about quitting, I hadn’t been able to sleep, not because you wanted to quit, but because things had gotten so bad that you felt like you had to.”

When Camille’s mouth began to quiver, Paul put a hand on her knee. “When you finally told me that you had decided to leave the Bureau, I couldn’t have been more relieved. Yes I was over the moon that you were an FBI agent. Yes I bragged about you every chance I got. But before you were a federal agent, you were my daughter. Contrary to what you
may have thought, I never saw you as someone who decided to take the easy way out because you couldn’t do your job. I only saw my little girl in a tremendous amount of pain. When I told you I supported your decision to leave, I meant it. What I didn’t tell you was how overjoyed I was at the news. I slept like a baby that night.”

Camille smiled as she wiped the tears running down her cheeks. “I always assumed you were disappointed.”

“Hopefully this sets the record straight,” Paul said as he gave Camille a box of Kleenex. “You did what you had to do. Whether I agree with it or not is ultimately irrelevant. All that matters is that it was the right decision for you.”

Camille balled the damp tissue in her hand. “It was. I had so many people in my ear tel
ling me that I just needed time; that the counseling would help; that I was too good to leave. But the bottom line is that I simply wasn’t cut out for this.”

The expression on her father’s face instantly hardened. “Stop right there. You’re not getting away with that one. You’re more cut out for this than anyone I’ve ever known, myself included. I know how much you were respected in the Bureau. There was a reason the agent in charge of your unit was falling all over himself to get you to stay. And it wasn’t just because you’re pretty.” He smiled.

“That doesn’t exactly help me feel better.”

“I’m just telling the truth. I was a cop for almost thirty years, so I know what it takes to be a good one. You were a damn good one, Camille. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Keep up with this pep talk and I just may consider going back.”

The creases in Paul’s furrowed brow softened. “I’m afraid it’s too late my dear. I finally have you home and I’m not giving you back.”

Camille leaned into her father with outstretched arms, burying her head in his broad shoulder. “Dad, what the hell am I going to do with myself? It’s not exactly like I had a plan B.”

“Most cops don’t,” Paul said as he held the back of Camille’s head. “But it isn’t something you should worry about right now. You’re home with people who love you to death. You’re safe here. Take as much time as you need to figure it out.”

Camille smiled as she lifted her head to look into his eyes. “So does that mean I can crash here?”

“You can crash here as long as you like, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

“After tonight, the pity parade ends.” 

Pity parade. The words stung. But Camille couldn’t be mad at him for saying them. She had become quite adept at wallowing in self-pity. As much as she wanted to tell him that she would snap out of it, that from here on out she would be the headstrong, confident, fearless Camille that he had raised, she didn’t want to make promises she couldn’t keep.

“I’ll give it a shot, dad.”

“That’s good enough for me,” Paul said, then kissed his daughter on the forehead.

“Now, I have some conditions of my own,” Camille said as she leaned back in the recliner.

“I’m almost afraid to know.”

“The first is that you help me figure out that plan B. The second is that you give me a lenient curfew.”

Paul smiled wide. “The first one I can deal with. The second one will require some major negotiation. What do you say we start the bidding at eleven p.m.?”

Camille looked at him with feigned shock. “I’m almost thirty-five-years-old, dad. At least give me twelve forty-five.”

“How about I just ground you altogether?”

“You wish old man.” 

“Fine. We’ll save the house-rules conversation for another day,” Paul relented as he stood up and scanned a living room littered with plates and beer bottles. “Let’s just get this mess cleaned up.”

“I thought you’d never ask.” Camille grabbed the closest stack of plates and took them into the kitchen. As she walked in she heard her cell phone ringing. Tossing the plates in the garbage, she ran over to the kitchen table where her phone was sitting, but she was too late to answer it. The call had come from Julia. Camille held the phone for a moment, waiting for a voice mail notification. When one didn’t come she set the phone back on the table and went into the living room. If she remembered, she would return Julia’s call when she was finished. But if she didn’t, she could always talk to her tomorrow.

As it turned out, Camille didn’t remember. She went to bed shortly after she and Paul cleaned the house, not giving a second thought to the missed call. As she settled into the double bed that felt entirely too small for her, Camille could only think about how thankful she was that this day had finally come to an end, and how she hoped that tomorrow would finally be the start of something good. There may not have been a plan B in sight, but for the first time in months, she felt reasonably optimistic that she would find it.

Unfortunately, the feeling wouldn’t last.

Tomorrow would definitely be the start of something. But it wouldn’t be good.

CHAPTER 9

J
ulia was startled awake by the sound of heavy bass. Underneath the rhythmic thumping, the whiny, indecipherable lyrics of some cotton-mouthed rapper scratched at the edges of her brain like sandpaper. Her bedroom windows shook, and as the volume of the music increased, Julia feared its sheer force would be enough to shatter them entirely. Then just as she rose out of bed to go to the window, the bass began to fade. A few seconds later it was gone. Living in the city, she was accustomed to hearing rap music blasting from car speakers at volumes too earsplitting to be legal. But it was rare to hear it in this neighborhood. It was even rarer to hear it at 12:30 in the morning.

Downstairs, George and Gracie were barking up a storm, and Julia guessed the music had awakened them too. It normally took very little to whip the two of them into an absolute frenzy, especially when they were startled. As guard dogs went, Julia could not have asked for a better pair. Gracie was usually curled up on the floor in front of Julia’s bed, while George held down the kitchen. It made for a good night’s sleep knowing those two were always around, always reliable, and always ready to bite the nuts clean off of any asshole who didn’t belong there.

In fact, George and Gracie were the only reason Julia was able to sleep at all. She’d had a security system installed the day she moved into the house, and it was armed every night. But she never fully trusted it to keep her safe. It couldn’t sense the danger before it arrived, nor did it have instincts to protect her to the death. It was a machine, which meant it could be tricked, manipulated, and ultimately defeated. As far as Julia was concerned, none of those things could happen to her Dalmatians.

Tonight, more than any other night that she could remember, she was grateful for their presence.

Julia feared there were people in the world who meant to do her harm because of what she knew about them. Before yesterday, there had been no direct evidence to substantiate this fear. There weren’t any menacing phone calls or emails, no warning shots through her bedroom window, no failed car bomb detonations. There was only the disk and the safeguards she took to ensure that no one else was aware of its existence. And as far as she knew, no one else was.

But when she saw the black Audi trailing her as she left Camille’s house yesterday afternoon, Julia knew that it wa
s time to rethink that notion.

She first noticed the car three days ago on her morning drive to work. She had always had a thing for Audis and the arrogant dickheads who drove them, so she paid close attention to the car the instant it pulled up behind her at a stoplight. Though the darkly tinted windows prevented her from getting a good look at the driver, he wasn’t difficult to imagine. She had dated men like him by the dozen; most of them tax attorneys who preferred money clips to wallets, ate sushi instead of red meat, and prized trophy mistresses over their blindly committed wives. The man she pictured sitting behind the wheel fit the profile to a tee. He undoubtedly sat ramrod straight in his seat, his left hand – absent a wedding ring – tightly gripping the top of the steering wheel. And though she had no way of knowing for sure, she couldn’t escape the feeling that his eyes were fixed on her.

Her mouth curled up in a tight smile at the thought.

Whenever she glanced in her mirror he was there. When she switched lanes, so did he. When she ran a yellow light he ran the red one. And so it went for the entire eight mile drive to her office. She didn’t want to read too much into it. He was most likely just another three-piece suit wearing idiot running late for work. The morning commute was full of them. But a small part of her still hoped that his attention was something more than fellow motorist.

She let the thought pass quickly, however. It was exactly that line of thinking that always seemed to get her in trouble. And the last thing Julia could afford more of was trouble.

By the time she reached the parking garage of her office building, the Audi was gone.
Nothing like a playful game of cat and mouse to start the day
, she had mused to herself.
Maybe I can do the following next time
. Julia knew that she had probably seen the last of the Audi and laughed at herself for even indulging in such a thought.

The next time she saw the car, that same morning during a cross town trip to a client’s
office, she was not laughing.

Much like it had earlier, the Audi followed at some distance behind her – too far to be an obvious threat, yet close enough to definitely be noticed. This time she was positive the driver’s eyes were trained on her. But of course they couldn’t really have been. Like the Audi, the windows of her Range Rover were darkly tinted, making it nearly impossible for a person driving behind her to see inside. Still, she couldn’t help but dwell on the possibility.

Not possible
, she thought.
No one is watching you. It’s purely coincidence
. She repeated the word until she finally lost sight of the Audi two blocks from her destination.
Coincidence
.

But what were the odds that the same car would end up behind her twice in the same day by strict coincidence? Far greater than that car ending up behind her intentionally, she concluded.

She decided right then that she would not succumb to the fear that was beginning to settle in over her; fear that had caused her to believe that the dickhead in the Audi had either the time or the inclination to follow her; fear that she was slowly losing her grip on reality.

The roots of that fear had begun to take hold long before the Audi. But seeing it that day only served to bring her situation into clearer focus. It reminded her of what could happen if she wasn’t careful; what could happen if she didn’t begin to make better decisions; what could happen if the trouble she currently found herself in reached the levels that she knew it had the potential to.

The thought was too much to consider and she decided to push it as far out of her mind as she could. For the most part she had succeeded in keeping it out.

Until yesterday.

When she saw the Audi for the third time, she knew once and for all that it wasn’t coincidental. She also knew that his attention was far more than that of fellow motorist. It didn’t matter how good-looking she imagined him to be, or how many guys like him she had dated in the past. Dangerous men in black suits may have been figments of Hollywood’s imagination, but dangerous men in black Audis were very real.

Eying the car in her rearview mirror, she knew there were only two options: call the police or put her foot on the gas and try to outrun him. She wasn’t crazy about either one. Calling the police was the most logical thing to do, but it would also open her up to scrutiny that she was desperate to avoid. Outrunning the Audi was simply not realistic, especially if he was the least bit motivated to keep up with her.

Instead she continued to drive as if nothing were wrong until she came upon a fast food restaurant. She quickly pulled into the crowded parking lot, hoping like mad that he didn’t follow. Much to her relief he kept going.

After fifteen minutes, the trembling in Julia’s hands had calmed down enough for her to put them back on the wheel and pull out of the lot. Her eyes were locked on her rearview mirror for the entire fifteen minute trip home. The Audi had not come back into view. But Julia knew he was somewhere, and she knew she would probably see him again.

After she arrived home, she strongly considered checking into a hotel until she could meet with Camille and figure out her next move. But she didn’t know any of her neighbors well enough to take the dogs, and their overly-rambunctious nature made the doggy-daycare folks a little too nervous. That meant leaving them alone for the night. And no matter how uneasy being in the house made her feel, she couldn’t leave them alone.

So she closed the blinds, armed the security system, and told George and Gracie to stay extra-vigilant. Judging from their reaction to the music, they were doing just that.

Aside from the sound of clawed feet scurrying against the wood floor downstairs, the night had fallen back into silence. Julia put her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. She saw the Audi in her mind, and wondered if it had been outside of Camille’s house while she was there.
It couldn’t have been
, she concluded. If it was, she would have noticed it sooner.

But what if it had been there? And if it had been, how many other times could she have missed it? For all she knew, he could have been following her for weeks. Something was making her nervous enough to look outside before she left the house every morning. Yet she was always quick to dismiss her fear when she saw nothing to support it. But she now knew the fear was legitimate, and its source had apparently been in her rearview mirror all along.

When she called Camille earlier in the evening, she had done so reluctantly. She wanted to tell her about the Audi and all the reasons she believed it may have been following her, but she was afraid to hear what the words would sound like as they came out of her mouth. It is one thing to think someone may be stalking you. It is another thing to give an audible voice to it. Julia was almost relieved when Camille didn’t answer and gave no thought to leaving a voicemail. She couldn’t even fathom how such a message would begin.

But she knew that the time for avoidance was over. Julia had wanted to tell her so much more about what was happening: work, the affair, the flash disk, and how the three were so intricately intertwined. But like the child who promises to bring her failing report card home to show her parents, she chickened out.

It was true that Camille was dealing with a lot, and Julia adding her own problems to the mix would probably be more than her already full plate could handle. But Camille was also the kind of person who could easily cast her own problems aside to come to the aide of someone else, especially when that someone else was her best friend. The fear of being a burden wasn’t the reason why Julia couldn’t bring herself to tell the story. It was the fear of being judged by the one person in the world who still thought the absolute best of her; the one person who would never believe her to be capable of doing the things that she had done; the one person who still saw enough good in her to be disappointed by the bad. Some things in the world were worth preserving, even if you had to lie through your teeth to preserve them. Even though Julia knew she couldn’t get away with outright lying, she had been determined to withhold the full truth for as long as she could.

She had gotten away with telling a great many half-truths, down to the urgent work message that was actually a service alert from her cell phone provider. But that now had to change. Julia had promised a full accounting. And she had every intention of making good on that promise.

It no longer mattered if Camille judged her or looked differently upon her. Despite the image she may have displayed to the world, the truth of who she actually was lay in the files of that disk. Camille had to know that truth, not merely for the sake of having a more accurate picture of Julia’s life, but also in the interests of saving it.

Her law enforcement background would offer a much-needed perspective. If Camille told her that she should reconsider doing anything with the disk, that it was too dangerous or too destructive to ever see the light of day, it would remain safely hidden. If Camille thought it needed to be released, and promised to be there to help her through the nuclear fallout, Julia would be in the phone with her
attorney within five minutes.

Even though it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out which option she would advise taking, Julia was prepared for the consequences
of both. She would not have been able to say that twenty-four hours ago. But twenty-four hours ago, her best friend was still in Washington D.C. Now that she was home, everything was going to be different. The thought made her smile.

When she glanced at her alarm clock it read 1:28. It had been nearly an hour since she was awakened by the music. Now nothing moved around her. Even George and Gracie had settled down. Julia looked toward the foot of her bed to see if Gracie had come back up undetected and taken her usual resting spot, but she hadn’t. George, ever the charmer, must have convinced her to stay downstairs.

Julia felt a deep sense of calm as she rested her head on the pillow, and within moments she was fast asleep.

She heard echoes of the dogs barking in her dreams. The barks were weak, pleading, and distant. In her dream, she and Gracie were running through Congress Park, the same as they did every morning, when a man wearing a black hooded sweatshirt suddenly came up behind them and kicked Gracie in the ribs, sending her hurling to the ground. As she fell, she made the most horrendous sound that Julia had ever heard come out of a living being.

The man stood over Julia as she cradled Gracie’s limp body in her arms.

“Look at me,” he said in a voice that didn’t sound human.

When Julia refused to divert her eyes away from her injured dog, the man kicked Gracie again. “I said look at me!”

Julia screamed as she leapt to her feet and turned to face him. But he wasn’t there. She was instead looking directly into a narrow beam of light so bright that it instantly blinded her. Julia shut her eyes in an effort to fight off the glare, but she couldn’t escape it.