“I’m not intentionally making an enemy of anyone. What I’m trying to do is my job.”
“I thought your job was to follow orders,” said Robie.
“My job is to perform my duties as a DD to the best of my abilities. I intend to do just that.”
She picked up her pace, leaving the pair of them behind by about ten yards. This seemed to be intentional to allow them to discuss what she had just said.
“You think she’s on the up-and-up, or is she pretending to be our friend for some ulterior reason?” said Reel.
“I don’t know. She seems sincere. And why the need to be our friend? She’s got us here. She can do what she wants with us.”
“And it’s not like she’s asked us to do anything,” said Reel thoughtfully.
“Not yet,” corrected Robie.
“So what do we do?”
“We let it play out. I think that’s all we can do.”
“And if she
is
on the up-and-up?”
“Then I hope she doesn’t end up being collateral damage. Because I don’t think Evan Tucker cares who gets in the way or who gets hurt.”
Reel slowed down and then stopped.
He came back to her. “What is it?”
“Robie, I’m putting everyone in danger. You, her, Julie, anyone associated with me.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
“You just said it! Anyone who gets in his way. In his way to get to
me
. Because, let’s face it, I’m the one he really wants.”
“So what?”
“So I need to go this alone, Robie.”
“Go it alone? Against the CIA?”
“I’m not putting you or anyone else in danger. Any
more
danger. I’ve nearly gotten you killed more times than I can count.”
“Do you remember what I told you while we were standing in the rain, Jessica?”
“I know that, but—”
“I’ve never said that to anyone else. Ever.”
At his words Reel’s eyes glimmered, and she seemed taken aback, but quickly regrouped.
“But this is not survivable, Robie. They waterboarded us last night. What’s next? A firing squad?”
“Whatever it is, we’ll take it on together. That way we double our chances of survival.”
“No, we just double the potential number of casualties.”
“Let’s go. Marks gets too far ahead she might hold back dessert tonight as punishment.”
Robie ran off. Reel waited a few more seconds and then shook her head and ran hard to catch up. But the worried look in her eyes remained.
M
R. FONTAINE?”
Earl, who had been dozing in his prison hospital bed, roused, opened his eyes, and looked around.
“Mr. Fontaine?”
He focused on her, the young doctor. He sat up straighter. “Yeah, Doc?”
She pulled up a chair and sat next to him. Earl noted that a guard other than big Albert was with her. But the man was still keenly watching Earl. He probably knew Earl’s crimes even if the young doctor didn’t.
“I wanted to let you know that I made some calls.”
“Calls?”
“About your request.”
Earl knew what she was talking about, but he had decided to play to the hilt the doddering old man with not much time to live.
“’Bout my little girl, you mean?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“Sweet Jesus, thank you so much, Doc.”
“I spoke to some people up in Washington.”
“Washington! Holy Lord! Thank you, thank you.”
“They put me in contact with other people after I explained the situation. Now, there are no guarantees.”
“’Course not, Doc, never expected none. But what you did, well, I don’t know enough words to properly thank you. It just means the world. The world to me.”
The doctor seemed embarrassed by this outpouring of gratitude. Her cheeks tinged with red, she continued. “These matters are very delicate, as I’m sure you can imagine.”
Earl hastily said, “O’course I understand. All hush-hush, you mean?”
“Yes. Now, this isn’t exactly my field of expertise, but I explained the situation as best I could. The U.S. Marshals—”
“The Marshals, Lordy, Lordy,” exclaimed Earl. “My little girl is okay, ain’t she?”
“The Marshals oversee the Witness Protection Program, Mr. Fontaine.”
“Oh, hell, that’s right.” He pointed to his IV lines. “These drugs, Doc, these dang drugs mess up my head. Can’t think straight. Half the time ain’t even know my own name.”
“I’m sure,” she said, giving him a sympathetic smile. Then she hurried on. “They said that the request was very unusual and that they would have to check it out. I’m not sure how long it will take. But I did tell them of your personal circumstances. That is—” Here she faltered.
“Meaning I ain’t got much longer to live,” Earl said helpfully.
“Yes, I told them that. I didn’t go into specifics because that would be a violation of patient confidentiality.”
“Course, course,” said Earl encouragingly. “Hell, glad you did. Not like I care who knows. Dying is dying.”
“But they said if it proved legitimate, they would take steps to contact your daughter and at least put her in possession of the facts.”
“A damn dream come true and I say that right from here,” said Earl, with tears sliding down his cheeks as he touched his chest.
“Now, Mr. Fontaine, please understand, simply because they might reach out to her in no way assures that she will accept your offer to come and visit.”
“Hell, I know that, Doc, but at least she’ll know she has a choice, right? Mor’n I had before.” He put out a shaky hand for her to take. “I ain’t know how to thank you properly, Doc. I just hope when it’s your time to go, you remember back to this here moment. To how you made an old man happier than he’s been in a long, long time.”
The doctor took his hand and shook it lightly while the guard hovered nearby rolling his eyes.
After she moved off, Earl lay back on his bed. He could feel his heart beating madly. He breathed deeply, calming his weak chest.
Can’t die now, old man. Got to keep going. Got to keep going.
He looked over at Junior, who was staring at him from his bed. There was something in the other man’s look that Earl did not care for.
“Sumthin’ on your mind, Junior?” said Earl.
“What you got going on, old man?” said Junior.
“Anything I got going on ain’t any of your damn bizness, now is it?”
Junior eyed Earl with a smile. “Know you, Earl. I’m a damn killer. Killed bitches all over Alabama. Can’t help myself, just got to do it.” He tapped his head. “Up here. Wired funny, doctors say, not that the damn jury gave a crap about that.”
“Only thing funny ’bout you, Junior, is your face. Like a hog’s backside. That’s why you had to cut them gals up. They ain’t screwing somebody ugly as you without a knife to their throat.”
Junior did not appear to have heard him. “But you, Earl, now you are one sick son of a bitch. You are an evil prick and you got something cooking. I can smell it.”
“What I smell is a pile of crap, and it’s coming from your damn bed. You shit your sheet again like a damn baby?”
But Earl’s heart wasn’t in his zingers back at Junior. He didn’t like it that Junior was suspecting something. What if he told somebody? Made up shit? What would it do to his plan?
“I can smell it, old man,” Junior persisted. He smiled menacingly. “And I ain’t got nothing else to do ’cept think on it. Mebbe I figure it out. And if I do, mebbe I tell somebody, like the doc.”
“And mebbe they ain’t going to execute your ass, Junior. But I wouldn’t bet the farm on it.”
He looked away from Junior and hollered for the nurse. When she came over he said in a low voice, “I got me a phone call to make. You set that up for me, honey?”
“Who are you calling?”
Earl glanced over at Junior, whose eyes were once more closed.
“Some friends of mine. Feeling lonely. They say I get one call a day. Ain’t had none in four days. Can you do it for me, sugah?”
The nurse said, “I’ll see what I can do.”
Earl smiled at her and said, “Now, I’ll be right here when you get back.”
She snorted at his quip and moved off.
The smile faded from Earl’s lips. He looked back over at Junior.
Not good. Not good at all.
I
NEED TO KNOW UNEQUIVOCALLY
where you stand.”
Evan Tucker stared across the width of a conference room table at the man sitting there.
If Andrew Viola was surprised by the question, he didn’t show it. “I stand where you want me to, sir,” he replied evenly.
“Words, Viola, are easy.”
“I think I’ve done more than words, sir. I carried out your orders to the letter.”
“No confession, though.”
“We did three sessions on them, sir. One more and maybe they’re dead. Didn’t think you wanted it to go down like that. And they’re tough, you have to give them that.”
“I don’t give them anything, particularly Reel.”
“I understand you visited the Burner?”
“I did. I spoke to Robie and Reel.”
“And did it go according to your plan?”
“Exactly what plan is that?” asked Tucker suspiciously.
“I meant did you accomplish your goal, whatever that is?”
“I told them I needed their assurance that they were totally committed to this mission. I told them the waterboarding was to see if they could withstand such torture if captured.”
“Okay,” said Viola evenly.
“And I was speaking the truth, if you care to know.”
“I never assumed otherwise, sir.”
“The fact is, they are the best we have in the field right now, and this mission needs them. I don’t necessarily like it, but I have to put my personal feelings aside for the greater good.”
“I understand.”
Tucker drummed his fingers on the table. “Marks has been a disappointment.”
“She’s a first-rate agent,” said Viola. “Can’t say anything against her.”
Tucker looked keenly at Viola. “If you play your cards right, you might find yourself as DD.”
Viola looked uncomfortable with this. “With all due respect, Director, I’m not sure I’m cut out for that. I’m a tactical field guy, always have been. Politics and long-term strategies are not my strengths.”
“A man who knows his weaknesses can turn them into strengths.”
“We might want to see how this plays out, sir.”
Tucker nodded. “The mission they’re being vetted for is the most important in the last fifty years. Perhaps the most important of all time for us.”
Viola leaned back in his chair, his eyes widening slightly at this comment but his features also holding some skepticism.
Tucker must have noted this, because he said, “Not an exaggeration, Viola. Not at all.”
Viola said nothing.
“Do you think they’ll make it through?” asked Tucker.
“I wouldn’t bet against them. Like you said, they’re the best we have right now.”
“In ability, not loyalty. And I need both.”
Viola shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I never knew what the bad blood was between you and Reel, sir.”
“There’s no need for you to know,” said Tucker. “Suffice it to say that Reel did something extraordinarily heinous.”
Viola looked thoughtful. “I guess it must be pretty bad if you want her dead.”
“I never said I wanted her dead,” snapped Tucker.
“Sorry, sir. I assumed something I guess I shouldn’t have.”
Tucker sat back and steepled his hands. “I just need to know, Viola, that I have their loyalty and they are up to snuff. Do you understand?”
“The up-to-snuff part, I can control easily enough. Loyalty is more part of the brain, sir. The psychs need to get there.”
“They are. They will.”
“So what exactly do you want me to do?”
“Your job. Nothing more, nothing less. Have you spoken to Marks?”
“Only enough to get filled in on certain things.”
“I want you to watch her as carefully as you’re watching Robie and Reel.”
“What exactly am I looking for?”
“Loyalty, Viola. I demand it from everyone at this agency.”
“So you want me to spy on the DD?” Viola said incredulously.
“Just keep in mind that while she’s the DD, I’m the DCI. The last time I looked at the organizational chart, I’m above her.”
Viola shifted again in his seat. “No doubt about that.”
“Then do what I say. Regular reports. That’ll be all.”
Viola rose and turned to the door. He turned back to look at Tucker.
“Yes?” said Tucker expectantly, though something in his tone seemed to be bracing for a fight.
“I joined CIA to serve my country, Director.”
“As did I. Your point?”
“No point, sir. I just wanted to make sure you understood that.”
After Viola left, Tucker continued to sit in his seat. He stared at his hands, which were dotted with sunspots, the result of too much time sailing the Chesapeake Bay on hot summer days. That was all before he became DCI. Now there was no time for sailing. There was only time for this. It was consuming his life. No, he had no more life. He was the DCI. That was his life. That was his identity now.
But his dilemma was fairly obvious. Who could he trust?
Marks? Viola? Any of his people?
He had the most important mission of his career coming up, perhaps the most important mission the agency had had in decades. And he had told the president of the United States that he had it covered. That his team was being vetted, and if they weren’t ready to go, he had another team ready to step in.
But did he?
He knew what he wanted. He wanted Reel to pay for what she had done. And if Robie stood with her, he would get the same treatment. But the fact was he needed them to perform this mission. He had to send the best. And they were the best. By a wide margin.
He put his face in his hands. His stomach was full of cold dread. His skin was wet with sweat. He felt nauseated. He felt…dead.
Am I suicidal? Has it come to this? Am I really losing it?
The DCI needed to be at the top of his game. Right this very minute.
He rocked back and forth with his head bracketed by his hands.
And then with a spark of clarity, his reason cleared. He lifted his face from his hands.
He had his answer. In fact, it had been staring him in the face the whole time.
Andrew Viola drove to a private airport to hop on agency wings on the way back to the Burner.
But he made one stop along the way. He had a phone call that he needed to make. And he didn’t trust his secure mobile phone to make it without someone listening in.
He stopped at a twenty-four-hour convenience store and stepped out of his car.
He didn’t go inside. He went to the single pay phone that was affixed to the exterior wall. He didn’t even know if it would work.
He dropped in his change and got a dial tone.
He punched in the number and the phone rang three times before it was answered.
Blue Man said, “Hello?”
Andrew Viola said in a low voice, “You need to hear something, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Is this about Robie and Reel?” asked Blue Man.
“Yes, it is,” replied Viola.
Viola said his piece and then took some questions from Blue Man, whose real name was Roger Walton. He was very high up at the agency, though not as high up as Amanda Marks and Evan Tucker.
He was also a friend and ally of Will Robie’s. And of Jessica Reel’s.
When Viola finished he hung up the pay phone and got back into his car.
Ironically, the old-fashioned pay phone might be the safest form of communication there was these days. NSA tended to focus more on mobile phone traffic and texts and emails. There were so few coin phones left that no one really bothered to monitor them anymore.
He started the engine and headed off. He would be back at the Burner in a few hours.
And maybe he had just realized that the world was not simply black and white, no matter how much he wanted it to be.