"And was it real to her when she began breaking into CP amp;L's computer?"
"That's one she can't explain, nor will she supply a motive."
"I expect motive is easy," I said. "Eddings was interested in any phone calls to Arab nations that certain people might have been making. And he got his list via the gateway in Pittsburgh."
"You don't think she would have realized that the New Zionists wouldn't appreciate her helping her boyfriend, who happened to be a reporter?"
"I don't think she cared," I angrily said. "I suspect she enjoyed the drama of playing both sides. If nothing else, it had to make her feel very important when she probably had not felt that way before in her quiet academic world. I doubt reality hit until Eddings started poking around NAVSEA, Captain Green's office or who knows where, and then the New Zionists were tipped that their source, Ms. McComb, was threatening the entire operation."
"If Eddings had figured it out," Lucy said, "they never could have pulled it off."
"Exactly," I said. "If any of us had figured it out in time, this wouldn't be happening." I watched a woman in a lab coat maneuver Toto's arms to lift a box. "Tell me," I said, "what was Loren McComb's demeanor when Janet interviewed her?"
"Detached. Absolutely no emotion."
"Hand's people are very powerful. "I guess so if you can help your boyfriend one minute and they can get you to murder him the next." Lucy was watching her robot, too, and didn't seem pleased by what she was seeing.
"Well, wherever the Bureau is detaining Ms. McComb, I hope it's where the New Zionists can't find her."
"She's secluded," Lucy said as Toto suddenly stopped in his tracks and the box thudded heavily to the floor.
"What have you got the shoulder joint's rpm set at?" she called out.
"Eight."
"Let's lower it to five. Damn." She rubbed her face again. "That's all we need."
"Well, I'm going to leave you and go on back to Jefferson," I said as I got up.
She got a strange look in her eyes. "You staying on the security floor, as usual?" she asked.
"Yes." I
"I guess it doesn't matter, but that's where Loren McComb is," she said.
In fact, my suite was next to hers, but unlike me, she was confined. As I sat up in bed for a while trying to read, I could hear her TV through the wall. I listened to her switch channels, and then recognized "Star Trek" sounds as she watched an old episode rerun.
For hours we were only several feet apart and she did not know it, I imagined her calmly mixing hydrochloric acid and cyanide in a bottle, and directing gas into the compressor's intake valve. Instantly, the long black hose would have violently jerked in the water, and then only the river's sluggish current would have moved it anymore.
"See that in your sleep," I said to her, though she could not hear me. "in your sleep for the rest of your life. Every single goddamn night." I angrily snapped off my lamp.
Chapter 13
EARLY THE NEXT MORNING, FOG WAS DENSE BEYOND my windows, and Quantico was quieter than usual.
I did not hear a single gunshot on any range, and it seemed the Marines were sleeping in. As I walked out of double glass doors leading to the area where the elevators were, I heard security locks click free next door to my room.
I punched the down button and glanced around as two female agents in conservative suits walked on either side of a light-skinned black woman who was staring straight at my face as if we had met before. Loren McComb had defiant dark eyes, and pride ran deep within her, as if it were the spring that fed her survival and made all that she did flourish.
"Good morning," I said with no feeling.
"Dr. Scarpetta," one of the agents somberly greeted me as the four of us boarded the elevator together.
We were silent to the first floor, and I could smell the sour staleness of this woman who had taught Joel Hand how to build a bomb. She was wearing tight faded jeans, sneakers and a long, full white blouse that could not hide an impressive build that must have contributed to Eddings' fatal error. I stood behind her and her wardens and watched the sliver of her face that I could see. She licked her lips often, staring straight ahead at doors which did not open soon enough for me.
Silence was thick like the fog outdoors, and then we were released on the first floor. I took my time getting off, and I watched the two agents lead McComb away without laying a finger on her. They did not have to, because they could, were it needed, just like that. They escorted Loren McComb down a corridor, then turned into one of the myriads of enclosed walkways called gerbil tubes, and I was surprised when she paused to look back at me again. She met my unfriendly stare and moved on, one step closer to what I hoped would be a long pilgrimage in the penitentiary.
Climbing stairs, I walked into the cafeteria where flags for every state in the union were hung on the walls. I met Wesley in a corner beneath Rhode Island.
"I just saw Loren McComb," I said, setting down my tray.
He glanced at his watch. "She'll be interviewed most of today."
"Do you think she'll be able to tell us anything that might help?"
He slid salt and pepper closer. "No. It's too late," he simply said.
I ate scrambled egg whites and dry toast, and drank my coffee black as I watched new agents and cops in the National Academy fix omelets and waffles. Some made sandwiches with bacon and sausage, and I thought how boring it was to get old.
"We should go." I picked up my tray, because sometimes eating wasn't worth it.
"I'm not finished eating, Chief." He played with his spoon.
"You're eating granola and it's all gone."
"I might get more."
"No, you won't," I said.
"I'm thinking."
"Okay." I looked at him, interested to hear what he had to say.
"Just how important is this Book of Hand?"
"Very. Part of the problem started when Danny basically took one and probably gave it to Eddings."
"Why do you think it's so important?"
"You're a profiler. You should know. It tells us how they will behave. The Book makes them predictable."
"A terrifying thought," he said.
At nine A.M. we walked past firing ranges to a half acre of grass near the tire house HRT used in the very maneuvers they would need now. This morning, they were nowhere to he seen, all of them at Old Point except our pilot, Whit. He was typically silent and fit in a black flight suit, standing by a blue and white Bell 222, a corporate twin engine helicopter also owned by CP amp;L.
"Whit." Wesley nodded at him.
"Good morning," I said as we boarded.
Inside were four seats in what looked like the cabin of a small plane, and a copilot was busy studying a map.
Senator Lord was completely engrossed in whatever he was reading, the attorney general across from him and preoccupied with paperwork, too. They had been picked up first in Washington and did not look like they had slept much, either, the last few nights.
"How are you, Kay?" The senator did not look up.
He was dressed in a dark suit and a white shirt with stiff collar. His tie was deep red, and he wore Senate cuff links.
Marcia Gradecki, in contrast, wore a simple pale blue skirt and jacket, and pearls. She was a formidable woman with a face that was attractive in a strong, dynamic way. Although she had gotten her start in Virginia, before this moment we had never met.
Wesley made certain we knew each other as we lifted into a sky that was perfectly blue. We flew over bright yellow school buses that were empty this time of day, then buildings quickly gave way to swamps with duck blinds and vast acres of woods. Sunlight painted paths through the tops of trees. and as we began to follow the James, our reflection silently flew after us along the water.
"In a minute here, we're going to fly over Governor's Landing," said Wesley, and we did not need headphones to speak to one another, only to the pilots. "It's the realestate arm of CP amp;L, and where Brett West lives. He's the vice president in charge of operations and lives in a ninehundred-thousand-dollar house down there." He paused as everybody looked down. "You can just about see it. There.