Firm but without anger, Reeder said, “We don’t have the luxury of this argument right now. I said this was serious.”
“It’s always serious!”
“Not this serious. Just hours ago, they killed Len Chamberlain right in front of me.”
About to speak, she froze, her mouth half-open as she processed that. Then: “Not Len... he was... CIA wasn’t he?”
“He was. Just a desk jockey these days, but he was doing me a favor. We were about to meet outside the main entrance to ANC when he got taken down by a hit-and-run. Do I have to say it was no accident?”
“Oh, Joe... oh my God, Joe...” Her eyes softened as her voice trailed off, the back of her hand at her cheek in a loose fist.
“Here’s the bad part.”
“The bad part?”
“Len and I talked only once on the phone, with no direct mention of where we were meeting. The only way someone could have known where we’d be was if they are tapping my phone, and know my habits.”
“That... that could have been you,” she said, her voice small. She took a tiny step toward him and he caught a whiff of her favorite perfume, Magie Noire. His favorite, too.
He put his hands on her shoulders, gentle though strong. “But it wasn’t me. In fact, they made no effort to get me, and I was right there for the taking. Len shouldn’t have been a threat to anyone these days, just playing out his string in Langley, waiting for retirement.”
Her eyes were narrow now in tightened sockets. “Why not go after you, if they had you in their sights?”
He dropped his hands from her shoulders. “I don’t really know. Possibly they’d already decided on Len, and knew that a hit-and-run death might be written off, whereas taking me down, too, would make it murder.”
She stared past him. “And now you’re on the run, keeping a low profile, which means...”
“Whoever-this-is might come after my family, whether for leverage or to make me mad enough to come at them straight on, which they’d be confident they could handle.”
Her eyes swung back to him, wide with alarm. “Tell me you at least had sense enough to handle Amy and Bobby first!”
Melanie meant their daughter Amy, a junior at Georgetown, and her live-in boyfriend, Bobby, who her middle-of-the-road Democrat dad considered half a communist.
He nodded. “She and Bobby are off to—”
She held up a hand. “Don’t tell me where, just that they’re safe.”
“They’re safe. An ability to make that happen is one of the perks of having real money.”
She sighed, calming herself. “And now you’re here. And Don and I get an unscheduled vacation.”
“All expenses paid,” he said, risking a little smile. “Look, Len and I were circumspect when we talked... but they were waiting for us, anyway. It doesn’t get more deadly serious than this, Mel. I need to know the people I love are safe. And, uh... I’ll need that package I left with you.”
Nodding, her expression somewhat dazed, she said, “Donald’s study. Come along.”
He followed her out of the living room and down a corridor toward the back of the house, past the dining room to a closed door.
Melanie led him inside. No feminine touches here — the dark-paneled, book-lined study was strictly male: wall-mounted flat-screen that overpowered the small room, a two-seater black-leather sofa, a massive oak desk that a window must have been removed to get in.
To one side of the window behind the desk was a painting of the Capitol that at Melanie’s touch swung open on unseen hinges to reveal a wall safe. She twirled the dial and soon was withdrawing one of two side-by-side brown-paper-wrapped packages about the size of two bricks.
She handed it over to Reeder, who hefted the thing, then said, “You should take the other one for you and Donald.”
She pulled out a second bundle. “How much is there?”
“Two hundred each.”
“How far will that go?”
“Two hundred thousand.”
The dark eyes flared. “Four hundred thousand dollars, and you kept it in a wall safe in our house?”
He managed a weak smile. “Turned out to be a pretty good plan, didn’t it?”
She found her own small smile. “It’s hard to hate a man who has two hundred thousand dollars tucked away for you.”
“Here’s that rainy day,” he said. “How soon can you and Donald get out of here?”
“If I can get a hold of him... probably... three hours?”
“Make it faster, if you can. But leave the house casually, okay? Load up the suitcases in the garage, and no word to the neighbors.”
She nodded.
“Thanks, Melanie, and... I’m sorry. I really am sorry.”
She glared at him, and then touched his cheek.
“I hate you,” she said.
But it sure sounded like, I love you.
Reeder, pondering his next move, had been back in the car maybe five minutes when the first burner phone made itself known.
Only one person had the number.
“We need to talk,” Rogers said.
When was a woman saying that to a man good news?
He said, “Something wrong?”
“Just meet us.”
“‘Us’ sounds like more than just you.”
“Hardesy’s with me.”
“Does he know what he’s signing on for?”
“Do we?”
Good point.
He said, “Where do you want to meet?”
“Falls Church. Mexican place named Los Primos on Lee Highway — know it?”
“I’ll find it.”
East of the Capital Beltway on Lee Highway, Los Primos was tucked away in a strip mall across the street from a warren of condos. The place looked to be less than half full, the dinner rush pretty much over.
Ceramic tile on the floor, Mexican music on the sound system, and a couple of cactus plants gave the place its contrived air of authenticity. Rogers and Hardesy were at a table toward the back. When the hostess smiled at him, Reeder nodded toward his friends and went on by her. She trailed him back to the table, one side of which Rogers and Hardesy shared. He sat opposite.
They declined menus and Reeder ordered Chiapas, black. Rogers already had coffee, Hardesy a Modelo. They waited in silence until Reeder’s cup came.
He had already noted, on the shoulder of Rogers’ jacket, the smudge of blood. Someone else might have thought she’d just spilled something on her navy-blue suit. Somebody had spilled something, all right.
“Whose is it?” Reeder asked her.
But Hardesy answered: “The recently late Tony Evans.”
The name meant nothing to Reeder and he said so.
Hardesy added, “He’s the delivery guy who brought Secretary Yellich the sandwich that disagreed with her.”
“Did he know that was what he was doing?”
Reeder’s expression said, Murdering her? This was a public place.
Rogers shrugged and said, “Too early to tell for sure, but we did find sesame oil in his apartment.”
Quietly Reeder asked, “How did his blood end up on your jacket?”
Just as quietly she told him.
The booths on either side of them were vacant, and the people at the table behind them were leaving. When they’d gone, Reeder asked, “A sniper was waiting?”
She glanced around the restaurant herself, then softly said, “Joe, they knew where we’d be, and that we were there to pick up Evans.”
Reeder considered the possibilities. “Who on our side knew where you were going?”
Hardesy said, “Only Altuve. Just Altuve.”