“Gary,” Justin said. And when the young cop turned back to him, he said, “You know a lot of kids at the high school, right? Through your brother.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You know any of the teachers?”
“Sure. A few of them coach Little League and I help out when I can.”
“After you hit the north shore, I want you to go to East End High. I need the best artist in the school.”
“Artist? You mean, like, painter?”
“I need someone who can draw. Ultra realism, that’s what I’m looking for. I want the kid who can draw the best portraits in the school. You got that?”
“Yeah, sure. Except school’s closed. Christmas vacation, you know?”
“Damn. My sense of time is a little off right now.”
“Don’t worry about it. When I went to the school play before graduation, they had an art show, in the admin building. They got people who can draw pretty damn good. Somebody’ll know who they are. My brother, one of the teachers. I’ll find him.”
“Remember: I need the best. And bring the kid here as soon as possible.”
“I’ll bring you the best who’s still hangin’ around town. That’s all I can do.”
“Fair enough.”
“Whoever it is is gonna want to know-”
“Just say it’s the same deal that Ben got. Whatever the hell he wants, that’s what he’ll get. As long as he can draw what I need him to draw.”
“Got it.”
And clutching the envelope, he was out the door.
Leaving Justin to think, Jesus, I’m taking on the United States government with a bunch of high school kids.
He went to his fridge, realized that everything there had spoiled except for several bottles of water. He took out one plastic container, drank deeply from it. He was still dehydrated, figured he had plenty of other things wrong with him, too, knew he should go to a doctor soon, but he didn’t have time. When it’s really over, he thought to himself.
What he wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep. Instead, he began to poke around the house, taking inventory of what was missing. The FBI agents had been relatively neat and extremely thorough. The hard drive on his computer was gone. His fax machine had been left behind, but he was certain they’d checked his log of incoming and outgoing faxes. They hadn’t bothered to take his phone machine, although he was certain that if he’d actually had any calls, they’d been monitored and traced. There were no messages waiting for him. They’d gone through his mail and, he was sure, found absolutely nothing of interest. Neither did he, for that matter. As he thumbed through the envelopes, there were two solicitations from a chimney repair company. A curt note from Visa telling him he was late paying this month’s bill. Nothing but junk mail and bills. At least nothing’s changed, he thought.
He went to the phone now, reached down to dial the number for his parents-he knew he should relieve their worry and tell them he’d made it home. But before he could grab the receiver, the phone rang. His caller ID said the call was coming from Washington, D.C. Justin clicked on the talk button and said hello.
“This is Martha Peck,” the voice on the other end said, although Justin hadn’t needed to hear her name to recognize that passive-aggressive tone that had driven him so crazy when they’d met in her office. “From the Federal Aviation Administration. I. . I know what happened to you. . I mean, that you’ve been. . away. . but I heard that you’ve been. . that you’re back home. I hope you’re okay.”
“I’m just great,” he said. “It was just like a vacation.”
“It’s important that we talk,” Martha Peck told him. “Mr. Westwood. . Chief Westwood. .”
“Try Jay. It’s easier, Ms. Peck.”
“Then please call me Martha.”
“Deal,” he said. “Is this just a social call, Martha? Just checking up on my health and well-being?”
He let her silence go on until she decided to end it herself. He had a feeling she wouldn’t need much prompting and he was right. “I. . I believe I may have been partially responsible for what happened to you, Mr. . Jay.”
“Responsible for what exactly?”
“For where you’ve been. For what’s been done to you. I think it may be my fault.”
Justin ran his free hand through his beard. He decided to cut it off the moment he was off the phone. It suddenly made him feel filthy and degraded. “Why do you think that, Martha?”
“Because I called someone. After you left my office. I couldn’t believe what you were telling me, and yet some part of me knew that what you were saying was accurate.” She hesitated. Again, Justin waited out her silence. “I removed Martin Heffernan’s file from the computer,” she said.
“But not on your own,” he said.
“No. I did it because someone asked me to.”
“Who?”
“You have to understand the mood in government these days, Jay. After 9/11, particularly after the findings from the 9/11 Commission, and the recent bombings. . we all felt so put-upon. My agency took a big hit. And there was so much criticism that a lot of it happened because there was no communication between government organizations. .”
“I understand,” he said.
“So when I got a call, it seemed. . it seemed important to cooperate. And once I did, I couldn’t believe I might have done the wrong thing.”
“Who called you?” he asked softly.
“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Martha Peck said. “It’s an old friend. We met at a White House function and we’ve been friendly for years. When she called, she said it was a very delicate matter, that it had to do with a terrorist alert.”
“She?”
“She said she was involved because the threat involved protected land that fell under her domain. She was working with the FBI and with Justice, she said.”
“Stephanie Ingles. From the EPA. That’s who called you.”
“Yes,” Martha Peck said. “She called me that day and she called me after Heffernan was killed to say that it had nothing to do with me or the file. She said that Heffernan had done nothing wrong but that I was never to tell anyone what I’d done, that it was a matter of national security. Do you know what kind of panic it causes when anyone says the words ‘national security’ these days?”
“Yes, I do,” Justin said.
“Stephanie called me again yesterday. To tell me that the FBI knew you had talked to me and to tell me you were being released. She said that I was not to speak to you under any circumstances. It wasn’t just a friendly piece of advice or even a warning. It was a threat. Not an overt one, but I know a threat when I hear it.”
“So why are you calling me, Martha?”
“Because I don’t like to be threatened. And because she was lying to me, Jay. She was lying to me from the very beginning. And you were telling me the truth, weren’t you?”
“Yes, I was,” Justin said.
“Is this. . is this helpful to you?”
“Extremely helpful, Martha.”
“Well then, I’m glad I called.”
“Me too,” Justin said. “I’m very glad you called.”
And I take back everything I’ve always thought about bureaucrats, he thought. Every last damn thing.
He didn’t call his parents. Instead he dug out a yellow legal pad and a pen. They’d taken his computer and his files, but he could still write.
It struck him that he should be scribbling in the dirt, this felt almost too clean. But it all came so easily this way. He didn’t need a computer for this. Everything was in his head. He wondered if it would be there forever. He hoped not. But he was glad it was there now.
The names and organizations flitted across his memory as clearly as if they were on a movie screen. He was able to conjure up every list, every variation. He remembered his near breakthrough at Gitmo. And where he’d come up short.
Stephanie Ingles.
She was now in the mix, but what the hell was her role? What was her connection to the others and to what he suspected was going on? He’d overlooked that connection before, but Martha Peck’s phone call made it as clear as could be that there was one. But what could it be?