"Yeah."
I didn't know if she understood or not. I preferred telling her this when she was half-asleep.
"Don't put the lock on this time because I'll take the key. I don't want to wake you when I come in, OK?"
I left, and went down in the elevator and onto the road. The highway traffic rumbled above me. At last, no rain, just air that smelled damp.
I turned left and walked in the opposite direction from the usual, just for one last check. I munched on the cookies as I walked past the target. All the same lights were on; nothing had changed. I wondered if the homeless bloke was underneath, waiting with a chain saw for somebody else to piss on him. I quickened my pace to meet Pat on time. I got to the highway and turned right, following the road, with the roar of traffic above me.
The road swung right, and I started to leave the highway behind. Soon there was a vacant lot on both sides, and the sound of traffic receded. I could hear my footsteps again. To my right were more car pounds. How could Washington be in such a financial mess when the city must be making a fortune on towed vehicles? To my left there were the new, jerry built office-cum-workshops. I got to the first one, moved off the road into its shadow, and waited.
It was bizarre to be only a few hundred yards from the Pentagon and possibly right under the nose of the people who'd like to see me dead. It was also quite a thrill. It always had been. Pat had a term for it; he called it "the juice."
I heard an engine coming toward me. I looked around the corner of the building. Just one vehicle. It must be him. I pulled my pistol.
The red Mustang drew up. I was in a semi crouch fire position, aiming at the driver with my Sig until it stopped. It was Pat. I could see his Roman nose silhouetted in the ambient light from the airport.
Pistol still in hand, I walked over to the passenger door and opened it; the interior light didn't come on. I got in and closed the door gently, onto its first click only.
Pat had his hand on the hand brake and slowly released it to move off. From a distance it's very difficult to tell whether a car is stopping if you can't see brake lights. That was why Pat was using the hand brake with no interior light coming on and no noise of a car door shutting, the pickup would have been very hard to clock.
Checking the road behind us, I said, "Turn right at the next intersection."
There was no time to fuck around; he knew it and I knew it.
Pat said, "Everything's in the back, in that duffel." He'd come down from whatever high he'd been on and sounded quite embarrassed.
I leaned over and lifted out the laptop. I said, "Is the sound turned off?" When Windows 95 came up, I didn't want the Microsoft sound playing.
He made a face that let me know I was a dickhead for even asking. We both laughed; it broke the ice.
We came up to the concrete wall. As we passed the hotel I was careful not to turn my head. We turned right under the highway and pulled up at stop lights on the other side.
I said, "Go straight and turn right on Kent."
"No problem."
The area was urban and well lit. He kept checking in his rearview mirror to see if we were being followed. My eyes were fixed on the side mirror. I didn't turn and look now; neither of us wanted to appear aware.
There were a few cars behind us, but they had come from other directions. That wasn't to say they weren't following us.
I looked at Pat. His 9mm semi was snug under his right thigh, and in the foot well under his legs he had a 9mm MP5K, an excellent in-car weapon because of its compact size and rate of fire. He'd clipped on double thirty-round magazines.
"What the fuck did you bring that thing along for?"
"I didn't like the sound of your new best mate, Luther. I didn't want him and his buddies dragging me in for a little chat."
We approached another set of lights.
"Do a right to left switch here, mate. Let's see if we have any groupies."
There were one or two cars behind us. The shape of a vehicle's headlights, once it is up close, helps a lot to ID it. If the same shape is up your ass on three turns in the same direction, it's time to get out the worry beads.
Pat signaled and started to move to the right. All the other cars seemed to want straight ahead or to turn right with us;
nobody was in the left-turn lane. At the last moment Pat signaled left and moved over--nothing that was aggressive or would provoke a bout of road rage, just a change of mind.
We were all held up at the light. I looked at each car in turn.
Just couples or kids cruising--or so it appeared. I'd soon know if I saw them again.
We turned on the green, and nothing followed. It was now time to talk.
Pat started it off.
"Your instructions were shit. You said three buildings; there were four. It's a good thing I know what I'm doing." He was waiting for praise.
"The fact is, I couldn't remember how many. The taxi was driving too fast. I can't count anyway."
We were now just cruising. Pat said, "I've been thinking.
Do you want me to go in as your number two?"
That would be good. It would get the job done quicker and would mean better security and firepower if we were in trouble. But I decided against it; Pat was my only link with the outside world, and I didn't want to compromise that. I told him my reasons and he nodded his acceptance.
"Take us back to the Pentagon City Metro station, will you, mate?"
I started to prepare for the drop-off and got into acting mode again. He put his signals on, everything correct, nothing untoward, nice slow approach and into the curb outside the Metro. I got out, put my head back in through the open window.
"Thanks a lot, mate, see you later." I retrieved the black nylon bag from the backseat. My mind-set was that I'd been playing baseball with him all night and now I was going home; he'd just dropped me off after a drink. I closed the door and tapped the roof a couple of times, and off he drove. I suddenly felt very alone. Had I made the right decision about Pat not coming with me? I made distance and angles before doing a circuit back to the hotel, arriving at about 11:50.
I quickly sorted out and double-checked all the stuff that Pat had given me and packed what I needed into the bag. I emptied my pockets of change and anything else that might rattle or fall out. Then I cut off most of the top end of a trash bag, put in my passport and wallet, wrapped it into a small bundle, and put it into my coat pocket.
Once I'd done that, I jumped up and down one more time to check for noise, picking up the bag and shaking that as well.
"Guess what, Kelly? I'm going to go out again in a minute, but I'll be back very soon. Will you be OK?"
But she was out of it. I left the hotel and walked toward the target. The bag had two handles and a long shoulder strap. I walked toward the river with it slung over my shoulder, following the same route as the previous night. Nothing had changed except that the lights from the highway were a bit brighter tonight without the mist.
At the fenced gate I used the handles of the duffel to put it on my back like a rucksack and climbed over. I'd keep it on my back now; if I was confronted, I could run and still keep the kit, or, as a last resort, draw down on them with the Sig.
I got level with the target building, with the vacant lot and fence in between. There was no sound apart from the hum of the highway. I started to pick my way through the clutter. It was muddy not deep squelching mud, because the ground was quite hard, but I still needed to take my time to get through; I didn't want to slip and make noise, because my pal in the shrubbery might not be the only homeless person around here.
I got to the fence near the PIRA building. Using the bush as cover, I eased the bag off my shoulder and sat on it. The first leg was completed; it was time to stop, look, listen, and take everything in. I needed to be extra careful because I was on my own. Really this was a job for two people, one watching, one doing. I spent a few minutes more just tuning in. Visibility was a bit better tonight because of the stars.