A few times, Manus saw someone looking at him a bit closely, which he didn’t like, and then realized why: they were wondering if this was the guy they’d seen catch the ball on the giant screen behind center field. Probably the cameras had switched to the hitter’s victory lap immediately after, and Manus hadn’t been filmed actually handing the ball to the boy. Otherwise, he would have been getting a lot more attention now, maybe even from news crews. He’d been lucky. He reproached himself again for having done something so impulsive and stupid.
He asked the woman where she had parked, though he already knew, having followed the movements of her cell phone with a portable StingRay tracking device. She told him a parking garage, and he offered to walk them. She seemed pleased by that, which Manus found surprising and somewhat discomfiting.
At their car, she signed, It was nice meeting you, Marvin. I really don’t know how to thank you for what you did for Dash.
It’s nothing.
It most certainly is not nothing, she signed, her hands moving aggressively to contradict him, the sentiment so gentle and the expression of it so fierce that for the second time since he’d begun watching them, he felt something stir inside him, something familiar and yet forgotten. For a moment he only looked at her, unsure of how to respond.
The boy pulled on his sleeve and he looked down. The boy pointed to his mother’s purse, where she had put the ball, and then, his expression solemn to the point of graveness, signed, Can I really keep it?
It’s yours.
But you caught it.
It’s yours now.
The solemn expression persisted for another moment, then dissolved into a grin of pure joy. The boy leaped forward and hugged Manus tightly, his face pressed against Manus’s belly. Manus looked down at him, stunned, and somehow managed to pat the boy awkwardly on the shoulder. After a moment, the boy stepped back, still grinning.
The woman looked at her son with an expression Manus didn’t understand, something both joyful and aching. Then she signed, Hey good-looking, don’t forget to say it, too.
The boy looked at Manus and signed, Thank you thank you thank you!
Manus signed back a slightly solemn You’re welcome.
Do you have a card, Marvin? the woman signed. It’s just Dash and me, and I’m not very handy. I mean, if you ever do small jobs.
Regardless of what the director might want, it didn’t feel like a good idea. But Manus was concerned it would seem odd if he said no. He hesitated for an instant, then handed her a card. Of course it was all backstopped. He even had Yelp and other job references: work done by a contractor the director had set up with Marvin Manus credentials. And a carpentry cover worked well for him. He was good with all sorts of tools.
She looked at the card, then placed it in her purse. It would be nice to see you again, she signed, smiling. A hot dog doesn’t seem like an adequate thank-you.
He smiled back, a little uncertainly. He didn’t know why it felt like he was doing something illicit. The director wanted him watching the woman. What had he said he wanted to know? The human aspect, the unquantifiable, the ghost in the machine. Well, how could Manus report on any of that from a distance? Getting close to the woman was simply a way to watch her better.
Still, he hoped the director wasn’t going to ask him to do more than just watch.
CHAPTER
17
Anders sat at his desk, waiting for Delgado, trying not to be impatient. It hadn’t been difficult to create some “intel” about a letter bomb en route from Istanbul to Washington, DC. In exchange for the promise of a half dozen M32A1 Multi-Shot Grenade Launchers plus ordnance, his contacts in Turkey simply phoned each other on some prepaid mobile units, using English and words like bomb and explosion and Allahu Akbar, along with a mention of FedEx and Washington, DC. NSA’s AURORAGOLD eavesdropping network flagged the cellular traffic; a Tailored Access Operations team tapped into FedEx’s computer network to track the package; and Thomas Delgado, credentialed as an army Explosive Ordnance Disposal expert, was sent to meet the plane carrying the “letter bomb” when it touched down at Washington Dulles. Discreet calls were placed to corporate officials; instructions conveyed to field personnel; employees directed to offer complete cooperation. Nothing left to chance, and nothing left now but to wait.
Remar opened the door and leaned his head in. “The president is convening the National Security Council again. He wants you back in the Situation Room in two hours.”
Anders swore under his breath. “What’s your take?”
“I think he’s going in.”
“Wasn’t McQueen supposed to give us breathing room on that?”
“He did what he could. But the advice of a general versus the advice of a senator… not much of a contest.”
“You think this is blowback? The president taking advantage of McQueen’s urge for patience to make himself look tough by comparison?”
“Could be. Impossible to say. I still think it was the right call at the time.”
Anders checked his watch and rubbed his hands together. “All right, I’ll need the car ready to go in an hour. Delgado should be in before then.”
On cue, there was a brash knock on the outer door. Remar went out. A moment later, he returned with Delgado, who marched in, this time in a digitally camouflaged army combat uniform rather than the customary natty suit, strode directly to the desk, and handed over a FedEx package. Remar eased out, closing the door behind him.
Anders looked at Delgado for a moment, resisting the urge to immediately tear open the package. No need for the man to see how important this was. “Any problems?” he asked, keeping his tone casual.
“Nope. The minimum-wage guy loading packages onto the truck was very happy to show me where I could find what I was looking for. And to move off to a safe distance until I’d retrieved it. Guess the word had gone out.”
Anders pulled the cord on the mailer, reached inside, and retrieved a thumb drive. He inserted it into a USB port and ran a decrypt program. A minute went by, and then another, but it seemed that not even the supercomputers the special desktop unit was tied into were going to be able to crack it, at least not immediately as he had hoped. There were multiple gigabytes of information on the drive, though — the real deal, presumably, not another decoy. Well, even if the encryption held, the main thing was that he had it. Perkins was gone. Now all he had to do was tie off Hamilton and the whole breach would be rectified.