Never. Not like that.
She raised her eyebrows. You mean on a washing machine?
He shook his head. Just… like that.
That’s nice.
It’s true.
So it was good?
Yes. For you?
She laughed again. Could you not tell?
He tried to find words, but nothing came, and his hands drifted aimlessly for a moment. Finally, he managed, Really?
She stroked his cheek and nodded. Yes. It’s been a long time for me.
Why?
I don’t know. I don’t meet that many people. And it’s hard with Dash. There are a lot of creeps out there. But… he really likes you. And he has good instincts for people. I think that made me trust you.
Manus looked down, ashamed. She touched his chin gently, and when he looked up, she signed, Am I embarrassing you?
He shook his head.
She smiled. You’re shy, aren’t you?
I’m not sure.
That was just… good. So good. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you. I’ve been thinking about it since we met you at the baseball game.
You have?
Why are you surprised? You’re a good-looking guy. And that was so nice, what you did for Dash. At the game. And letting him help you today, too.
He shook his head, her gratitude again making him ashamed.
She touched his cheek. I know I should be a little more coy, but… I don’t have time for games. I’d like to see you again. And if that scares you away, or if you’ve already gotten what you wanted, that’s okay, I’d rather know now.
He reached out and touched her face the way she had touched his. And then his hands trailed down her neck, and along her shoulders, and across her breasts. When his fingertips brushed against her nipples, she shivered, and he was instantly hard again.
She glanced down and smiled. I could go get another condom. Or… we could do other things.
They wound up doing the other things. For Manus, it was an ongoing revelation.
Anders closed down his monitor, having seen and heard enough. He had of course previously sent a team to black-bag Gallagher’s apartment, a precaution he only wished he had thought to take with Perkins, and naturally had said nothing about it to Manus, who had no need to know. Not that Anders had expected anything like what he had just witnessed. The truth was, he hadn’t realized Manus was even capable of anything like that. Contrary to Remar’s impression, the man was no simple brute, true, but this? Well, maybe he had been watching too many James Bond movies, and had concluded the best way to assess a subject was to take her to bed. Or to a washing machine, as the case may be. Regardless, Anders supposed it was probably all to the good. Gallagher had seemed quite… tender with Manus, as well as passionate. If she had developed feelings for the man, and Manus could exploit them, they might well learn more about her state of mind than would otherwise have been possible. He decided it really was a good piece of luck that she had a deaf son. As he had hoped, it was probably part of what had made her open up to Manus in the first place.
For just one moment, he considered the possibility that Manus might actually have developed feelings for Gallagher, but then dismissed the thought. The man was human, yes, and presumably had human physical needs. In fact, Anders knew from spot checks of Manus’s cell phone metadata and geolocation records that from time to time the man availed himself of the services of prostitutes. But actual feelings? Anders tried to imagine it, and couldn’t. The truth was, he had never known anyone who seemed to have less feeling than Manus. It was part of what made Remar so uneasy around him. And of course, it was also part of what made Manus so useful. There was nothing the man couldn’t do, nothing he wouldn’t do, out of loyalty to Anders, the man who had rescued him, raised him, practically created him. What had Remar said? That Manus was like an abused dog, that was it. Devoted to serving his master in whatever his master required.
And that would never change. Anders would never allow it. Because any dog that turned on its master simply needed to be put down.
CHAPTER
22
Anders was in his office at eight o’clock the following morning when he got a call from the Secret Service about an explosion near the White House. He called Remar and told him to have the appropriate units begin scouring recent cell phone activity in the area. Then he called Barbara Stirr, a reliable CNN Pentagon correspondent he regularly used to launder talking points into what people digested as news.
“Barbara,” he said. “General Anders here.”
“General, is this about the explosion? I’m on my way right now. Anything you’d like to share with me on background?”
Anders smiled. He couldn’t remember the last time a reporter had even attempted to ask for something on the record. The understanding was as clear as it was unspoken: You give me the access; I’ll give you the anonymous news reports.
“Nothing formal right now, Barbara, but I can tell you this. Cell phone activity in the area over the last twenty-four hours indicates a jihadist connection.”
“My God. Another ISIS splinter group?”
It was amazing, and gratifying, the longevity of the talking points he fed the press. “Possibly. Or an affiliate, yes.”
“And you were able to identify them by their cell phones?”
That was his opening. “Not as precisely as we’d like. You have to remember, Barbara, people are able to purchase and use cell phones with a great deal of anonymity in this country. By contrast, look at what the government of Pakistan is doing to crack down on terrorism — requiring that everyone who uses a cell phone has registered a fingerprint as a way of denying the terrorists the ability to communicate clandestinely.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Yes, look it up. Very effective program. Well, we do what we can, even with one arm tied behind our back.”
“Anything else you can share?”
“Not at present. But things are moving quickly. I may have more later today.”
“Thank you, sir. And thank you for what you’re doing to keep our country safe.”
He ended the call and turned on CNN, where there was a story about a drone strike in Pakistan — stock footage of a Reaper Unmanned Aerial Vehicle accompanied by a voiceover so neutral it made a weather report sound urgent by comparison. Two minutes later, the drone story was interrupted by a live report — Barbara Stirr, on the street, smoke billowing from the wreckage behind her, sirens wailing in the background and military helicopters circling noisily overhead, the chyron proclaiming dramatically Explosion Near the White House. Anders watched as Stirr got into character, a few area residents doing their bit as extras by standing around with their hands pressed over their mouths in telegenic shock and grief.
“This is Barbara Stirr, CNN Pentagon correspondent, at the scene of an explosion just blocks from the White House. We don’t have reports of casualties yet, though as you can see paramedics are on hand and it’s hard to imagine no one was injured by such a huge blast at morning rush hour. In fact, you can’t help but wonder whether whoever was behind this didn’t time the attack to coincide with rush hour, and administration officials do believe this was the work of ISIS or an affiliated terror group.”