The door to the inner office opened and the director strode out. “Manus,” he said. “I told you.”
He showed Remar his phone. There was a text message: I’m on her. I’ll get you the thumb drive. And make her promise never to tell. But you have to promise not to hurt her. Or the boy.
There was a reply. It said, If you can make her promise, then I promise. Yes.
“Burner,” the director said. “But it’s Manus. Geolocated at BWI. He’s following them.”
“Are you tracking him now?”
“No. He pulled the battery.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He isn’t certain. He wants to do this on his own terms. But I told you. He still believes we’re all on the same team.”
Remar nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “A dangerous error in judgment.”
“Yes, well, let’s not make one of our own. Stay on the woman. If we can get to her before Manus does, so much the better. Eliminate the middleman.”
He returned to his office, closing the door behind him.
Remar’s secure line buzzed. He looked and saw it was Jones. He picked up and said, “Vernon. How are we doing on that local detachment?”
“I got four handpicked door kickers locked and loaded and waiting in your very parking lot. Hard men who will do as they are told with no questions. But you don’t get to use them until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Mike, a bullshitter knows a bullshitter. What’s this new bomb threat I’m hearing about?”
“Terrorist chatter. Just taking precautions.”
“Terrorist chatter my ass. That horseshit is what we feed to the morons running the six o’clock nightly news to give the rubes a sense of meaning and make them think we’re on top of things we in fact know nothing of. Are you trying to insult my intelligence?”
“No,” Remar said. “Anyone who did that would have to be stupid himself.”
“And you’re not stupid, Mike.”
“I’ve never thought so before.”
There was a pause while Jones absorbed that. “Is something different now?”
Remar looked over at the closed door to the director’s office. It was time. Past time.
He sighed and said, “You and I need to talk.”
CHAPTER
49
The closer they got to the meeting place, the more Evie struggled with her nervousness. It didn’t help that the driver, a voluble Scots transplant, was intent on conversation the whole way there.
“I’m a particular fan of the C&O Canal,” he assured her. “What takes you there today?”
“Just a walk with a friend.”
“Lovely place for a walk. Especially this time of year. Are you a bird watcher?”
She looked over at Dash, who was absorbed in one of the comics she’d bought him. “Uh, no, not really. I mean, I think they’re pretty, of course, but…”
“Well, today, if you’re very lucky, you may spy a rare Carolina wren. Or perhaps even the truly elusive common grackle. Or even a white-breasted nuthatch.”
All Evie could think about was Leed, and whether she was going to be there, and whether Hamilton would call in, and whether they would be able to decrypt the thumb drive, and when they would publish it. She wanted the man to stop talking. But she didn’t want to be memorable for being rude. Or for any other reason.
“I’m afraid I won’t even recognize them if I do,” she said. “But they do sound lovely.”
“Oh, they are. Some of the loveliest birds in the world, and right here in my own backyard. The truth is, blessings are all around us. The trick is to know the right things to focus on.”
“I… hadn’t thought of it that way,” Evie said, remembering how she had felt as they’d left the senior center. About how she hadn’t appreciated how many nice people there were.
“And what of your boy? A handsome lad, but very quiet.”
She considered a lie, not wanting to fit a “woman with deaf boy” description, but decided it might backfire. So she simply said, “My son is hearing impaired. He’s more comfortable signing than he is talking.”
The man laughed. “If I did all this talking only with my own hands, I’d either be exhausted, or in better condition than an Olympic athlete. Or maybe both.”
Evie chuckled politely but otherwise didn’t respond. And the man, perhaps aware of just how chatty he’d been, decided to take a little rest.
Which turned out to be a mixed blessing. The chatter had at least been mildly distracting. Without it, she found herself worrying about what Marvin would think, when he woke to find them gone. Why did she feel guilty about that? Did it mean that deep down, she believed he was on her side, even though she also knew she couldn’t afford to trust that feeling?
On top of which, there were all the ways she might have screwed up, all the ways somehow they might be on to her. And of course, even if she’d done everything right, she had to hope Leed had been equally cautious.
But no, the woman had sounded exceptionally confident, exceptionally… tactical. That would be a good combination. As for Evie herself, she couldn’t think of anything that would have given her away. They were almost there. They were going to make it, she and Dash. Her beautiful boy. They were going to be okay.
Remar rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It hadn’t been an easy conversation with Jones. And the wily bastard certainly knew how to negotiate. But in the end, they were both pragmatists. And while they both had their own interests, it was true too that there was much they both wanted to preserve.
The director was on the phone, reassuring the White House chief of staff that “everything was under control.” Remar had been forced to listen to a half dozen such conversations. To him, having to tell the chief of staff or the national security advisor or the secretary of defense that “everything was under control” was about as clear a sign of the opposite as he could imagine. But there wasn’t much he could do about any of it.
For the moment.
His monitor flashed. The confirmation he’d been hoping for.
“Ted,” he called out. “We’ve got her.”
The director made his apologies and cut short the call, no doubt earning himself a permanent place on the chief of staff’s shit list in the process. He hurried over to Remar’s desk. “Where?”
“Heading southwest from BWI. We accessed the cell phone microphone of every driver heading in and out of the airport. And picked her up in a cab.”
“I told you. God’s Ear. I told you.”
Remar wanted to shake his head in disgust. To hear one conversation, they’d deafened themselves to everything else. But remonstrating would be a waste of time. Instead, he just said, “Here, listen.”
He pressed a key, and they were rewarded with a recording of Gallagher conversing with someone who sounded straight out of an ad for the Macallan.
“The C&O Canal,” Remar said. “A quiet place for an exchange.”
“But where? The C&O Canal is 185 miles long. It goes all the way to Cumberland. We need to narrow it down. What’s the latency on this conversation?”
“Less than five minutes. But we’ve got geolocation on the driver’s phone now. Hang on, he’s…” Remar worked the keyboard for a moment, and a map overlay appeared on his screen. “Two Hundred West — the toll road.”