His mind went back to the town house where the kill shot on Jacobs had come from. Same thing.
He put it in his pocket. It was the only clue he could see and he was not going to leave it for the police to find. They were not his ally in this.
He looked around. There were four directions on the compass, and they translated into thousands of potential escape routes for Reel to take.
His phone buzzed again.
He hoped it was Blue Man, maybe to finally tell Robie why he was acting so funny.
Only it wasn’t Blue Man.
It was Jessica Reel.
CHAPTER
16
NOTHING PERSONAL.
Robie stared at the two words on the tiny screen. Then he stared even harder when the next words appeared:
Part of me is glad you made it.
Without really thinking, he thumbed a response:
Which part?
She didn’t answer the question, but her next text was even more surprising:
When things look simple they’re usually not. Right and wrong, good and bad are in the eyes of the definer. Understand the agenda, Will. And watch your back.
His phone buzzed again. He knew it would. It wasn’t another text from Reel. It was a phone call.
He answered. “Robie.”
“You need to come in. Now.”
“Who is this?”
“The office of Director Evan Tucker.”
Okay, thought Robie. They had seen the texts from Reel, because they’d been monitoring his phone ever since she emailed him the first time. He’s the number one at the agency and is obviously feeling a little stressed out. Can’t blame him there.
“Where? Langley?”
“The director is at home. He will meet you there.”
Five minutes later Robie was in his car and heading to Great Falls, Virginia. The roads were narrow and winding, but in this heavily wooded, rural-looking suburb lived some of the richest, most powerful people in the country.
Director Tucker lived at the end of a cul-de-sac. There was a concrete barricade set up fifty feet before the home and spanning the entire road, interrupted only by a lift gate in the center that allowed vehicles to pass in single file. Tucker lived in a substantial brick-and-siding center-hall colonial with a cedar shake roof set on a total of five acres with a pool and tennis court and about two acres of woods.
Robie pulled his car to a stop at the improvised guard shack set up at the barricade. He and his car were searched and his appointment verified. He had to leave his car and walk the rest of the way.
He eyed one of the grim-faced agents. “I’m very partial to that Audi. Make sure it’s here when I get back.”
The man didn’t even crack a smile.
They had taken Robie’s gun, which was not unexpected. Still, he felt naked as he made his way up the sidewalk to the front door.
Other guards were there. He was searched once more, as though he could have somehow acquired a weapon in the preceding fifty feet. The door was opened and he was escorted inside.
It was still fairly early but he figured the DCI had been up ever since his second in command had gone down with a single round to the forehead.
It would have made Robie sleepless too.
The paneled library he was led into was filled with books that looked like they had actually been read. A rectangular-shaped rug partially covered the plank floor. There was a desk at one end with a banker’s lamp turned on. A chair was positioned in front of the desk.
Behind the desk sat Evan Tucker. He was in a white shirt, sleeves rolled up, and dark slacks. His overly starched collar was undone, and there was a cup of coffee perched on the desk within easy reach.
He motioned Robie to the chair and said, “Coffee?”
“Thanks.”
The escort disappeared, presumably to fulfill this request. In the meantime Robie sat back and took in the man who led his agency.
He looked older than his fifty-four years. His hair was all gray, his waist was thick, and his hands were dotted with age spots. But it was the face that really told the story: lined, jowly, with eyes that were ensnared in deep pockets of flesh. They looked like miniature sinkholes swallowing the man whole. The lips were narrow and cracked. The teeth behind were yellowed and irregular in shape. He made no attempt to conceal them. But then again, Robie figured Evan Tucker had very little reason to smile in his job.
The coffee came and the aide departed, closing the door behind him.
Tucker pushed a button hidden in the kneehole of his desk and Robie heard a sudden hum of power. He looked at the windows as thick panels slid across them. He looked at the door as the same thing happened there.
It was all very James Bond–like, but it had a legitimate and tangible purpose. The room had just been turned into a SCIF, or sensitive compartmented information facility. Obviously, what Robie was about to hear was considered to be intelligence residing at the very highest levels of the clandestine community.
Tucker sat back in his chair and continued to look at Robie. “She’s been communicating with you,” he said. The tone was slightly accusatory. “Sending you these stupid messages. Like it’s some sort of game. And telling you she doesn’t really want to blow your head off. It’s all bullshit, I trust you know that.”
Robie didn’t flinch. He never flinched. It took your mind off the game. “I know it. But there’s also nothing I can do about that. Your people say they can’t track her.”
“They tell me she’s using encryption levels above the NSA’s standard platform. She’s obviously planned this out well.”
“But if she keeps texting me, it gives us some information. And she might make a mistake. In fact, I think she’s already made a mistake by communicating with me.”
“She’s playing head games with you, Robie. She’s really good at that. I’ve seen the reports on her. She’s a manipulator. She can get people to do things by worming her way into their confidence.”
“She tried to burn me alive. Funny way to gain my confidence.”
“But then she tells you she’s sorry? No harm, no foul? And telling you to watch your back? Right and wrong? She’s doing her best to flip this whole thing to where she comes out innocent and misjudged. Makes me sick to my stomach.”
“She can say whatever she wants to. It doesn’t change my task, does it?” Robie took a sip of his coffee and then put it back down.
Tucker kept looking at Robie like he was trying to discern the slightest uncertainty in his words. “Gelder was a good man. So was Doug Jacobs.”
“So you knew Jacobs too?” asked Robie.
“No, but he certainly didn’t deserve to be shot in the back by a traitor.”
“Right,” said Robie.
“You do what she does, Robie,” said Tucker. “Walk me into her mind.”
Robie didn’t answer right away, because he wasn’t exactly sure what the man was asking. “I can tell you technically how she would approach her tasks. I can’t tell you why she’s turned traitor. I don’t know enough about her yet. I was just assigned this.”
“She’s not letting the grass grow under her feet. You can’t either.”
“I’ve been to the scene of both shootings.”
“And almost run into an FBI agent in charge of the investigation. You later had dinner with the woman. Is there a conflict there that you’re not seeing?”
“I didn’t volunteer for this mission, sir. And I had no way to control who was assigned by the FBI to investigate.”