“There’s a stairwell to the left. I’m not sure where it leads,” Russell said. Wendel only nodded and helped Russell to stand. Her legs held and they started toward the door, moving in tandem. Russell leaned on Wendel, taking advantage of her strength. She didn’t want to waste all her energy walking on her own when she knew a long series of stairs still lay ahead of her. The only sound in the empty hall was the murmuring of a television, volume set low, somewhere to her right. To her left an overhead sign glowed red with the word “stairs.” Russell turned that way and was glad to feel the adrenaline begin to percolate in her system. It gave her a boost. They hit the door and pushed it open.
The interior stairwell consisted of metal and cement. The door closed and Russell saw the number four painted in navy block lettering on the back. The idea of walking down four flights made Russell want to groan, but she shoved the thought aside. She was about to start down when she heard a scrape from somewhere below. Wendel must have heard it too, because Russell felt the woman’s muscles freeze. Russell jerked her head toward the door. Wendel nodded, and they reversed. Russell opened the door with a gentle push and they were back through it and once again in the ICU hallway.
“Elevator to second floor. Stairs from there,” Russell said in a whisper. Wendel didn’t reply but started to the elevator bank. Russell pushed faster. Once inside the lift she leaned against the wall while it lowered to the second floor.
“If there’s a nurse let me take the lead,” Russell said. She waved Wendel off in favor of walking on her own. The doors whisked open and they stepped into a hall that matched the one they’d just left. Rooms stretched on either side and a nurse stood behind a tall counter operating a copy machine. She glanced up, took in Wendel and gave a slight frown when she looked at Russell.
“May I help you?” she said.
Russell nodded. “I’m a patient. I have a friend who wants to see Susan.” Russell indicated Wendel. “But she leaves for Europe tomorrow early and this is our only chance. It’s just down the hall, room 234. Do you mind?”
The nurse looked about to protest. “Mr. Skorich? He’s asleep.”
“I’ll just have a quick look. I promise to leave if he’s asleep,” Wendel said. A phone on a nearby desk rang. Hallelujah, Russell thought.
“Please be quick about it,” the nurse said. “The time for visitors is long past.” She turned her attention to the phone. Russell did her best to stand straight and tall as she walked down the hall. Her eyes locked on the sign for the stairs and she focused on reaching them. Wendel stayed close and pushed open the door, holding it for Russell. The minute they were through Russell wrapped her arm around Wendel’s shoulder.
“Go,” she said.
They started down, moving fast. Their feet rang on the metal stairs and the sound echoed through the stairwell. Within seconds they heard another set of footsteps running down the stairs from above.
“Faster,” Russell said. She was sweating and she began to get dizzy. “Do you have a weapon?”
“A knife. At my calf.” Not the worst weapon, and it had the advantage of silence, but if whoever was lurking in the stairwell was CIA, he’d likely have a gun with a suppressor. A quiet and efficient weapon. They reached the bottom and pushed through the door to the parking garage. A sedan that Russell recognized as a company car sat parked in a handicapped spot.
“It’s mine. Let’s go,” Wendel said. Russell got up and staggered a bit toward the driver’s side, but she made it there without passing out. She glanced at the parking garage exit. So far, no one burst through. Hauling open the car’s heavy door was about as much as Russell could manage.
“There are guns are in the trunk,” Wendel said.
“Excellent. Run. Get out of here. Go back to DC. I’ll handle this and will call you. I don’t want you involved in this any more than necessary.”
Wendel nodded and sprinted away. Russell fell into the seat and slammed the door behind her. She drove out of the parking garage and onto the street, where she accelerated at every opportunity, all the while watching the sideview mirror. While it appeared as though no one was tailing her, she wasn’t reassured. She picked up her phone and stared at it, wondering if she should risk using it. After a moment she decided that she needed Klein’s help badly enough to give it a try. Russell powered it up and dialed Klein. The Covert-One director answered on the first ring.
“We’ve got a mole in the CIA,” Russell said.
“A situation that appears to be depressingly familiar, Ms. Russell.”
“Whoever it is, they’re after Smith and Nolan and transmitting their location to an unknown assailant. Dattar is in this up to his eyeballs, I can just feel it. And you can bet that he has those coolers. Smith was right.”
“That’s a lot of speculation. But if even a portion is correct, the CIA can’t be allowed to take the lead on the search for them. The mole could undermine each move.”
“What if they’re here? On US soil? The CIA has no jurisdiction over the investigation then. It has to go to the Department of Homeland Security and FBI. CIA, and its mole, won’t know about it.”
“You’ve been overseas for a while. The DHS and FBI are now supposed to receive and exchange intelligence with the CIA when it’s required to assist in a national matter.”
“Okay, and then the NYPD is out as well. Since 9/11, the NYPD has deployed an intelligence-gathering unit. Its head is a CIA officer on loan named Harcourt. I presume he’ll be kept in the loop with the other agencies.”
“Are you telling me that the CIA and NYPD are acting in concert on US soil?”
“I am,” Russell said.
“That’s perilously close to domestic spying, which is illegal,” Klein said.
“And Covert-One? What are the rules between that organization and the others?”
Klein paused. Russell waited.
“Covert-One is autonomous.” Klein’s comment supported what Russell had thought since learning of Covert-One. The idea that Klein headed a covert operation completely free of organizational requirements and reporting duties was astonishing. However, it was just what Russell wanted to hear because she needed to operate free of the CIA.
“I want to bring in Beckmann,” she said.
“No others.”
“Hear me out. With Beckmann, Howell, and Smith all bases are covered. I know about the inner workings of the CIA, Smith knows about bacteria, Howell knows about staying alive.”
“And this Beckmann?”
“Beckmann knows how to skirt the edges and get results.”
Klein was quiet on the other end of the line, and Russell bit her tongue while she allowed him to ponder her request.
“I haven’t met this Beckmann, but Smith has. If he agrees, then Beckmann can be brought in. If not, he can’t.”
Russell breathed a sigh of relief. She was halfway home with her plan.
“I’ll be sure to keep Smith informed. If he says no, then Beckmann’s out, no questions asked.” She took a deep breath. “I was hoping for one more favor.”
“What do you need?”
“A steady stream of information from the DHS and the FBI in real time, not in weekly reports. Whatever they know I want access to.”
“Easy enough.”
Russell raised her eyebrows. The DHS and the FBI both weren’t exactly forthcoming with the CIA despite their public claims of cooperation. The disconnects between the two agencies were legendary. That Klein could wrap up the disparate reports was a huge advantage to Covert-One.