“I didn’t really know,” Swann said. “I didn’t know.”
CHAPTER 92
The site was secure, Shreve Metzger had been told, and he piloted his government car from the staging area a few blocks away through the trim streets to the home of his administrations director.
His friend.
His Judas.
Metzger was astonished to see that the man’s pleasant suburban house, where he’d had dinner two weeks ago, looked like some of the battlefield locales he remembered from Iraq, except for the lush grass and the Lexuses and Mercs parked on the street nearby. Trees smoldered and smoke dribbled skyward from Boston’s windows. The smell would be in the walls for years, even after painting. And forget the furniture and clothing.
Metzger’s own brand of Smoke filled him. He thought again for the hundredth time that day: How could you have done this, Spencer?
As with anybody who had affronted him — from rude coffee vendor to someone like this traitor — Metzger felt a mousetrap snap, a nearly overwhelming urge to grab them, shatter their bones, scream, draw blood. Utterly destroy.
But then, thinking that Boston’s life as he’d lived it would be over with, Metzger decided that was punishment enough. The Smoke within him faded.
A good sign, Dr. Fischer?
Probably it was. But would the serenity last? Maybe, maybe not. Why did all the important battles have to be lifetime battles? Weight, anger, love…
He flashed an ID at a couple of local uniforms and ducked under the tape, walking toward Lincoln Rhyme and Amelia Sachs.
He greeted them and then learned his administrations director’s motive for leaking the STO. The sin arose not from conscience or ideology or money. But simply because he was passed over for the job of head of NIOS.
Metzger was stunned. For one thing, Boston was totally wrong for the senior job. For all his scrawny physique and bland eyes, Metzger was a killer. Whatever makes your own personal Smoke go away defines you.
Spencer Boston, on the other hand, was a diligent and meticulous national security professional, an organizer, a player, a dealer, a man who got things done in the hazy streets of Managua or Rio. Who didn’t own a gun and wouldn’t know how to use one — or have the guts to do so.
What on earth would he do with an organization like NIOS, whose sole purpose was to end lives?
But ambition doesn’t grow from logic, Metzger knew.
He now nodded a tepid farewell to Rhyme and Sachs. He’d hoped to confront Spencer Boston but Sachs had explained that the administrations director had gone to be with his wife and children in Larchmont. He hadn’t been officially arrested yet. There was still considerable debate as to what crime, if any, he’d committed. The charges would be federal, not state, however, so the NYPD’s involvement was marginal.
Nothing more to do here.
Spencer, how could you…
He turned abruptly toward his car.
And nearly walked smack into stocky Assistant District Attorney Nance Laurel.
They both froze, inches away from each other.
He was silent. She said, “You were lucky this time.”
“And what exactly does that mean?”
“Moreno’s renunciation of his citizenship. That’s why the case got dropped. The only reason.”
Shreve Metzger wondered if she held everyone’s eyes so steadily. Probably. Everyone except lovers’, he suspected. In this they were the same. And he wondered where on earth that thought had come from.
She continued, “How did you manage to pull it off?”
“What?”
“Did Moreno really renounce? Were those documents from the embassy in Costa Rica legitimate?”
“Are you accusing me of obstruction?”
“You’re guilty of obstruction,” she said. “That’s a given. We’re choosing not to pursue those charges. I just want to know specifically about the renunciation documents.”
Meaning calls had been made from Washington to Albany dictating that obstruction charges not be brought. Metzger wondered if this was a farewell present from the Wizard. Probably not. A case like that would look bad for everybody.
“I don’t really have anything more to say on that topic, Counselor. Take it up with State.”
“Who’s al-Barani Rashid?”
So she had at least two entries in the STO queue — Moreno’s and Rashid’s.
“I can’t discuss NIOS operations with you. You don’t have a clearance.”
“Is he dead?”
Metzger said nothing. He kept his hazel eyes locked easily on hers.
Laurel pressed ahead, “You’re positive Rashid is guilty?”
The Smoke boiled and cracked his skin like an eggshell. He whispered harshly, “Walker used me, he used NIOS.”
“You let yourself be used. You heard what you wanted to about Moreno and stopped asking questions.”
Smoke, plumes and plumes of Smoke now. “What’s wrong, Counselor? Upset that all you ended up with was a run-of-the-mill homicide? A CEO at a defense contractor orders a couple of hits? Boring. Won’t make CNN the way a federal security director’s going to jail would.”
She didn’t rise to the argument. “And Rashid? No mistakes there, you’re convinced?”
Metzger couldn’t help but recall that Barry Shales — and he — had nearly blown two children to oblivion in Reynosa, Mexico.
CD: Not approved…
An urge to strike Laurel swelled. Or to lash out with cruel words about her short stature, wide hips, excessive makeup, her parents’ bankruptcy, her failed love life — a deduction but surely accurate. Metzger’s anger had inflicted only a half dozen bruises or welts over the years; his words had hurt legions. The Smoke did that. The Smoke made you inhuman.
Just leave.
He turned.
Laurel said evenly, “And what’s Rashid’s crime — saying things about America you didn’t like? Asking people to question the values and the integrity of the country?…But isn’t being free to ask questions like that what America’s all about?”
Metzger stopped fast, turned and snapped, “Spoken like the most simple-minded, cliché-ridden of bloggers.” He reseated himself in front of her. “What is it with you? Why do you resent what we do so much?”
“Because what you do is wrong. The United States is a country of laws, not men.”
“‘Government’ of laws,” he corrected. “John Adams. It’s a nice-sounding phrase. But parse it and things aren’t so simple. A government of laws. Okay. Think about that: Laws require interpretation and delegations of power, down and down the line. To people like me — who make decisions on how to implement those laws.”
She fired back with: “Laws don’t include ignoring due process and executing citizens arbitrarily.”
“There’s nothing arbitrary about what I do.”
“No? You kill people you think are going to commit an offense.”
“All right, Counselor. What about a policeman on the street? He sees a perp in a dark alley with what might be a gun. It seems that he’s about to shoot someone. The cop is authorized to kill, right? Where’s your due process there, where’s your reasonable search and seizure, where’s your right to confront your accuser?”
“Ah, but Moreno didn’t have a gun.”
“And sometimes the guy in the alley only has a cell phone. But he gets shot anyway because we’ve chosen to give the police the right to make judgments.” He gave a deep, chill laugh. “Tell me, aren’t you guilty of the same thing?”
“What do you mean?” she snapped.
“What about my due process? What about Barry Shales’s?”
She frowned.
He continued, “In making the case, did you datamine me? Or Barry? Did you get classified information from, say, the FBI? Did you somehow ‘accidentally’ happen to get your hands on NSA intercepts?”