“Still flying Preds?” Bickell continued to stand.
“I’m out of that now. Out of the Air Force. Maybe you heard.”
“Maybe. Fascinating machines. Amazing what they’ve been able to accomplish.”
“Hope we were able to help you. Have any luck with them?”
Bickell shrugged. “What’s this advice you’re after?”
“About one of your colleagues. Wade Castle.”
“Last I heard, he’s still employed by the Agency. You’ll have to ask them.”
“Well, this is kind of delicate.”
“It usually is when it’s unofficial. All the more reason for you to go through channels. I’ve got a number in Langley that will put you straight through to his desk officer. Fellow named Bishop.”
Cole shifted in his seat, beginning to feel he had come a long way for nothing.
“You said something about coffee?”
That at least drew a smile. Bickell grunted and headed for the kitchen. By the time he returned — full mug, no steam — Cole had retooled his approach.
“What happened to you over there? You retire on schedule, or did they send you home early?”
Bickell’s eyes flared, but he didn’t answer right away.
“You don’t exactly seem gainfully employed yourself, Captain.”
Cole shrugged.
“This and that. So you’re out for good?”
“You see me complaining?” Bickell spread his arms to encompass the room. Vintage fly rods were mounted on the knotty pine paneling behind him. On the opposite wall was a crossed set of varnished wooden skis. No sign of a feminine touch. No household noises that a wife might make. Cole was guessing he lived alone. He prodded again.
“Castle fucked up big-time, but I guess you knew that. He was my J-TAC on a flyover at Sandar Khosh. Called in a dart that killed thirteen civvies. The whole thing felt wrong from the get-go. From what I hear, it wasn’t the only time.”
“What does any of this have to do with me?”
Why had he come? What could have made them think this visit would be worth the trouble? He pictured Steve’s disappointed reaction when Cole delivered the news that he’d struck out — a big fat zero on his first mission, the long journey wasted. At this rate he wouldn’t last a week. They might not even bother to pick him up at the bus station in Baltimore.
“Well, I thought you guys trained together because you were going to serve together. Am I wrong?”
Bickell shrugged and shifted his weight to his other foot.
“Look, if you really have nothing to say—”
“After you came all this way, you mean?” Bickell frowned. “I’m sure it wasn’t that hard to tell that I’m not exactly fond of Castle. Nobody likes the prick, if you really want to know, so I don’t give a rat’s ass what happens to him. But he’s not a fuckup. He’s one of the few people over there who knew his ass from a hole in the ground.”
“That’s a start, I guess.”
“It’s also an end.”
Bickell gestured toward the door. Just like that, without even a scrap of useful information. Cole’s desperation surged toward anger. He stood, face flushed, and stepped within inches of Bickell, who didn’t budge.
“So you’re good with all this, then? The fuckups and the mistakes? All those dead kids, that’s okay by you?”
Bickell came right back at him, and for a moment it felt like being back in basic, or his first year at the Academy, getting reamed out nose to nose by some screaming asshole on a parade ground.
“Did I say I’m good with it? Fuck, no! But I’m not risking my ass for some weak vessel who’s going to leak secrets all the way back to Vegas. And please tell me you didn’t fly commercial, with a ticket on plastic and two forms of ID. Please tell me you’re not that much of a fuckup.”
“None of your business.”
“It’s completely my business. I might be more pissed off than you are about the state of play, but I’ll be damned if I sweep any dirt toward some stupid bastard who might as well be posting this conversation on Facebook. So, to repeat, how did you get here? By what means?”
“Not by plane.”
Bickell backed off an inch.
“Using any plastic?”
Cole shook his head.
“Cash only, and a fake ID.”
“Cover name?”
“None of your business.”
“Good answer. Next time don’t volunteer all that other shit, even if somebody asks.” Cole reddened in embarrassment. “And you can consider this a favor, Captain Cole, like a free security evaluation. But maybe I underestimated you. Or maybe I just wanted to. Always hated all you cocky bastards on the flight line.” This finally coaxed a smile out of Cole. “Before you say another word I want to show you something. Then we’re going to start over, beginning with your knock at the door.”
Cole followed him to a hall closet, which Bickell opened onto a recorder, red light on, needles jumping with every sound. Cole blanched, then looked around, as if expecting a team of operatives to emerge from behind the furniture. When nothing happened he drew a deep breath.
“You tape all your guests?”
“Only when some Agency geek drops by to set up the equipment. This is their stuff. They were here yesterday.” He let that sink in.
“You were expecting me?”
“Everybody was, apparently, to hear my people tell it. Tell me something …” The needles kept jumping. Bickell paused, annoyed, then punched the Off switch. “If you were to find out what actually went wrong, and why — which I don’t know myself, by the way — what would you do with that kind of information? Who’s your client?”
“Client?”
“Who’s paying the freight?”
“Nobody.” He didn’t dare mention the journalists.
“For the sake of argument, let’s say I believe that. Where do you go next, then? Where do you take this kind of material?”
“I guess that depends on who I thought would be in the best position to make sure these things don’t keep happening. At least not with our birds.”
Bickell shook his head.
“Don’t duck the question. This isn’t Amnesty International and you’re not working for some war crimes tribunal. Where do you see yourself going with this? To a desk jockey in the Pentagon? To goddamn CNN, even? Or maybe back up the chain of command, to whoever the hell didn’t officially send you here and didn’t officially give you any marching orders? I know about your court-martial. Was this part of your plea agreement, maybe? Some sort of undercover arrangement?”
It was an odd but appealing theory, which made Cole wonder what other forces might be in play. It also offered an easy way out.
“Something like that.”
“And this superior of yours, who’s he reporting to?”
“I don’t know.”
Bickell smiled.
“Well, if my people knew you might be coming, that tells me your sugar daddy is compromised, no matter how high up the chain of command. So act accordingly. And wherever you go next, it better not be Creech. Once you’ve started something like this there’s no reset button, no reboot. It’s shop till you drop, understand?”
“Then where should I go next?”
“I’ve got a few ideas. But first, a little housekeeping.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bickell erased the recording and told Cole what to do next. Cole left the house through the front door and waited on the porch until Bickell called out from inside. “Okay. Silent five count, then let ’er rip.”
Cole counted slowly to five, then knocked. Twice, like before.
“Keep your shirt on,” Bickell said again. “I’m coming.”
This time Cole refused the invitation to step inside. He tried to sound natural as he repeated the lines Bickell had fed him.
“No offense, but I’d be more comfortable doing this outside. We can walk while we talk.”