The Hit - Страница 27

Robie sat alone for five minutes, long enough to show that the man he was waiting for was very important and that Robie’s matter, though critical, was only one of many the APNSA was juggling.

The world, after all, was a very complicated place. And America, as the only remaining superpower, was right in the middle of all the complications. And no matter what the United States did, half the world would hate it and the other half would complain that the Americans were not doing enough.

Robie refocused when the door opened. The man entering the room was largely unknown to a public that would have a hard time naming any cabinet member and sometimes even tripped over the vice president’s name.

Robie assumed he preferred the anonymity.

His name was Gus Whitcomb. He was sixty-eight years old, a little soft in the gut, but he still had broad shoulders carried over from his days as a linebacker at the Naval Academy. He must not have taken too many hits to the head, because his brain seemed to be working on all cylinders. He had the reputation of going after America’s enemies with a potent mixture of passion and ruthlessness. And he was thoroughly relied on by the president.

He sat down across from Robie, put on wire-rimmed spectacles, and glanced down at the e-tablet he had carried in with him. The White House, like the rest of the world, was going paperless. He read down the screen, took off his glasses, slipped them into his jacket pocket, and looked up at Robie.

“The president sends his best.”

“I appreciate that.”

“Well, he appreciates you.”

The niceties over, Whitcomb shifted gears. “Tough night for you.”

“Unexpected, yes.”

“Last update on DiCarlo looks better. They think she’ll pull through.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I’ve read your account several times. But it gives no indication of who the attackers could have been.”

“I never got a clear look at any of them. They were firing from long range. Forensics on the ground provide anything?”

“Lots of shell casings.”

Robie nodded. “Any bodies?”

Whitcomb looked at him sharply. “Why would that be? You could hardly have hit them with your pistol from that range.”

Robie had walked right into that one. He never should have offered anything other than what was in his official report. He must be more tired than he thought.

“They were advancing on us when I got us out of there. But I fired some shots right at them. You never know if you’re going to get lucky or not.”

Whitcomb didn’t seem to be listening to this, which was troubling to Robie. That made it seem as though Whitcomb had already made up his mind about something. Then what the man had said registered in Robie’s brain, and he tried hard to keep the realization off his features.

Shell casings. Lots of them.

As though he had actually read Robie’s mind, Whitcomb said, “More than forty shell casings were found by a tree to the left of DiCarlo’s home. The way most of the casings were positioned when they were found on the ground indicates that the shooter was firing toward where you reported the other shooters to be and also where blood and different shell casings were discovered. Also found there were glass shards that have been identified as being from both sniper scopes and flashlights. So the question becomes, who else was out there?”

He stared pointedly at Robie.

When Robie said nothing, Whitcomb said, “You could hardly have missed seeing the person who fired over forty high-powered rifle rounds at a target that was firing on you. So who was your guardian angel? That’s the first question. The second question is, why wasn’t that information already in your report?”

“It’s an issue of trust, sir.”

From his slack expression, this was not the response Whitcomb was expecting. “Excuse me?” he said sharply.

“Ms. DiCarlo expressed to me that things were not as they should be at the agency and other places. Things that troubled her. She indicated that a crisis was approaching. She only had two men guarding her because they were the only two she trusted.”

Whitcomb put his glasses back on, as though doing so would make him see more clearly what Robie had just said.

“Am I to believe that the number two at the agency didn’t trust her employer? Meaning the CIA?” He shook his head slowly. “That is very, very difficult to comprehend, Mr. Robie.”

“I’m just telling you what she told me.”

“And yet that extraordinary assertion also was not in your report. And Ms. DiCarlo unfortunately is not available to corroborate your statement.”

“She invited me to her house, sir. To tell me these things.”

“Again, your word only.”

“So you don’t believe me?” Robie said.

“Well, you apparently don’t believe anything either.”

Robie shook his head but didn’t respond.

Whitcomb pressed on. “My briefings indicate that we have a rogue agent killing agency personnel. You were assigned to come on board, find, and terminate said rogue agent. It does not seem to me that you are any closer to finding her. Indeed, it seems that you are starting to believe that the true enemy is located on the inside instead of on the outside.”

“When one’s own side withholds information from me I think it only natural that my confidence in my side goes down. And it also makes it a lot harder to do my job.”

“Withholds information?”

“Redacted files, corrupted crime scenes, cryptic meetings where more is left unsaid than said. Agendas that seem to keep shifting. Not an ideal platform for success in the field.”

Whitcomb stared down at his hands for a few moments before looking up and saying, “Just answer this simple question. Did you see the person who fired off those rounds?”

Robie knew if he hesitated with his answer it would be calamitous. “It was a woman. I didn’t see the face clearly. But it was definitely a woman.”

“And you didn’t attempt to confirm who it was?” Now Robie had a ready answer that not even a hardass like Whitcomb could dispute. “I had a badly wounded person in the backseat who could expire at any time. There were shooters zeroing in our location. I had no time to do anything other than leave the scene as quickly as possible. My paramount concern was Ms. DiCarlo’s survival.”

Whitcomb was nodding even before Robie finished speaking. “Of course, Robie. Of course, completely understandable. And your prompt actions have, hopefully, resulted in DiCarlo’s survival, for which you are to be commended.”

He paused, seeming to marshal his thoughts while Robie waited for the next query.

“Do you have any idea who this woman might have been?”

“Sir, it would only be a guess on my part at this point in time.”

“I’ll take that, at this point in time,” Whitcomb shot back.

“I think it was Jessica Reel, the rogue agent I’ve been assigned to hunt down.”

Chapter 34

Gamestop would not be open for several more hours. Yet she knew he always got in early. So Reel sat in her car outside the mall entrance that he would use. She flicked her lights when she saw him drive up and park his vintage black Mustang.

He walked over to her car and got in.

She drove off.

Michael Gioffre wore an unzipped hoodie, baggy jeans, and his “Day of Doom” T-shirt. Reel assumed he had dozens of them.

“Where are we going?” he asked. “I’ve got inventory to check.”

“Not far. And it won’t be long if you have what I need. Just time for a cup of coffee.”

She pointed to the coffee sitting in the cup holder. He picked it up, took a sip.

“You didn’t give me much time,” he mumbled.

“My recollection of you is that you never needed much time. Am I wrong?”

Gioffre took another sip and then wiped his mouth. “I could get in a lot of trouble doing this.”

“Yes, you could.”

“But you still expect me to help you?”

“Yes, I do. If the positions were reversed, wouldn’t you?”

Gioffre sighed. “I hate it when you’re logical.”

“You’re a gamer. I thought you lived by logic.”

“I also appreciate fantasy. I kill guys on the screen. You kill them for real.”

They drove in silence for a while.

“Stupid comment, sorry,” Gioffre finally said.

“It’s the truth, so how stupid can it be?”

“Logic again,” he said. “You have an endless supply.”

“I’ve always chosen that over chaos. When I had a choice, that is.”

For Reel they could have been in a time tunnel, ten years ago, in a car, driving in some foreign land, her seeking information and Gioffre providing it. But then again, every place seemed foreign to her now. Even the one she used to call home.

They drove in silence for another mile. Each plunk of a raindrop on the windshield seemed to Reel to represent a second of their lives draining away.

“Did they deserve it?” Gioffre asked, quietly breaking the silence.

Reel didn’t answer.

He shifted in his seat. “Because knowing you the way I know you, I think they must have.”

“Don’t give me credit for something I didn’t earn.”

“What do you mean?” Gioffre said sharply.

“I’ve terminated lots of people I never even met because someone higher up in the pecking order told me it was not only the right thing to do, it was my duty. Whether they actually deserved it or not never entered into the equation. That’s what I mean.”