The Hit - Страница 62

They were in the Oval Office. It was reserved for symbolic moments that often were attended by dozens of photographers. There were no photographers here today, but it was a symbolic moment nonetheless.

Robie sat in one chair. Across from him was DCI Evan Tucker. The president was perched on a settee. Next to him in a separate chair was National Security Advisor Gus Whitcomb. Completing the party was Blue Man, looking slightly awed to be once more in the presence of such august company.

“This is getting to be a routine, Robie,” said the president affably.

“I hope it doesn’t actually become one, sir,” said Robie.

His suit was dark, his shirt white, and his tie as dark as his suit. His shoes were polished. Next to the others, with their colorful ties, he looked like a man attending a funeral. Maybe his own.

“The exact details of what was going on are still coming out, albeit slowly,” said Whitcomb.

“I doubt we’ll ever know the whole truth,” said Tucker. “And you’ll never get me to believe that Jim Gelder was involved in any of this.” He glanced at Robie. “And the people responsible for his death, and that of Doug Jacobs, will be brought to justice.”

Robie simply stared back and said nothing.

The president cleared his throat and the other men sat up straighter. “I believe that we dodged a very large bullet. This is not the time for celebration, of course, because we have tough times ahead.”

“Agreed, Mr. President,” said Tucker. “And I can assure you that my agency will do all it can to ensure that those tough times are met head-on.”

Robie and Whitcomb shared a raised eyebrow over that comment.

Whitcomb waited until it seemed the president wasn’t going to respond to Tucker’s statement. “I agree that we have many problems ahead of us. If, as Mr. Robie believes, there were moles at the agency—”

“For the record that is a statement I highly dispute,” interjected Tucker.

The president put up his hands. “Evan, no one is testifying here. Gus is just saying that we need to get to the bottom of this. As much as we can, at least.”

Whitcomb continued, “If there are moles at the agency, then that needs to be resolved. We have four dead men who were all highly placed in various sectors of this country. We have a near catastrophe averted in Canada thanks to the actions of Mr. Robie and the FBI. What we have to do is connect the dots between the two.”

“Of course,” said Tucker. “I never said there shouldn’t be an investigation.”

“A thorough one,” added Whitcomb.

“Do we have any new leads on who killed Gelder and Jacobs?” asked the president.

“Not yet,” said Blue Man.

They all turned to look at him, as though they had forgotten he was even there.

He continued, “But we are hoping for that status to change.”

The president said, “And this Johnson person?”

“Dick Johnson,” said Whitcomb, looking at his notes. He glanced up at Tucker. “He once worked for the CIA.”

The president shot a look at Tucker. “From one of ours to one of theirs, Evan? How is that possible?”

“Johnson was a washout, sir. If he hadn’t disappeared, one day he would have been let go.”

“He wasn’t the only one, sir,” said Robie. “Of the twenty-odd people the FBI arrested, half of them had ties to the agency. And that doesn’t include Roy West out in Arkansas.”

“Roy West was fired,” snapped Tucker, “and I am well aware of the others, Robie. Thank you, though, for pointing it out,” he added sarcastically.

“But the ultimate goal,” began the president. “Obviously, taking out all those leaders would have led to great upheaval in the Muslim world. But was that the only reason?” He glanced around at the others with a questioning look.

Tucker shot a piercing look at Whitcomb, who did not seem to notice it. He glanced at Robie. There seemed to be an understanding between Robie and the APNSA. In fact, they had spoken before the meeting.

Whitcomb cleared his throat and said, “It could be that whoever was behind this had plans to replace the dead leaders with others who believed as they did.”

“So it was internal?” said the president. “Meaning factions competing for power within the Middle East were behind the attack in Canada?”

“That appears to be the case,” said Whitcomb.

“Well, thank God it didn’t come to pass,” said the president.

“Yes, thank God,” added Tucker.

The door to the Oval Office opened and the president’s “body man” looked in. It was his job to keep the president on schedule.

“Sir, two-minute warning before your next meeting.”

The president nodded and rose. “Gentlemen, you will keep me posted on how this goes. I want to know about any new developments. We will maintain the status quo until such time as conditions on the ground dictate otherwise, but I want a full-court press on this.”

They gave him their assurances, shook hands, and said their goodbyes.

On the way out, Robie cornered Blue Man. “We haven’t spoken in a while.”

“You’ve been off the grid for a while.”

“I took your advice. It turned out to be good advice.”

Blue Man drew closer to Robie and spoke in a low voice. “And her?”

Robie nodded. “As good as advertised.”

“What will happen to her?”

“I don’t know. If it were up to me she walks free.”

“It’s not up to you,” pointed out Blue Man.

“Like the president said, we maintain the status quo until conditions on the ground dictate otherwise.”

“And you really think the conditions on the ground are going to change?”

“Actually, they always do.”

“But not here.”

“Especially here,” said Robie.

Robie caught up to Tucker as he was about to climb into his SUV outside the White House.

“Give us a minute,” Tucker said to his aide as he glanced questioningly at Robie. The two men strolled a few feet away.

“Interesting meeting,” said Robie.

“Why did I think I was being ganged up on?” Tucker said accusingly.

“What did you expect? Your agency is in the middle of this whole thing.”

“You’re really close to getting your ass canned.”

“I don’t think so.”

Tucker snarled, “You work for me, Robie.”

“I work for the guy in the White House. And if you want to get really technical, the American people are actually my boss.”

“That’s not how it works, and you know it.”

“What I know is that people are dead. And not just the bad guys.”

“Who are you talking about, exactly?”

“A woman named Gwen. And a guy named Joe. And a guy named Mike.”

“I don’t know who they are.”

“They were good people.”

“So you knew them?”

“Not really, no. But someone I respect vouched for them. So watch your back, Director.”

Robie turned to walk away.

“Who do you respect, Robie? Would that be Jessica Reel? The person who murdered two of my people?”

Robie turned back. “They might have been people, Director. But they weren’t your people.”

Robie walked off.

Tucker stared after him for a few moments and then stalked to his vehicle.

Through the gates of the White House watching all of this was Jessica Reel.

She and Robie exchanged a glance and she turned and strode off.

Chapter 80

Robie waited on the bench at Roosevelt Island, right across from the Kennedy Center in the Potomac River. In the middle of a million people the small island was heavily wooded, isolated, and private. It was not open to the public today, which made it even more private. There was a good reason for this.

It was a fine day, bright, sunny, and warmer than normal.

Robie looked up at some birds soaring by and then his attention turned to the man coming down the path toward him. He was walking slowly. He saw Robie and gave a small wave before taking his time heading over.

He sat, unbuttoned his jacket, and leaned back.

“Nice day,” said Robie.

“It will be nicer when we nail the bastard,” said Whitcomb.

“I’m looking forward to that too.”

“You spooked Tucker after our meeting.”

“He was definitely on the defensive.”

“As he should be. Tucker is a disgrace, but difficult as it is to admit, I don’t see how we do it, Robie. The proof just isn’t there. No matter how hard we want it to be.”

“The shooters had been with the agency.”

“His motive?”

“With the world gone to hell the CIA would skyrocket right to the top in budget dollars and turf. The twin holy grails of the intelligence sector.”

Whitcomb shook his head. “Circumstantial only. His lawyers would tear that to pieces. Not one of the shooters had anything useful?”

“They were out of the loop. Hired guns only. Kent is dead. Gelder, Decker, Jacobs. All loose ends tied up.”

“He was efficient, I’ll give him that.”

“One mistake, though.”

“What’s that?”

“We have one loose end that was forgotten.”

“What?” asked Whitcomb eagerly.

“A who, sir. A woman. Karin Meenan. She worked at the CIA as a physician. She was the one who put the tracker device on me. She knew Roy West. And she knew about the white paper.”

“White paper?”

“We called it the apocalypse paper. It diagrammed in meticulous detail an attack on the G8, country by country, assassination by assassination, executed by Islamic terrorists. Then it outlined what would be done after the killings to maximize the global chaos.”