Friday
I’d rehearsed what to say to Stokes so many times that the call, when it came the next night, was almost an afterthought.
My memory of the twenty-four hours prior was hazy. There were alternating periods of grief, terror, and guilt. I recalled a flood of tears, hours on the bed in a fetal position, Luke’s arms around me. I remembered the sweet smell of Rachel’s baby skin after she’d had a bath. The way she went all out for soccer when she was fifteen. How she nearly ran me over when her father taught her to drive. I might never see, hear, or touch my little girl again, and it was my fault. If only I hadn’t become so obsessed with that damn flash drive. When would I learn? Thoughts like those would restart the tears, and the cycle would begin anew.
There were a couple of calls from LeJeune, one telling me he’d picked up the drive, another saying he had interviewed Gary Phillips at Delcroft but didn’t learn anything significant.
“I’ll say one thing for those corporate guys,” LeJeune said. “They toss the bullshit around better than most anyone else. Except lawyers.”
Jimmy Saclarides dropped off my Camry in the driveway. The crime lab techs had been all over it but hadn’t retrieved much beyond shards of broken glass and the detritus of bank receipts, grocery lists, and Starbucks cups. He was ready to leave, but Luke asked him to stick around.
I felt paralyzed by a profound lassitude; it was hard to even muster the energy to go to the bathroom. At about five, Luke walked me into the shower, soaped me up, and washed my hair. Then he led me down to the kitchen, heated up some soup, and forced me to take a few spoonfuls.
My cell hadn’t been more than a few inches away all day, but I tried not to stare at it. If I did, he wouldn’t call. If I ignored it, he wouldn’t call either.
It reminded me of a joke Rachel and I shared about parking karma. I have it; she wants it. I seem to be able to park in the best spots on Chicago city streets for free, or at least a minimal amount of money. She called me one night after circling her Wrigleyville apartment for twenty minutes trying to find a spot. While we were chatting, I told her I’d put it out in the universe. “Give Rachel some parking karma,” I intoned in a mantra-like manner.
Thirty seconds later, she squealed. “OMG. A spot just opened up. Right in front of my apartment. You’re amazing, Mom!”
We’d laughed so hard I almost spit out my wine.
Now I wanted to cry. I needed cell phone karma.
LeJeune showed up while Luke was making ginger tea. He took one look at me, saw how distraught I was, and directed most of his conversation to Luke and Jimmy.
“I want to brief you on what we found out about our pal. Warren Stokes is from Oklahoma. He enlisted as soon as he was eighteen. Right around the First Gulf War.”
Luke’s eyebrows arched.
LeJeune rubbed his nose. “He was attached to the Eighteenth Infantry Regiment. Saw a little action, but most of it was mopping up. When he came back he applied to the Agency. They told him he needed a college degree, so he took night classes at Prince George’s Community College outside DC. He spent days as a security guard. At one point he applied for the DC police department but didn’t make the cut.”
“Really.”
LeJeune nodded. “But he did do one smart thing. He learned Arabic.”
Luke’s eyebrows arched even higher.
“After 9/11, he convinced the Agency he was almost fluent.”
“Was he?” I cut in.
“Who knows? But they took him and sent him to Afghanistan. He was back and forth for a couple of tours. Best I can tell, about five years.”
“That’s a long time.”
LeJeune nodded. “Then, all of a sudden he’s out. Instead of riding off into the sunset, he sets up Stokes Security. Hires a marketing company, and within a year he’s got half a dozen clients. A year later six more. He adds a bunch of ex-spooks, pretty much all military, Agency, Bureau, Secret Service. Most of them with a talent for hacking. A few months ago he gets the Delcroft account.”
“He’s not stupid,” Luke said.
“Agreed,” LeJeune said. “If his guys really can hack into people’s computers, there’s no telling how much dirt he can pull up.”
I sipped the tea. It felt soothing. “Are you saying he blackmailed companies to get clients?”
“Like I said, who knows?”
“Why did he leave the Agency?” Luke asked
“It’s not clear. I’ll let you know when I find out. Meanwhile let’s focus on the exchange.”