SIX

Monk had to take Roger back to his own car in the parking lot at the Watergate, but he managed to get back to within half a block of the SOG just in time to see William Smith emerge on foot from the trolley barn, turn left and walk up M Street. Behind William, Monk slowed to a crawl and watched as the NSA man turned left at Thirty-fifth Street. Monk accelerated quietly, aware that the sound of his engine might alert William to his presence. As he passed the intersection at Thirty-fifth, he looked to his left and saw William pulling away from the curb in a Chevy sedan. Dark blue or green, it was hard to tell. Monk hit the gas, hurried to Thirty-fourth and turned left. Moments later he came to Prospect Street, where he sat at the stop sign until he saw William go by.

He gave the spook a block or so head start—easy to do at this time of night—then followed. He didn’t have to bumper-lock the guy. William was only going one of two places, both of them in Maryland. To his house in Cheverly, or up the highway to NSA Headquarters at Fort Meade. Monk could afford to hang back, and that’s exactly what he did.

But William surprised him.

He didn’t go home. He didn’t go to his office at Fort Meade, either.

Where he went was across town, up New York Avenue to the campus of Gallaudet University, where he made a right turn on Florida and continued a few blocks down to a nondescript two-story brick office building. Monk hung back as William parked the Chevy and walked toward the front door, then hit the gas and closed up fast, jumping out of the Saab and catching William just as he entered the building. Monk pushed through the door before William could shut it behind him. William’s eyes widened, then glittered with hostility as they stood together in the tiny lobby.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” he demanded.

“What do you imagine I’m doing here?”

“A couple of things come to mind. How far back do you want to go?”

“Just as far as you like, but right now I’m only interested in one thing.”

“It’s classified, Monk. Even if you had a need to know, I wouldn’t tell you.”

“You’re running a FISA wire out of my office.” He was referring to the secret wiretap provisions of the Foreign Intelligence Services Act. “Which I’m guessing means you already know where the Madonna is, and who stole it. Which also means you don’t give a shit about the painting at all. It’s the woman you want. The thief who’s not a thief at all, but a—”

“Goddamit, Monk, shut up!” William’s eyes darted out toward the street. “For Christ’s sake, anybody could be listening!”

“So let’s go somewhere where nobody’s listening.”

William shook his head, then turned away and started back toward the door. Monk grabbed his arm and spun him back around before stepping up into his face. William tried to shove him back, but Monk held his ground.

“You are seriously out of bounds, Monk.” William’s voice was gravelly with fatigue. “I could have you arrested for following me here.”

Monk reached into his pocket for his cell phone, held it out. “Make the call. Let’s get somebody down here right now.”

William batted the phone away. “What the hell’s this to you, anyway? Why can’t you follow the rules for once in your life?”

“The bureau’s been working these art thefts for five years. Obviously you people know who’s doing them. You can’t possibly think I’m going to go away until I find out as well.”

“What about your partner, what about Forbes? He feel the same way?”

“It’s just me now. Roger’s got too much to lose.”

“And you don’t?”

Monk stared at him. “We used to be friends. I understand why we’re not anymore, but this is business. I want in. I have plenty of reason to be included. Malone won’t make it happen, but you can.”

But William’s eyes only got harder, as he took a took a half step toward Monk. “Go to hell, Puller,” he said. “I don’t ever want to see your face again.”