Day 4: May 18, 1150 Hours, Daylight Saving Time
FBI Task Force Office, Winchester, Virginia
THE FBI HOLDING cell was more uncomfortable than the cell I’d been in in Amman two years ago. That’s in Jordan and they’re our ally. That’s not to say that the FBI isn’t an ally. They’re, well, us, and should have better accommodations. The only difference was that here I had a metal chair to sit on, and in Amman I shared a stone bench with eight sweaty, smelly tribesmen. At least now I could put my feet up on the interview table and nap.
Desperate times are exhausting.
I guess having a dead body in your woodshed trumped my DHS credentials. I might have slid past them for hiding Bobby Kruppa for a while, and failing to tell them about meeting with G last night, but the dead guy was a bit much to ask favors over. I’d been there for hours with a bottle of water and the walls for company. Since returning from Fool’s Lake—boy, did that name fit now—I’d gotten the cold shoulder from Victoria and no better from Artie. All he said when he walked me into this cell was, “I’d keep quiet if I were you. Things could get a whole lot worse.”
I took his advice, uncommon as that was. Needless to say, I failed to mention that the body in the woodshed was Ghali. Kevin’s “G.” I also couldn’t point fingers at Bond for Ghali’s murder. To do so would negate my previous statement that I’d never seen the man in the shed before. Silence was my friend. Sometimes, having a secret was like having two aces up your sleeve.
The metal holding cell door opened. Artie stood in the doorway for a long moment, chewing on some thought in his head. I hoped it wasn’t a judge’s execution order.
“Hunter, we got hit again.” His voice was monotone and bleak. “Terrorists hit Union Station this morning. Real bad. Some kid blew the place to hell and there was a secondary explosion waiting in the parking lot across from the entrance. It’s a real mess.”
“Any intel?” I asked.
“None. They’re still sorting the bodies. It’s the worst we’ve had since 9/11. The President has declared a state of emergency. The military is itching to bomb someone. As soon as they know who’s responsible, it’s going to start all over again.”
“It” was our violent entrance into the Gulf after 9/11.
“Any leads? Anything?”
“Too early to know. DC is in a full-court press. The President is apparently ready to launch a strike. They just don’t know at whom yet.”
Union Station was one of the busiest train stations in the country. Since it sits in Washington, DC, it’s also a symbolic target. Another symbolic target. Just like the Pentagon. Just like the Towers. They would start the war all over again. Same tactics, different venue. Union Station and the shopping mall.
“Okay, Hunter. You’re out.” Artie threw his chin toward the door. “You better keep clean or you’ll be back fast enough to make your nose bleed. DHS creds or not.”
Well, that’s a good start. “Thanks, Artie. I can make Kevin’s funeral. I knew you’d come through.”
“It wasn’t me.” He shook his head. “I wanted to hold you another forty-eight hours. The less you’re on the street, the safer Winchester is.”
“Then who?”
“Me.” Victoria stood in the doorway.
I winked at Artie. “You said she didn’t like me.”
“It’s on her if you screw us again.” He rolled his eyes. “Go to your hotel and stay there for a few days. Order room service. Stay out of fights and gun battles.”
Good suggestions. “Thanks, Victoria.”
“Your contact at DHS vouched for you,” she said with a cringe in her eyes. “Even after I told him you had a body in your shed. He didn’t seem happy about it. Whoever pulled these strings is gonna have a lot to answer for with him.”
I nodded. “I’ll send him a fruit basket. Why didn’t you just ask your CIA liaison? You know the one. He was slinking around the crime scene and at your offices.”
“We did,” Artie said. “He didn’t confirm or deny you even exist with the Agency any longer. The DHS guy was enough to spring you. For now.”
I winked at Victoria. “If the government says it, it must be true. Right?”
“Get out of here.” She threw a thumb at the door. “Before I change my mind.”
I stood and stretched a bit more. “How about an update? You know, between federal colleagues.”
Victoria held up a hand. “We have no comment, okay?”
“Following every lead. Right, blah, blah, blah,” I said. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”
Artie nodded. “This whole thing is one dead end. We’re not getting anywhere on Kevin’s killing. A stolen truck that led nowhere. No evidence, no nothing.”
Liars. I decided to test the waters a little deeper. “Well, then tell me who Saeed Mansouri is.”
Artie looked like I’d just insulted his mother and kicked his dog. Victoria didn’t look amused, either, and locked her eyes on me. “Where’d you hear about him, Hunter?”
“What do you have on him?”
Her face was impassive. “No comment.”
“Saeed Mansouri is on our radar, Hunter,” Artie said, trying to appease me a little. “But everything about him is classified. I’m sure you understand.”
“No, I don’t.” I went to the door and turned around. “How can I understand if you don’t tell me anything? How about Caine and Khalifah? Or what about Maya and Baltimore? If you don’t share, I can’t help.”
Nothing.
“All right, I’ll drive up to Sand Town and dig around.”
Artie and Victoria did the FBI telepathy thing. It lasted several moments before they reached a decision.
Victoria said, “Stay clear of Sandy Creek. We’re handling them. We’re not at liberty to disclose what we’ve got, including Khalifah, Caine, and Saeed Mansouri. So, hands off Sandy Creek.”
“Hands off?” I frowned. “Well then, being as I’ll be getting my intel from DHS and CIA, the FBI won’t be in my loop. Too bad, too. Because we’re smarter together than alone.”
Artie suddenly thought better. “Okay, okay, look, Hunter—”
“Forget it, Artie,” I said on my way to the door. “I gotta bury my brother. First, though, I’m gonna pick up my .45 and rental car out front. Unless, of course, you’ve found a photograph of me and John Wilkes Booth having lunch. But I warn you, I have an alibi for that one, too.”