5:20 P.M.
CIA HEADQUARTERS
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA
Jenna tapped her ear. The call she’d been on with her mother redialed.
“You hung up on me,” said Jenna’s mother.
“Bad connection, Mother.”
“As I was saying, it’s your father’s seventieth birthday. He would be—”
She cut her off.
“May I bring a friend?” said Jenna.
“Of course. Whom, may I ask? And does this individual work with you?” said Jenna’s mom.
“You know I can’t answer that question. He’s just a friend, that’s all,” Jenna said. “Daddy will like him, so will you. His name is Dewey.”
“Jenna, my dear,” said her mother, “you may bring whomever you would like. The only thing that matters is that your daddy’s precious girl, and my beautiful child, is there.”
“Thanks, Mom,” said Jenna. “He doesn’t speak much, by the way.”
“You’ll be in your bedroom at the quarterdeck. You can put him wherever you choose.”
“Can’t hear you,” said Jenna. “Must be the connection. See you tomorrow.”
After Jenna hung up with her mother, she hit a button on her phone.
“Call Igor.”
Dewey took an elevator several floors belowground. He went into NCS, a massive set of rooms like a private health club, reserved for only CIA operators. It was a large labyrinthine array of pools, saunas, sparring rings, weight racks, a firing range, track, basketball court, and a few other things. He found a surgeon, who cleaned up the wound, shot Dewey’s arm up with a local anesthetic, and sewed up the gash. It required seventeen stitches in all.
Dewey took a shower and changed in the Special Operations Group locker room. It was a quiet place, and the lockers were spacious; each locker was thirty inches wide, and was done in dark mahogany. He found his locker. It didn’t matter how he left it, the inside was invariably neatly taken care of by someone on the SOG staff. Inside was a line of hanging shirts, and a stack of pants, neatly folded. Dewey reached for a pair of blue khakis, pulled them on, then found a white button-down. He looked at the bandage on his shoulder. Blood was starting to soak through. He looked on the top shelf of his locker. Behind a toothbrush, toothpaste, deodorant, and a few other things, Dewey pulled out a roll of duct tape. He wrapped tape around the bandage, over his shoulder, a tight wrap, ripped the tape with his teeth, then put it back on the shelf.
As he pulled on the white shirt and buttoned it, his eyes went unconsciously back to the shelf. He saw a glimmer of glass. Dewey reached to the back and pulled out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s. It was half gone. He unscrewed the cap and put the bottle to his lips, then took several gulps. He rescrewed the cap and put it back on the shelf, then headed for the meeting.