Savich turned on the bedside lamp to see Justice Cummings in the pair of blue pajamas Savich’s mother had given him the previous Christmas. They were too big for Justice, but the drawstring kept them up. He was pale, but his eyes were bright and focused. He was very nearly vibrating.
He gulped, took a quick step back. “I’m sorry, really, I’ll leave—”
“It’s all right, Justice,” Sherlock said, and pulled the sheet up to her shoulders. “Come sit down on the chair by the dresser. How is your leg?”
“I took another of Dr. Breaker’s pain pills, so it hardly hurts at all now.” Still, he walked carefully to the chair, pulled it closer to the bed, and sat down. He lightly touched his fingers to his bandaged nose and smiled. “My nose doesn’t hurt, either.”
“Tell us about the dream,” Savich said.
“Okay, but I’ve got to back up first. Maybe a week and a half ago, I was having lunch with one of my co-workers, Peach—that’s what everyone calls her because she’s from Atlanta—and all she wanted to talk about was the upcoming NFL season and if I was going to play fantasy football. Finally, I told her I really don’t like sports very much, even football, sorry, and I went back to my workstation early. And there at my workstation was my boss’s boss, Assistant Director Claire Farriger. She looked up, saw me, and nodded, told me she wanted to read that Russian hacker’s commentary I’d flagged about that new surveillance technology I’d reported, and could I show it to her. I did. She thanked me and left. I didn’t give it another thought.”
He drew a deep breath, whooshed it out. “Then I saw her in my dream tonight, sitting at my computer, and she wasn’t trying to access that file, she was actually downloading something. And when she looked up at me, her expression was—well, furtive—I guess that’s the right word. Furtive, like she was doing something she shouldn’t be doing, not looking for that chatter like she’d told me. Then in my dream she ran her hand along the base of my workstation and pulled something out of the USB port, had to be a jump drive. She flipped it in the air, caught it. As she walked away, she started singing that song ‘Don’t Worry Be Happy,’ but not those words. She belted out, ‘Sorry, sorry, but you’re the best goat I’ve got.’ ”
He looked embarrassed, but plowed ahead. “You know how dreams are, they’re crazy-sounding when you think about them the next morning, if you even remember them, but those words—I jerked awake and I knew something was real about the dream. I can’t get the words out of my head, the way she sang them, like she was really pleased with herself. And I wondered if my subconscious was trying to tell me something. Did I really see what she did, but not realize it?” He finished in a rush and stopped, stared at them.
Savich said, “I agree, Justice, your subconscious is banging on the door. You saw things you didn’t pick up on at the time and your dream clarified them. Now you’re remembering details you dismissed earlier. Relax and close your eyes a moment. Yes, that’s good. Now go back and see yourself at your workstation. You see Farriger at your computer.”
Justice kept his eyes closed, slowly nodded. “Yes, I see Farriger sitting there, her head is down and she’s focused on something on my computer and yes, she’s authorized to be there, but why wouldn’t she call me if she wanted something?”
His eyes popped open. “Yes, she was typing, and yes, she did take a jump drive out of my computer. I really didn’t think about it at the time because she was so calm, so matter-of-fact. Did she input something classified I’m not authorized to see? Did she create a cyber trail that would burn me? But what? Why me? I was the best she had? The best patsy?” He repeated her words from his dream. “The best goat she’s got? For what? And then someone knew where I’d be and tried to catch me, someone murdered Eleanor Corbitt. Do you have any idea what’s going on here, Agent Savich? Why these people want to kidnap me, or kill me?” He stopped, shook his head, lightly touched the bandage across his nose to make sure he hadn’t dislodged it. He whispered, “Could she have been trying to make me look like a traitor?”
That was the bottom line.
Savich said, “My boss Mr. Maitland, Sherlock, and I went to interview Assistant Director Farriger after you went missing. She tried to cut us out completely, even Mr. Maitland. She implied it was your own doing, maybe even a personal matter. All of us agreed when we left Langley she was involved in something we didn’t understand yet. You said in your dream she looked furtive? I’d say that’s close to our own impression. Let’s go downstairs and talk this over.”
Sherlock said, “Justice, there’s a robe and slippers by your bed. Go to the kitchen and turn on the coffeepot. We’ll be down in a minute.”
When Savich and Sherlock stepped into the kitchen, MAX under Savich’s arm, Justice was whistling and taking down three mugs from the cabinet. He’d pulled the drawstring tighter on his pajama bottoms.
Sherlock said, “I’m the blue-and-red Wonder Woman mug, Dillon’s is the Mickey Mouse mug, both twenty ounces.”
Justice grinned at her, making him look very young. “I’ve got a giant mug that says Hogwarts Forever.”
While they waited for the coffee to brew, they sat at the kitchen table. Savich said to Justice, “Do you normally have remote access to the files you’re working on at Langley?”
“No,” Justice said, “not outside the firewall. There are some unsecured CIA databases I can access with my passcodes.”
“All right,” Savich said. “I’d like you to try.”
Justice navigated to the sign-in page on MAX, entered his passcodes.
“As I thought,” Savich said, “access denied. I’d say the CIA thinks you went rogue, and whatever it is Farriger both downloaded into your work computer and copied is more than likely the reason you’re now locked out.”
Sherlock poured the coffee, handed them their coffee mugs. “Justice, why didn’t Farriger simply enter your computer remotely? Why did she come to your workstation? If someone saw her, wouldn’t they wonder?”
He stared at her a moment, said slowly, “She came to my workstation because all correspondence, emails, reports, whatever, always identify the computer used, and I guess she didn’t want anyone to see she’d used her own computer to access mine. Although who would even wonder, I don’t know. May I have some milk, please? No sugar.”
Sherlock nodded, handed him the carton from the refrigerator. She said, “It means it had to be important. She didn’t want to take any chance of it coming back on her, no matter how unlikely. Justice, what day did you find Farriger at your computer?”
“It was the very next day after my chief spoke to her about the chatter, and he closed me down, reassigned me. Now I’m thinking it was Farriger who told him to reassign me. Then on the following Tuesday, I hit your car, Agent Sherlock.”
Sherlock sipped her coffee. “What day did you meet Ms. Corbitt?”
Justice looked startled, slowly nodded. “I see where you’re going. I met her in the parking lot the same day Mr. Besserman reassigned me, when I was leaving for the day.”
“That’s fast work,” Savich said. “You saw Eleanor Corbitt again when?”
“Two days later, in the cafeteria, like I told you. We chatted and she was very nice. And then she called me on Monday, wanted to meet at the Blaze Café on Tuesday. That’s when the man and woman chased me and I ran out of the alley and into your car, Agent Sherlock.”
“Only Sherlock, please.”
He nodded. “And then they murdered Eleanor while I was still hiding out in the warehouse district in Alexandria Thursday night. She seemed so interested in me, but she had to be involved, didn’t she?” His hands were shaking as he picked up his mug. He didn’t drink, only looked down into it, as if searching for answers.
Savich said, “Justice, somebody at the CIA had to arrange for Eleanor Corbitt to get through security at Langley the day she talked to you in the cafeteria. She needed an invitation, and a guest pass, maybe a fake CIA ID tag for you to see. I’m thinking it was Farriger who arranged it. What about your chief, Alan Besserman? Do you trust him?”
“Trust? He’s my boss, a career CIA guy. I never even thought about not trusting him.” Justice fell silent, drank some coffee, then looked at them and slowly shook his head. “Do I trust him now? Given what’s happened? I don’t know who to trust. But Besserman? He’s always been fair with all the analysts. Yes, if I trust anyone now, it would be him. This is all so crazy.”
“There’s someone else who had to know Eleanor was at Langley—Nikki Bexholt, a vice president in the Bexholt Group,” Savich said. “She and Jasmine Palumbo, also at Bexholt and driver of the car that hit Sherlock, both seemed to know Eleanor quite well. Did you ever work with the Bexholt Group, have anything to do with them?”
Justice said, “Everyone in my unit’s heard of them. We make use of firewalls occasionally, license some of their portable security software, but working directly with them, that would be way above my pay grade.”
Savich rubbed the beard stubble on his jaw. “Still, it can’t be a coincidence Claire Farriger put a stop to your sleuthing out that new surveillance technology and then set you up to disappear and get locked out of your own workstation. Communications security is the Bexholt Group’s main line of business. Do you know if Farriger is currently working with Nikki Bexholt on some project?”
Justice shook his head. “Sorry, really, I’m only an analyst, not a CIA mover and shaker.”
Sherlock checked the kitchen clock, a dragon with a purple tail and numbers, a Christmas present from Sean, doubtless assisted by his grandmother. “I think Besserman would be real interested in what you have to say, Justice. It’s not yet eleven o’clock. What do you say we pay him a visit? Are you up for it?”
He gave her a grin. “I need more coffee first. With the pain meds Dr. Breaker gave me, I can hardly feel my toes.”
“Take your time,” Savich said. “I’ll see if MAX can find out how well Claire Farriger and Nikki Bexholt know each other.” He looked up. “There’s no doubt in my mind they’ve worked together, and they’re working together now.”