“So you’re as nutbar as your boss.”
It was understandable why Agent Ames might be hostile to him. Yesterday, Matt Caidin had led Ames and dozens of other agents from Homeland Security on a wild chase through DC and embarrassed them by evading them, a few hundred cameras, and the world’s most sophisticated artificial-intelligence video-monitoring computer network. Today, less than twenty-four hours later, in broad daylight in front of the Lincoln Memorial, he was giving himself up.
“Technically, I work with Caparelli, not for him.”
Ames slipped off his sunglasses, eyeing Matt like a prizefighter trying to decide which part he’d hit first. “You know you’re not safe here. The crowds, the tourists, they’re no protection for you.”
Matt knew that was true: Ames would have other agents at this unofficial rendezvous, hidden amongst the civilian throngs. But he also knew why they hadn’t arrested him yet.
“The fact we’re having this conversation instead of me being hauled off tells me you’re here for the same reason I am. Caparelli and Lomax, they’re alpha dogs. World could go to hell and they’d still be growling over a bone. You and me, we’re cogs. We don’t run the machine, but we make it work.”
Ames snorted. “Gimme a break. You’re a civilian detective cleaning up two-bit dope dealers, which puts you about as far from the machine as you can get.” He stepped close. “And my friend Owen ain’t the only alpha dog in town.”
“And yet you took my call,” Matt said. “You’re here, and you want to know what I’m going to say.”
Ames stepped back. Waiting.
Matt let him have it. “I can give you the names of the Russians.”
“Don’t care about their names.”
Matt took it up a level. “I can tell you where they’re planning to hit.”
“We can guess, too.” Ames betrayed no particular urgency, but Matt interpreted that as an exercise in self-control, certain the agent was eager for him to continue.
So he did. “And I can tell you who they’re after.”
“Impress me.”
“The target’s not the president,” Matt said. “In fact, it’s one of yours.” He saw Ames’s flicker of interest, then said the name. “Josiah Oliver.”
Ames looked toward the wide white steps leading up to the statue of Lincoln, brushed two fingers past his temple, an innocuous gesture, but clearly a signal to the unseen watchers. He turned back to Matt. “All right. I’m impressed. How did you get that name?”
“The leader of the Russian team is General Stasik Borodin. Three years ago in Moscow, Oliver killed his son in a hit-and-run. He was never prosecuted. Diplomatic immunity.”
Ames locked eyes with Matt, as if looking at him through a rifle sight. “Am I going to regret asking how you obtained that information?”
“Probably.”
Ames frowned. “Don’t say remote viewing.”
Matt shrugged. “Everything Caparelli said, it’s true.”
Ames looked to the heavens. “Oh, for … It can’t be true. Anyone claims they can do that crap could just as well be making it up, no way to confirm one way or another.”
Matt took his biggest step yet, didn’t know if it would move this meeting forward, or end it.
“I’ve done it. I saw Borodin. I saw his men.”
“Cut the crap, Detective. We already know it’s Borodin. We know Oliver’s his target, and we know why. All your bullshit’s telling me is that CROSSWIND has a mole in the DHS and you’re feeding our own information back to us!” Ames was angry.
But Matt wasn’t deterred. “I saw the weapon Borodin’s going to use. The one that rips people to shreds.”
“You have superpowers like that, then why the hell are you still a cop?! Shit! Why aren’t you a goddam millionaire in Vegas?!”
“Good point, except this just started happening, this week. Because of Laura Hart.”
Again Matt caught the flicker in Ames’s eyes. He was right. Laura, and what she’d been able to do, was of interest to Homeland. At least she was beyond their grasp, now. He suppressed a shudder at the thought of what they would have put her through, if—
“All right,” Ames said, “keep going.”
So Matt told him his story, hiding nothing. The accident, Laura’s death, the visit from Caparelli, the manifestations, and how it all worked.
Ames paid close attention throughout, and when Matt was finished, the question he asked was, “So what’s the weapon?”
“They’re called berserkers.” And Matt described those, too.
“You know how totally screwed up that all sounds,” Ames said.
Matt nodded.
Ames made another gesture, saw that Matt noticed. “Just letting my friends know that all is well.”
“Is it?”
“Here’s the situation. The solid intel you just gave me—people, places, target—we already know, and Lomax is going to say you got it from someone in Homeland. The wild shit—remote viewing, manifestations, berserkers—that’s nothing we can confirm. What I need, if you’re serious, is for you to give me something else solid. Something we don’t already know, that we can check out for ourselves.”
“I understand,” Matt said. Impressively, this conversation had played out almost exactly how Caparelli had predicted it would. He’d identified Ames as someone who could be approached to open a back channel and had coached Matt on how to tell his story. Now Ames had asked the question that would clinch the deal, because Caparelli had given Matt the answer, and told him to keep it until the end.
“We know how the general’s going to get through the perimeter.”