In the National Zoo, the light was beginning to fade as early evening descended, accompanied by renewed rain. Most people were leaving quickly to seek shelter or head home.
Philip Knox remained where he was, his raincoat and umbrella an indication that he always came prepared and was never surprised by a switch in weather.
He was sitting on a park bench, staring ahead while listening to the sound of water pounding his umbrella. Very deliberately, he’d been in the same spot for sixty minutes, watching others around him, but most important, making himself visible to one man. He couldn’t see that man, but he knew he’d be watching both Knox and his surroundings. The man was cautious and would only approach when it was safe to do so. Now, there was no one to be seen. This was a good thing.
The man now approached from behind the CIA officer and sat on the bench next to him. He was forty-one years old, tall, muscular, and had hair that was long and tied into a ponytail, a hairstyle left over from his infiltration of an eastern European arms cartel.
Knox looked at him. “Hello, Simon. Everything okay?”
Simon Tap didn’t immediately respond, just sat looking ahead at the park, rain washing over his uncovered face. A minute later he asked, “What is it this time?”
Knox chuckled. “No time for small talk?”
“No,” responded the former Delta Force operative who’d subsequently spent three years in the CIA’s Special Operations Group, before being kicked out for coldly executing five Taliban men in Afghanistan. “Just get on with it.”
“Very well. I need you to stick very close to certain police detectives. And armed with what information they give you, I’d like you to be one step ahead of them.”
“You want me to locate a criminal they’re hunting?”
“Clever, Simon.” Knox handed him what looked like a cell phone, though it was twice the size of a standard phone. “The NSA gave me this. You won’t be able to communicate using this, but it will be able to hear every call and read every SMS, incoming and outgoing, in her phone.”
“Her?”
“Detective Thyme Painter of the New York Police Department. She and her partner—Józef Kopański, usually known as Joe—are leading the manhunt for a man called Will Cochrane.”
“The guy on the news, the one who killed a woman in NYC.”
“The very same. Now, I’ve met Detectives Painter and Kopański and subsequently did some checking up on them. They’re the best detectives in New York; probably the whole East Coast.” He handed Tap photos of the cops, adding, “Painter has an artificial leg, makes her walk awkwardly. And the reason half Kopański’s face looks the way it does is because he pissed off a perp who was holding a bottle of nitric acid. They’ll stand out.”
Tap’s frame was motionless as he asked, “You want me to grab Cochrane and wait for cops to arrive?”
Knox skirted the question. “I will pay you two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Lot of money compared to the last jobs. You sure you can cover that up without the Agency knowing a large chunk of their cash has gone missing?”
Knox smiled. “If you knew the size of the annual budget under my control, most of it deniable and unaccountable, you’d possibly have an argument to state that I’m underpaying you.” His tone turned serious. “You’ve never let me down before. Will you do it?”
Tap shrugged. “Can’t promise I’ll get him without good police data from”—he held the device—“this. But if I get good leads, I’ll close him down. It’ll be a walk in the park once I have him in my sights. Then I’ll call it in to the cops.”
“Actually, Simon, if you don’t mind, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Tap was quiet.
“I told Painter and Kopański that the Agency couldn’t interfere in their police matter. It was a lie. See, the thing is, it’s better for everyone if Cochrane doesn’t remain on the run. But it’s also better if he’s not incarcerated. He’s got too much stuff in his head. Too many things he might spill to get a reduced sentence. Because—”
“He was a covert operative.”
Knox always admired the rapid thinking of the asset he’d used many times without the Agency knowing. He liked to think of Tap as his cutthroat razor—for the most part delicate and precise, but extremely capable of creating an awful mess if needed. “I need Cochrane permanently removed.”
“Then my price has just doubled.”
Knox had anticipated this and had ensured he could squirrel four hundred thousand dollars out of his slush fund without anyone noticing.
Tap asked, “Does NSA know why it made this gadget for you?”
“It believes we’re merely keeping tabs on the investigation and that if we hear anything from the cops that they don’t understand but we do, then we can subtly steer the detectives in the right direction. NSA thinks their tool is to help capture Cochrane.”
Tap was deep in thought. “If I kill Cochrane close to cops, what will they think has happened?”
The CIA officer shrugged. “I’ll muddy their thinking—tell them that there are a vast number of foreign people who want payback for Cochrane’s service to the West. He killed some of theirs. They decided to end his life while he was on the run and vulnerable.” He added, “We have a deal?”
“It’ll be done.”
Knox’s tone was earnest and urgent as he replied, “Don’t get close to him.”
“I can handle myself.”
“With most people, yes. But with this one things are different. He’ll easily kill you if you’re in close proximity to him. Trust me on that. Get a rifle, or whatever works for you, and take his head off from a distance.”