by Barry Eisler
They’d diverted just about every far-flung supercomputer, every bit of processing power they had, to God’s Ear—already the biggest data take in the history of intelligence collection, and now substantially augmented by the feed from the JLENS blimps and the CIA/Marshals program. Amazingly, it seemed to be working. They had picked up Gallagher’s voice calling from a landline located at the nursing home where her father was cared for. They’d looked more closely, and someone had accessed an online baseball game from the facility’s IP address. It turned out Gallagher’s son had an account—further confirmation that the voice they’d picked up had been Gallagher’s. She had called a cab, and they were scrambling to track it when they’d picked up her voice again, calling from a prepaid unit at BWI, bought not twenty minutes earlier at the Walmart just outside the damned NSA campus. Remar had already sent units to BWI. He supposed they might get lucky, but he had a feeling Gallagher was too smart to stay there. Still, they were getting closer. The first intercepted call had taken nearly a half hour to process. But the confirmation had enabled them to filter out a lot of background noise, and they nailed the second call less than ten minutes after it had actually happened. A little more time, and just a little luck, Remar thought, and the next time they picked up Gallagher’s voice, they’d be right on top of her.
The door to the inner office opened and the director strode out. “Manus,” he said. “I told you.”
He showed Remar his phone. There was a text message: I’m on her. I’ll get you the thumb drive. And make her promise never to tell. But you have to promise not to hurt her. Or the boy.
There was a reply. It said, If you can make her promise, then I promise. Yes.
“Burner,” the director said. “But it’s Manus. Geolocated at BWI. He’s following them.”
“Are you tracking him now?”
“No. He pulled the battery.”
“Why would he do that?”
“He isn’t certain. He wants to do this on his own terms. But I told you. He still believes we’re all on the same team.”
Remar nodded, keeping his expression neutral. “A dangerous error in judgment.”
“Yes, well, let’s not make one of our own. Stay on the woman. If we can get to her before Manus does, so much the better. Eliminate the middleman.”
He returned to his office, closing the door behind him.
Remar’s secure line buzzed. He looked and saw it was Jones. He picked up and said, “Vernon. How are we doing on that local detachment?”
“I got four handpicked door kickers locked and loaded and waiting in your very parking lot. Hard men who will do as they are told with no questions. But you don’t get to use them until you tell me what the hell is going on.”
“What do you mean?”
“Come on, Mike, a bullshitter knows a bullshitter. What’s this new bomb threat I’m hearing about?”
“Terrorist chatter. Just taking precautions.”
“Terrorist chatter my ass. That horseshit is what we feed to the morons running the six o’clock nightly news to give the rubes a sense of meaning and make them think we’re on top of things we in fact know nothing of. Are you trying to insult my intelligence?”
“No,” Remar said. “Anyone who did that would have to be stupid himself.”
“And you’re not stupid, Mike.”
“I’ve never thought so before.”
There was a pause while Jones absorbed that. “Is something different now?”
Remar looked over at the closed door to the director’s office. It was time. Past time.
He sighed and said, “You and I need to talk.”
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 49
The closer they got to the meeting place, the more Evie struggled with her nervousness. It didn’t help that the driver, a voluble Scots transplant, was intent on conversation the whole way there.
“I’m a particular fan of the C&O Canal,” he assured her. “What takes you there today?”
“Just a walk with a friend.”
“Lovely place for a walk. Especially this time of year. Are you a bird watcher?”
She looked over at Dash, who was absorbed in one of the comics she’d bought him. “Uh, no, not really. I mean, I think they’re pretty, of course, but . . .”
“Well, today, if you’re very lucky, you may spy a rare Carolina wren. Or perhaps even the truly elusive common grackle. Or even a white-breasted nuthatch.”
All Evie could think about was Leed, and whether she was going to be there, and whether Hamilton would call in, and whether they would be able to decrypt the thumb drive, and when they would publish it. She wanted the man to stop talking. But she didn’t want to be memorable for being rude. Or for any other reason.
“I’m afraid I won’t even recognize them if I do,” she said. “But they do sound lovely.”
“Oh, they are. Some of the loveliest birds in the world, and right here in my own backyard. The truth is, blessings are all around us. The trick is to know the right things to focus on.”
“I . . . hadn’t thought of it that way,” Evie said, remembering how she had felt as they’d left the senior center. About how she hadn’t appreciated how many nice people there were.
“And what of your boy? A handsome lad, but very quiet.”
She considered a lie, not wanting to fit a “woman with deaf boy” description, but decided it might backfire. So she simply said, “My son is hearing impaired. He’s more comfortable signing than he is talking.”
The man laughed. “If I did all this talking only with my own hands, I’d either be exhausted, or in better condition than an Olympic athlete. Or maybe both.”
Evie chuckled politely but otherwise didn’t respond. And the man, perhaps aware of just how chatty he’d been, decided to take a little rest.
Which turned out to be a mixed blessing. The chatter had at least been mildly distracting. Without it, she found herself worrying about what Marvin would think, when he woke to find them gone. Why did she feel guilty about that? Did it mean that deep down, she believed he was on her side, even though she also knew she couldn’t afford to trust that feeling?
On top of which, there were all the ways she might have screwed up, all the ways somehow they might be on to her. And of course, even if she’d done everything right, she had to hope Leed had been equally cautious.
But no, the woman had sounded exceptionally confident, exceptionally . . . tactical. That would be a good combination. As for Evie herself, she couldn’t think of anything that would have given her away. They were almost there. They were going to make it, she and Dash. Her beautiful boy. They were going to be okay.
Remar rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It hadn’t been an easy conversation with Jones. And the wily bastard certainly knew how to negotiate. But in the end, they were both pragmatists. And while they both had their own interests, it was true too that there was much they both wanted to preserve.
The director was on the phone, reassuring the White House chief of staff that “everything was under control.” Remar had been forced to listen to a half dozen such conversations. To him, having to tell the chief of staff or the national security advisor or the secretary of defense that “everything was under control” was about as clear a sign of the opposite as he could imagine. But there wasn’t much he could do about any of it.
For the moment.
His monitor flashed. The confirmation he’d been hoping for.
“Ted,” he called out. “We’ve got her.”
The director made his apologies and cut short the call, no doubt earning himself a permanent place on the chief of staff’s shit list in the process. He hurried over to Remar’s desk. “Where?”
“Heading southwest from BWI. We accessed the cell phone microphone of every driver heading in and out of the airport. And picked her up in a cab.”
“I told you. God’s Ear. I told you.”
Remar wanted to shake his head in disgust. To hear one conv
ersation, they’d deafened themselves to everything else. But remonstrating would be a waste of time. Instead, he just said, “Here, listen.”
He pressed a key, and they were rewarded with a recording of Gallagher conversing with someone who sounded straight out of an ad for the Macallan.
“The C&O Canal,” Remar said. “A quiet place for an exchange.”
“But where? The C&O Canal is 185 miles long. It goes all the way to Cumberland. We need to narrow it down. What’s the latency on this conversation?”
“Less than five minutes. But we’ve got geolocation on the driver’s phone now. Hang on, he’s . . .” Remar worked the keyboard for a moment, and a map overlay appeared on his screen. “Two Hundred West—the toll road.”
“My God, she’s twenty minutes away from here.”
“Yes.”
“Is this application mobile?”
“Of course.”
“The detachment’s ready to go?”
“Waiting in the parking lot.”
“Good. We’re going with them.”
Remar kept a poker face. “Is that necessary?”
“I’m not taking any chances on anyone screwing this up. One way or another, we finish this thing. Today. No matter what we have to do.”
Delgado watched the director and Remar climb into a black Suburban in front of the building and go screaming off. The Suburban was riding low on the shocks—either they were hauling some heavy cargo, or there was a full complement of large men inside.
He pulled out behind them, keeping a nice, safe distance. He’d followed the director before. Funny how clueless the superspooks could be. Like that former CIA and NSA director, giving an “off-the-record” phone interview on an Acela train while a nearby passenger live-tweeted the whole exchange. Or that other former NSA director, who didn’t bother to cover his MacBook’s webcam. Something about all that power seemed to make the assholes who wielded it believe they were invulnerable. Gave them the idea that they could sideline the little people who worked so hard for them.
He’d seen the director’s expression when he was talking about how Manus was still on their side. How Manus just wanted to get them the thumb drive in exchange for a promise of the woman’s safety. He could tell the director had been considering it. And that he’d sent Delgado to “get some rest” just to move him out of the way while he figured out how he wanted to handle things. While he considered the deal Manus seemed to want.
What the director didn’t understand was that there was only one deal. Which was, the freak and the bitch were going to die. Today. Along with anyone who tried to get in the way of it.
CHAPTER . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . 50
Evie looked around as they drove. Once they were off the highway, the streets grew increasingly quiet and residential, as Leed had said they would. They passed numerous speed cameras, which made her nervous. She knew that depending on angle, lighting, and speed, some of these cameras could return images of passengers sharp enough for her facial recognition system to process. She reminded herself that even if her face got picked up, and even if it were recognized, the director wouldn’t be able to act on it quickly enough to make a difference. They were just a few minutes away now. Almost there.
Traffic had become sparse, but it wasn’t nonexistent, either, and she was mindful of Leed’s admonition about taking measures to ensure she wasn’t tailed. But she didn’t see how anyone could have followed her from the airport—or from earlier, for that matter. And besides, what was she going to do, tell the driver, Hey, would you mind doubling back, and driving in circles, and zigzagging for a while? Just want to make sure we don’t have any unwanted company.
She saw a sign for Tobytown, and the driver made a left off River Road. This was it. Pennyfield Lock Road. She checked her watch—right on time. Okay.
They drove slowly along, passing nothing but trees and fields and a few modest houses, the road growing increasingly narrow and rutted as it curved left, then right, then left again, the ground to either side gradually sloping upward and the trees growing closer and closer, creating a canopy of leaves overhead. The area felt exceptionally quiet, even private. She could see why Leed had chosen it.
They came to a one-lane bridge. A sign announced that the park closed at dark. Well, Evie thought nervously, we ought to be out of here before then, anyway.
A sign on the other side of the bridge announced that they had arrived at Pennyfield Lock, of the Chesapeake & Ohio Canal National Historical Park. A moment later, she saw the canal. This was where she was supposed to turn right. But if Leed was already waiting, she didn’t want the driver to see. So she let him follow the road left, and drive the short distance to a small parking area.
Dash had fallen asleep. She rubbed his leg until he moaned and opened his eyes. Hey, good-looking, she signed. We’re here. Almost done with our scavenger hunt.
She paid the driver and they got out. “Enjoy the birds,” he told them, then did a K-turn and drove off.
Hey, she signed to Dash. We’re almost done. This is where the scavenger hunt ends.
He yawned. You still haven’t told me the prize.
Soon. Let me carry those comic books for you, okay?
Dash handed them over. Evie made sure to keep a couple in each hand as they walked back the way they had come. As soon as they were past the road they had come in on, she saw the boat launch. There was a green minivan parked just above it—not a Sprinter, she was glad to see, about which she expected to suffer a permanent phobia. A blond woman, younger than Evie had been expecting, was standing near it. She was holding a rolled-up magazine with both hands.
Evie blew out a long breath and kept walking. This was it.
The woman looked around, then back at Evie. Evie did the same, trying not to be nervous. She didn’t see anyone else.
She stopped a few feet away. The woman said, “Hey, do you know if there’s a way to rent a kayak around here?”
“Uh, I think they’re closed for the season.”
The woman looked around again. “Okay. We’re good. Do you have it?”
“Yes. Betsy?”
“Yes. We have to hurry. Ryan should be calling any minute.”
Evie turned to Dash and handed him the comics. Hon, hold these, okay? Dash rolled them up and jammed them in a pocket. Evie started to reach for the thumb drive.
She heard tires on the gravel behind her. She glanced over. A white pickup. She felt a hot rush of adrenaline and her heart started thudding hard in her chest.
“Relax,” Leed said. “Could be an early morning jogger. Just be cool.”
The pickup paused at the water. She squinted, unsure. The driver looked left, then right.
Marvin.
“Fuck,” Evie breathed.
“What is it?”
“NSA.”
“Goddamn it, you were followed?”
“I don’t know how,” she said, trying not to panic. “I don’t know how it could be possible.”
Marvin saw them. He cut the wheel right, gunned the engine, and drove toward them.
What to do? Run? Where?
Dash signed, Hey, it’s Mr. Manus.
Marvin stopped the truck and got out. He looked at Leed, then at Evie.
You can’t give it to her, he signed. Don’t.
Dash signed, Hey, Mister Manus. Are you here for the scavenger hunt?
Marvin looked at him, seemingly uncomprehending.
What are you going to do to stop me? Evie signed.
Just give it to me. It’s the only way.
Leed looked at Marvin, then at Evie. “What is going on? What are you signing?”
“Just give me a minute.”
“We don’t have a minute.”
It’s not the only way, she signed. The director wants you to think that, but it’s not. You can’t trust him.
No. He’s always been fair to me.
Did she sense some uncertainty in the way his hands formed the words? She
hoped so.
He’s not who you think he is, Marvin. Maybe he was once, I don’t know. But he’s not anymore. I know you can see that. I know it.
We’ll promise him you won’t tell.
It’ll never be enough. He’ll make a bunch of promises in return, and the first chance he gets, you know what will happen. To you. To me. To Dash. You know.
A dark-haired twenty-something guy with stubble and black glasses got out of the minivan. Marvin’s right hand moved toward his hip.
No, Evie signed. Marvin, no!
The kid’s hands were empty. Evie thought that was fortunate. He looked around and said, “What’s going on?”
Leed kept her eyes on Marvin. “Micah, give us a minute.”
“Do we have what we came for?”
“I don’t know.”
I can’t let you give it to them, Marvin signed. I’m sorry.
Then you have to stop me.
He shook his head. Every time he stopped signing, his right hand went back to his hip.
Leed’s cell phone rang. She pulled it out and looked. “It’s him.”
I’m not going to spend the rest of my life afraid, Evie signed. I won’t.
Evie, please. Don’t make me.
Leed put the phone to her ear. “Are you all right?” she said. A pause, then, “Yes, I’m right here with her. But we have a slight problem. Stand by.”
This isn’t who you are, Evie signed. This isn’t who you have to be. You’re not a bad person, Marvin. You’re not.
Yes, I am.
Not if you don’t want to be.
Marvin’s hand went behind his back. “Don’t, Evie,” he said, his voice loud, intimidating. “Don’t.”
She didn’t think. She didn’t consider. She just kept her eyes on his.
Pulled the drive from her pocket.
And handed it to Leed.
Marvin slumped. He put his fingers to his temples and slowly shook his head.