The Hit wr-2

by David Baldacci

  The killer goes free.

  The victim goes to the morgue.

  The papers would cover it for a while. There might be some geopolitical retaliation somewhere, and then the story would die. Other stories would take its place. One death meant little. The world was too big. And too many people were dying violent deaths to focus for long on any one of them.

  Reel walked toward a hotel where she had reserved a room. She would hit the gym to work the kinks out, sit in the steam shower, have a bit of supper, and think about things.

  The jaunt to Central Park had not been without purpose.

  Will Robie was one of the best, if not the best they had.

  Reel had no doubt that Robie had pulled the trigger that morning in Central Park. He had covered his tracks. Made his way aboveground. Taken a plane to D.C. Checked back in at the office.

  All routine, or as routine as things got in Robie’s world.

  In my world too. But not anymore. Not after Doug Jacobs. The only report they’ll want about me now is my autopsy results.

  Reel was fairly sure Robie would be summoned for another mission.

  His mission will be to track me down and kill me.

  You send a killer to catch another killer.

  Robie versus Reel. Nice ring to it.

  It sounded like the fight of the century.

  And she was certain it would be.

  Chapter 5

  It was raining outside. There was no window in the room, but Robie could hear the drops hitting the roof. The weather had turned chilly in the last twenty-four hours. Winter was not here yet, but it was knocking on the door.

  Robie put one palm on the table and continued to stare at Blue Man.

  Obviously, Blue Man was not his real name. It was Roger Walton, but Blue Man would be the only way Robie would ever refer to him. It had to do with the man’s high-level position—in the Blue Ring, to be precise. There were rings above Blue, but not many.

  He looked like a grandfather. Silver hair, lengthening jowls, round glasses, immaculate suit, red paisley tie, old-fashioned collar pin, shined wingtips.

  Yes, Blue Man was indeed high up in the agency. He and Robie had worked together before. Robie trusted Blue Man more than he trusted most folks here. The list of people Robie trusted was guite short.

  “Jessica Reel?” said Robie.

  Blue Man nodded.

  “We’re sure?”

  “Jacobs was her handler. Jacobs was carrying out a mission with Reel. But Jacobs was shot instead of the target. We subsequently determined that Reel was not even in the vicinity of the target. It was all a sham.”

  “Why kill Jacobs?”

  “We don’t know that. What we do know is Reel has gone off the grid.”

  “You have proof she killed Jacobs? Maybe she’s dead and someone else did it.”

  “No. It was Reel’s voice on the line with Jacobs right before the shot was taken. Jacobs would have had no idea where in the world she was. She would sound the same whether she was a thousand feet or a thousand miles away.” He paused. “We performed a shot trajectory analysis. Reel made the kill shot from an old town house down the street from where Jacobs was working.”

  “No bulletproof windows in the place?”

  “There will be now. But the blinds were drawn and the building is protected against electronic surveillance. The shooter had to know the exact layout of Jacobs’s office to make that hit, because otherwise they were shooting blind.”

  “Any evidence at the town house?”

  “Not really. If Reel was there she policed her brass.”

  Well, she would, wouldn’t she, thought Robie. That’s what we’re trained to do, if we have the chance.

  Blue Man tapped his finger on the table. It seemed to be in rhythm with the raindrops. “You knew Reel?”

  Robie nodded. He knew that question was going to come up and was surprised it hadn’t already. “Came up through the ranks together, so to speak. Did a few missions with her early on.”

  “And your thoughts on the woman?”

  “She didn’t talk a lot, which was okay with me because I didn’t either. She did her job and she did it well. I never had any concerns with her covering my back. I believed she would go on to do first-rate work.”

  “She did, until this,” noted Blue Man. “She’s still the only female operative we’ve ever had.”

  “Out there gender doesn’t mean anything,” replied Robie. “So long as you can shoot straight under pressure. So long as you can do your job.”

  “What else?”

  “We never shared anything personal about each other,” said Robie. “It was not a bonding experience. We weren’t in the military. We knew we would not be working together long-term.”

  “How long ago was this?”

  “Last mission was well over ten years ago.”

  “Did you ever doubt her patriotism?”

  “I never really thought about it. I figured if she had gotten that far the question of her loyalty would have been settled.”

  Blue Man nodded thoughtfully.

  Robie said, “So why am I here? Just gathering intel on Reel from the people who knew her? You’ll find others hopefully who knew her better than I did.”

  “That’s not the only reason,” said Blue Man.

  The doorknob turned and another man entered the room.

  Blue Man was near the top of the agency food chain. This man was even more highly situated than that. Robie would not refer to him by a color.

  Jim Gelder was the number two man here. His boss, the director of central intelligence, testified before Congress, went to all the parties, did the D.C. song and dance, and fought for more budget dollars.

  Gelder did everything else, meaning he basically ran the place, or at least the clandestine operations part of it, which many considered the most important.

  He was in his late forties, but looked older. He had once been trim but had become thick around the middle. His hair was thinning rapidly and his face bore extensive sun damage. Not unusual for a man who had started out in the Navy, where an overabundance of wind, sun, and salt was an occupational hazard. He was as tall as Robie, but seemed larger still.

  He glanced at Blue Man, who nodded back deferentially.

  Gelder fell into a chair opposite Robie, sat back, unbuttoned his off-the-rack suit, and slid a hand through his graying hair. He cleared his throat and said, “Have you been brought up to speed?”

  “For the most part,” said Robie.

  He had never been in Gelder’s presence before. He didn’t feel intimidated, only curious. Robie never felt intimidated by anyone unless the person had gotten the drop on him with a weapon. And that almost never happened.

  “Jessica Reel,” said Gelder. “Shitstorm.”

  “I’ve told what I know about her. And it’s not much.”

  Gelder picked at a bit of jagged nail on his right thumb. Robie noted that the other nails were bitten down to the quick. Not a comforting feeling since he was the number two intelligence man in the country. But Robie knew the man had a lot to worry about. The world was one catalyst away from blowing up.

  Gelder had risen to lieutenant commander in the Navy before transferring over to the spy side. It had been a springboard for a fast-rising career, culminating in his current position. It was widely known that he could have had the number one slot but didn’t want it. He liked to do things, but kissing Congress’s ass was not one of them.

  “We have to get her,” said Gelder. “Alive or dead. Alive, preferably, so we can find out what the hell happened.”

  “I can see that,” said Robie. “I’m sure you have a plan to do just that.”

  Blue Man looked at Gelder. Gelder glanced up at Robie.

  “Well, actually, you’re the plan, Robie,” said Gelder.

  Robie did not look at Blue Man, though he could feel the man’s gaze now on him. “You want me to go after Reel?” he said slowly. This scenario had never occurred to him and
he suddenly wondered why not.

  Gelder nodded.

  “I’m not a detective,” said Robie. “That’s not my strength.”

  Blue Man looked at him. “I would disagree with you on that point, Robie.”

  “But regardless, send a killer to find a killer,” said Gelder simply.

  “You have lots of them on the payroll,” Robie replied.

  Gelder stopped picking his nail. “You come highly recommended.”

  “Why? Because of what happened recently?”

  “We would be derelict in our duties if we ignored that,” said Gelder. “You’re just coming off an assignment. I think you can be better deployed tracking down Reel.”

  “Do I have a choice?”

  Gelder stared across at him. “Is there a problem?”

  “Despite what you said, I don’t think I’m the right man for the job.”

  In answer Gelder slipped a small square electronic tablet from his inside jacket pocket. He scrolled down some screens, reading as he did so.

  “Well, let me give you some ‘specifics’ as to why you are the right man for the job. You graded first in your class with record marks. Two years later Jessica Reel was first in her class with a score that would have been a record but for yours.”

  “Yes, but—” Robie began, but Gelder put up a hand.

  “In a practice scenario you were the only one to track her down and capture her.”

  “That was a long time ago. And it wasn’t the real thing.”

  “And finally, you saved her life once.”

  “Why does that matter?” asked Robie.

  “It might make her hesitate for a second, Robie. And that should be all you need.” He added, “Not that I was required to provide an explanation for you to follow a direct order, but there you are. Consider it a gift under extraordinary circumstances.”

  He rose and glanced at Blue Man. “Keep me informed.” He looked back at Robie. “As always, failure is not an option, Robie.”

  “And if I do fail I better die in the process, right?” said Robie.

  Gelder looked at him as though he had merely stated the obvious.

  The next moment the door opened and the number two man walked out through it. He closed the door behind him with the finality of a coffin lid shutting.

  Blue Man glanced nervously at Robie, who was still staring at the door. Then Robie slowly looked over at Blue Man.

  “You knew about this?” Robie asked.

  Blue Man nodded.

  “And what do you think about it?”

  “I think you are ideally suited for it.”

  “Dead or alive? Was that bullshit or code or both?”

  “I truly think they want her alive. She needs to be interrogated. She was one of our top operatives. We’ve never had one of them turn before.”

  “Well, you know that’s not true. There seems to be a run on turncoats in the agency lately.”

  Blue Man looked pained by this statement, but he could hardly dispute it in light of recent events.

  “So that’s what you think this is? She was turned? So why kill Jacobs? Now we know she’s gone bad. It’s not like she can walk back into the job and start collecting valuable intel for her new employer. Doesn’t make sense.”

  “It has to make sense in some way. Because it’s happened.”

  Robie said, “Jacobs is dead. Reel is nowhere to be found. Her being turned is only one possibility. There are others.”

  “Her voice was on that secure operations line along with Jacobs’s.”

  “Still other possibilities.”

  “And now you have the chance to explore them, Robie.”

  “I’m assuming there is no opportunity to decline the assignment?”

  Blue Man did not even bother to answer.

  “The target left standing in the Middle East. It would seem that maybe he did the turning. Why not start there?’

  “Tricky situation. Ferat Ahmadi is vying to fill the power vacuum in Syria. He has a lot of support on the ground. Unfortunately, he is a terrible choice as far as we are concerned. We’ve had a lot of that happening with the Arab Spring. Those countries are electing people who hate us to lead them.”

  “Okay, but I take it the Chinese and Russians would not be happy that we’re picking winners and losers over there again,” commented Robie.

  “The assassination attempt coming out would not be in our interests, no.”

  “If it had gone according to plan, how was it going to be covered up?”

  “Standard procedure. Blame it on opposition leaders to Ahmadi. Not a stretch by any means. They’ve tried to kill him twice. They’re just not very good at it. We were going to leave evidence behind that would lead back to one of them.”

  “Two birds with one stone?”

  Blue Man nodded. “We try to be efficient. That would leave a third party standing who we can at least attempt to talk sense to.”

  “But that’s all been shut down now.”

  “Yes, it has.”

  Robie stood. “I’ll need whatever you have on Reel.”

  “Being assembled as we speak.”

  “Okay,” said Robie, but for him, right now, nothing was okay.

  “What did you really think of Reel when you worked with her?”

  “I already told you.”

  “The unvarnished version.”

  “She was as good as me. Maybe now she’s better. I don’t know. But it looks like I might find out.”

  As he turned to leave Blue Man said, “We’ve had a run of bad luck lately, Robie.”

  “Yeah, I guess you could say that.”

  “I suppose that the longer you stay in service the greater the chance that someone will try and turn you,” said Blue Man. He tapped his fingers on the table and looked off.

  “The more years of service, the more value you might have.”

  Blue Man glanced over at him. “Others have been tempted. Successfully.”

  “A few out of many.”

  “Still a problem.”

  “Is it a problem for you?” asked Robie.

  “No more than it is for you, I’m sure.”

  “Glad we got that straight.” Robie walked out to begin his new assignment.

  Chapter 6

  Robie drove through the streets of D.C. with a USB stick in his coat pocket. On it was the career of Jessica Elyse Reel. Robie already knew some of it. By tomorrow he would know all of it, except for the parts yet to be filled in.

  The rain was falling more steadily. D.C. in the rain was a curious spectacle. There were of course the monuments, the popular target of busloads of tourists, many of whom probably despised much about the federal city. But they came to gawk at the pretty structures, figuring their tax dollars had paid for them.

  In the gloom the mighty Jefferson and Lincoln and Washington memorials and monument, respectively, seemed diminished to a grainy outline one would see on an aged, tattered postcard. The Capitol dome loomed large, towering over all other nearby structures. It was the place where Congress did—or increasingly did not do—its work. But even the enormity of the colossal dome seemed lessened in the rain.

  Robie steered his Audi toward Dupont Circle. He had lived in an apartment near Rock Creek Park for years. Less than a month ago he had moved out. That had everything to do with one of his previous assignments. He simply couldn’t stay there anymore.

  Dupont was in the middle of town, full of nightlife, dozens of hip restaurants offering cuisines from around the world, esoteric retailers, highbrow booksellers, and retail shops that one could find nowhere else. It was exciting and energizing and a real asset to the city.

  But Robie didn’t crave the nightlife. When he ate out, he ate alone. He didn’t shop in the hip shops. He didn’t browse through the highbrow bookstores. When he walked the streets, which he often did, particularly later at night, he didn’t seek out contact with others. He didn’t welcome companionship at any level. There would have been little point to
it, especially now.

  He parked in the underground garage of his apartment building and took the elevator up to his floor. He inserted two keys into the twin locks—both deadbolts—on his apartment door. The alarm system beeped its warning. The beeps stopped when he disarmed it.

  He took off his coat but didn’t remove the USB stick. He walked to the window and stared down at the wet streets. Rain cleansed, or at least that was the theory. There were parts of this town that could never be clean, he thought. And not just the high-crime areas. He operated in the world of government power, and it was as dirty as the grimiest alley in the city.

  He’d had a brush with normalcy recently. But it was just a brush. It hadn’t stuck to him, and had eventually fallen away.

  But it had left remnants.

  He pulled out his wallet and removed the photo.

  The girl in the picture was fourteen going on forty. Julie Getty. Small, skinny, straggly hair. Robie didn’t care about her appearance. He admired her for her courage, her intelligence, and her spunk.

  She had given him this photo of her when they had parted ways. He should never have kept it. It was too dangerous. It could lead back to her, yet Robie had still kept it. He simply didn’t seem able to part with it.

  Robie had never had children, and never would. If he had, Julie Getty would have been a daughter of whom he would have been proud. However, she wasn’t his daughter. And she had a new life to lead. A life that he could not really be part of. That’s just the way it was. It was not his choice.

  He put the photo back in his wallet at the same time his cell phone buzzed.

  At first he smiled when he saw who was calling, and then the smile turned to a frown. He debated whether to answer, but decided if he didn’t she would just keep calling.

  It was simply how she was wired.

  “Hello?”

  “Robie. Long time.”

  Nicole Vance was an FBI special agent. A super agent according to Julie Getty. Julie had also thought that Vance had a thing for Robie. In fact, she’d been sure of it.

  Robie had never found that out for certain and wasn’t sure he wanted to. Something in the recent past had turned him off to anything remotely resembling a relationship with a woman. It wasn’t an issue of desire. It was one of trust. Without that, Robie couldn’t muster the desire.