enough?"
Faith was surprised at how easily the words of prayer and remorse had come back to her. Because of her nomadic father, her attendance at mass over the years had been sporadic. But her mother had insisted on Catholic schools wherever the family happened to venture, and her father had followed this rule after his wife had died. Catholic school must have ingrained something in her other than the constant bite of the ruler on her knuckles from Sister Something-or-other. The summer before her senior year, she had become an orphan, her travels with her father abruptly cut short by a heart attack. She was sent to live with a relative who did not want her and who took pains to show no attention to her. Faith had rebelled however she could. She smoked, she drank, she ceased to be virgin Faith long before it was fashionable to do so.
At school the daily tugging down of her skirt to below her knees by the nuns only made her want to pull the damn thing up to her crotch. All in all, it was a truly forgettable year in her life, followed by several more as she struggled through college, tried to gain some direction in her life. Then for the past fifteen years she had thought her rudder was flawless, the grand movements of her life fluid. Now she was floundering, speeding toward the rocks.
Faith looked at Lee. "We need to call the police, tell somebody that he's back there."
Lee shook his head. "That opens a whole other can of worms. That is definitely not a good idea."
"We can't just leave him back there. It's not right."
"Do you suggest we go to the local precinct and try to explain this thing? They'll put us in straitjackets."
"Dammit! If you won't do it, I will. I am not leaving him back there for the squirrels."
"All right, all right. Calm down." He sighed. "I guess we could place an anonymous call in a little while, get the cops to check it out."
"Fine," said Faith.
A few minutes later, Lee noticed that Faith was fidgeting.
"I have another request," she said.
The woman's demanding style was really starting to annoy him. Lee tried not to think about the hurt in his elbow, the irritating specks of cold dirt in his eyes, the unknown dangers that lay ahead.
"Like what?" he said wearily.
"There's a gas station near here. I'd like to wash up." She added quietly, "If that's okay."
Lee looked down at the stains on her clothes and his expression softened. "No problem," he said.
"It's down this road-"
"I know where it is," Lee said. "I like to get the lay of the land where I'm working."
Faith simply stared at him.
In the bathroom Faith tried not to focus on what she was doing as she painstakingly cleaned the blood off her clothing. Still, every couple of minutes she felt like ripping off all her clothes and scrubbing herself down using the soap from the dispenser and the stack of paper towels on the dirty sink.
When she climbed back in the car, her companion's look said what his mouth didn't.
"I'll make it, for now," she said.
"By the way, my name's Lee. Lee Adams."
Faith said nothing. He started the car and they left the gas station.
"You don't have to tell me your name," he said. "I was hired to follow you, Ms. Lockhart."
She eyed him suspiciously. "Who hired you to do that?"
"Don't know."
"How could you possibly not know who hired you?"
"I admit it's a little unusual, but it happens, on occasion. Some people are embarrassed about hiring a private detective."
"So that's what you are, a private eye?" Her tone was one of contempt.
"It can be a very legit way of earning a buck. And I'm as legit as they come."
"And how did this person come to hire you?"
"Other than the fact that I've got a killer Yellow Pages ad, I don't have a clue."
"Do you have any idea what you're mixed up in, Mr. Adams?"
"Let's just say I have a better idea now than I did a little bit ago.
Getting shot at is the one thing that has always captured my undivided attention."
"And who shot at you?"
"The same guy who nailed your friend. I think I winged him, but he got away."
Faith rubbed her temples and looked out into the darkness. His next words startled her.
"What are you, Witness Protection?" Lee waited. When she didn't answer, he continued. "I did a ten-second down-and-dirty on your friend while you were busy choking out the car. He had a Glock nine-millimeter and a Kevlar vest, for all the good it did him. The shield on his belt said FBI. I didn't have time to check for ID. So what was his name?"
"Does it matter?"
"It might."
"Why Witness Protection?" she asked.
"The cottage. Special locks, security system. It's a safe house, of sorts. Nobody's living there, that's for sure."
"So you've been inside."
He nodded. "At first I thought you were having an affair. A couple minutes inside told me it wasn't a love nest. Strange house, though.
Hidden cameras, tape-recording system. Did you know you were on stage, by the way?"
The astonished look on her face answered his question.
"If you didn't know who hired you, how were you engaged to follow me?"
"Easy enough. Phone message said a packet of information on you and an advance on my fee would be delivered to my office. They were. A file on you, and a big chunk of cash. It said to follow your movements, and I did."
"I was told I wasn't being followed."
"I've gotten pretty good at it."
"Apparently."
"Once I knew where you were going, I just got here ahead of you. Pretty simple."
"Was the voice a man's or woman's?"
"Couldn't tell; it was scrambled."
"Didn't that make you suspicious?"
"Everything makes me suspicious. One thing's for sure, whoever's after you, they ain't playing around. The ammo the guy was using back there could have wasted an elephant. I got to see it up close and personal."
He fell silent and Faith could not bring herself to say anything else.
She had several credit cards in her purse, all with virtually limitless spending power. And they were all useless to her, because as soon as one went through the swipe machine, they would know where she was. She put her hand in her purse and touched the Tiffany pewter ring holding the keys to her beautiful home and her luxury car. Useless as well. In her wallet was the grand sum of fifty-five dollars and a few pennies.
She had been stripped bare except for this cash and the clothes on her back. Her impoverished childhood had come roaring back in all its tarnished, hopeless memory.
She did have a large sum of cash, but it was in a safe-deposit box at her bank in D.C. The bank would not be open until tomorrow morning. And there were two other items she kept in that box that were even more critical to her: a driver's license and another credit card. They were both under a fake name. They had been relatively easy to set up, but she had hoped she would never have to use them. So much so that she had kept them in her bank instead of a more accessible place. Now she shook her head at such stupidity.
With those two cards she could go just about anywhere. If everything collapsed on top of her, she had often reminded herself, this would be her way out. Well she thought now, the roof's gone, the walls are creaking, the killer tornado's at the window and the fat lady is in the limo on the way back to the hoteL It's time to pull the tent and call it a life.
She looked at Lee. What would she do with him? Faith knew that her most pressing challenge was surviving the rest of the night. Maybe he could help her do that. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he had a gun. If she could just get in and out of her bank without too much trouble, she would be okay. There were about seven hours between now and the bank's opening. They might as well have been seven years.
CHAPTER 9
ROBERT THORN HILL SAT IN THE SMALL STUDY of his lovely ivy-draped old home in a much-s
ought-after neighborhood in McLean, Virginia. His wife's family had money, and he enjoyed the luxuries that money could buy, as well as the freedom it gave him to be a public servant his entire career. Right now, though, he was not feeling much comfort.
The message he had just received was unbelievable to him, and yet all plans had the potential for failure. He looked at the man sitting across from him. This person was also a veteran at the Agency, and a member of Thornhill's secret group. Philip Winslow shared Thornhill's ideals and concerns. They had spent many a night in Thornhill's study, both reminiscing about past glories and devising plans that would ensure there would be many future triumphs as well. They were both Yale graduates, two of the best and brightest. They had come along at a time when it was considered honorable to serve one's country. And the CIA had gotten its share of the Ivy League's best back then. They had also come from a generation in which a man did whatever it took to protect his country's interests. A man with vision, Thornhill believed with all his heart, had to be willing to take risks to achieve that vision.
"The FBI agent was killed," Thornhill said to his friend and colleague.
"And Lockhart?" Winslow asked.
Thornhill gave one brief shake of his head. "She's disappeared."
Winslow summed it up. "So we take out one of the Bureau's finest and let the real target get away." He clinked the ice in his drink. "Not good, Bob. The others won't be happy to hear that."
"Just to get all the good news out, our man was also shot in the process."
"By the agent?"
Thornhill shook his head. "No. There was someone else there tonight.
Unknown as yet. Serov has been debriefed. He gave a description of the man who was at the cottage. We're doing computer generations of him right now. We should know his identity shortly."
"Could he tell us anything else?"
"Not at present. Mr. Serov is being detained, for now, in safe quarters."
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