Saving Faith

by David Baldacci

  anxious, wake. The car was waiting for him. He slid inside. He had been granted bail, after four weeks of sitting behind bars. Now it was time to get to work. Now it was damn well time for revenge.

  "Have they all been contacted?" Thornhill asked the driver.

  The man nodded. "They're already there. Waiting for you."

  "Buchanan and Adams? Status?"

  "Buchanan is in Witness Protection, but we have some leads. Adams is right out in the open. Available anytime to take out."

  "Lockhart?"

  "Dead."

  "You're certain?"

  "We haven't actually dug up her body, but everything else points to her having died from her wounds at the hospital in North Carolina."

  Thornhill leaned back against his seat with a sigh. "Lucky her."

  The car entered a public garage, where Thornhill left the vehicle. He stepped directly into a van waiting there for him, which then pulled out from the garage and headed in the opposite direction. So much for any tail the FBI had.

  Within forty-five minutes he was at the small abandoned strip mall. He stepped into the elevator and was zipping several hundred feet down into the earth. The lower he was carried, the better Thornhill felt.

  This thought deeply amused him.

  The doors parted and he literally burst out of the confines of the elevator. The men, his colleagues, were all there. His chair at the head of the table was empty. His trusty comrade Phil Winslow was in the seat to the immediate right. Thornhill allowed himself a grateful smile. Back in business, ready to go.

  He sat down, looked around.

  "Congratulations on getting bail, Bob," Winslow said.

  "Four weeks later," Thornhill said bitterly. "I think the Agency needs to upgrade its legal counsel."

  "Well, that video was very damaging," said Aaron Royce, the younger man who had butted heads with Thornhill at the previous meeting here. "I'm actually surprised you were able to get bail at all. And, quite frankly, I'm a little stunned that the Agency even saw fit to provide counsel."

  "Of course it was damaging," Thornhill said scornfully. "And the Agency provided counsel because of loyalty. It doesn't forget its people. Unfortunately, however, it means I have to disappear. The lawyers think we have a shot at suppressing the video, but I think all would agree that, despite having technical legal deficiencies, the subject matter of the tape was a little too detailed to allow me to continue in my present capacity." Thornhill looked saddened for a moment. His career over, and not in the way he had planned. But then his features reassumed their usual steeliness; his resolve flooded back into him like an oil gusher. He looked around the room in triumph.

  "But I will lead the battle from a distance. And we will win the war.

  Now, I understand Buchanan went underground. But Adams didn't. We'll go the path of least resistance. Adams first. Then Buchanan. I want someone at the U.S. marshal's service. We have people there. We locate good old Danny and make his life disappear. Next, I want to make damn sure Faith Lockhart is no more." He looked at Winslow. "Are my travel documents ready, Phil?"

  "Actually, no, Bob," Winslow said slowly.

  Royce stared at Thornhill. "This operation has cost us too much," he said. "Three operatives dead. You indicted. The Agency's turned upside down. The FBI is all over us. It's a total and complete disaster. This makes Aldrich Ames seem like a bounced check."

  Thornhill noticed that every man in the room, Winslow included, was looking at him with a very unfriendly face. "We will survive this, make no mistake about that," Thornhill said in an encouraging tone.

  "I'm quite sure we will survive it," Royce said forcefully.

  Royce was definitely beginning to bother Thornhill. He was showing backbone in a way that had to be quickly quashed. But for now Thornhill decided to ignore him. "The damn FBI," complained Thornhill.

  "Bugging my house. Is the Constitution not applicable to them?"

  "Thank God you didn't mention my name during the phone call that night," Winslow said.

  Thornhill looked at him again, struck by the curious tone in his friend's voice. "About my documents .. . I should prepare to leave the country as soon as possible."

  "That won't be necessary, Bob," Royce said. "And frankly, despite your constant outbursts to the contrary, until you screwed everything up, we had quite a good working relationship with the FBI. Cooperation is the key these days. Turf battles make losers of everyone. You made us into dinosaurs and you're dragging us down into the mud with you."

  Thornhill gave him an exasperated look and then glanced at Winslow.

  "Phil, I don't have time for this. You deal with him."

  Winslow coughed nervously. "I'm afraid he's right, Bob."

  Thornhill froze for a moment and then looked around the table before settling back on Winslow. "Phil, I want my documents and my cover, and I want them right now."

  Winslow looked at Royce and gave a slight nod of the head.

  Aaron Royce rose from his chair. He didn't smile; he showed no signs of triumph. Just as he had been trained.

  "Bob," he said, "there's been a change in plan. We won't be needing your assistance in this matter any further."

  Thornhill's face flushed with anger. "What the hell are you talking about? I'm running this operation. And I want Buchanan and Adams dead. Now!"

  "There will be no more killing," Winslow said fiercely. "No more killing of innocent people," he added quietly.

  He stood. "I'm sorry, Bob. I truly am."

  Thornhill stared at him, the first tremors of the truth hitting him.

  Phil Winslow had been his classmate at Yale, his fraternity brother.

  The two men were members of Skull & Bones. Winslow had been his best man. They'd been lifelong friends. Lifelong.

  "Phil?" Thornhill said cautiously.

  Winslow motioned to the other men, who rose too. They all headed for the elevator.

  "Phil?" Thornhill said again, his mouth going dry.

  When the group reached the elevator, Winslow looked back. "We can't let this matter go any further. We can't let it go to trial. And we can't let you steal away. They'll never stop looking for you. We need closure, Bob."

  Thornhill half rose from his chair. "Then we can fake my death. My suicide."

  "I'm sorry, Bob. We need complete and honest closure."

  "Phil!" Thornhill screamed out. "Please!"

  When all the men were inside the elevator, Winslow looked at his friend one last time. "Sacrifices are sometimes necessary, Bob. You know that better than anyone. For the good of the country."

  The elevator doors closed.

  CHAPTER 58

  Lee CAREFULLY HELD THE BASKET OF FLOWERS in both hands as he walked down the hospital corridor. Once she'd regained enough strength, Faith had been transferred to a hospital outside of Richmond, Virginia. There she was listed under an alias, though, and an armed guard was stationed outside her room at all times. The hospital was considered far enough away from Washington to maintain absolute secrecy on her whereabouts, yet near enough for Brooke Reynolds to keep a close watch on her.

  This was the first time Lee had been allowed in to see her, despite his frantic pleas to Reynolds. At least she was alive. And getting better every day, he had been told.

  Thus he was very surprised when he approached her room and there was no guard outside. He knocked on the door, waited, then pushed it open.

  The room was empty, the bed stripped. He walked around the room in a daze for a few seconds and then ran back out into the hallway where he nearly collided with a nurse. He grabbed the woman's arm.

  "The patient in 212? Where is she?" he asked.

  The nurse glanced at the empty room and then back at him, her expression a sad one. "Are you family?"

  "Yes," he lied.

  She looked at the flowers and her expression grew even more distressed.

  "Didn't anyone call you?"

  "Call me? About what?"

  "She passed away last
night."

  Lee's face paled. "Passed away," he said numbly. "But she was Out of danger. She was going to make it. What the hell are you talking about--passing away?"

  "Please, sir, there are other patients here." She took his arm and steered him away from the room. "I don't know the exact details. I wasn't on duty. I can refer you to someone here who can answer your questions."

  Lee pulled his arm free. "Look, she can't be dead, okay? That was just a story. To keep her safe."

  "What?" The woman looked puzzled.

  "I'll take it from here," a voice said.

  They both turned and looked at Brooke Reynolds standing there. She held out her badge for the nurse to see. "I'll take it from here," she said again. The nurse nodded and walked quickly away.

  "What the hell is going on?" Lee demanded.

  "Let's go to a quiet place and talk this over."

  "Where is Faith?"

  "Lee, not here! Dammit, do you want to ruin everything?" She pulled on his arm, but he wasn't budging, and she knew she couldn't physically make him.

  "Why should I go with you?"

  "Because I'm going to tell you the truth."

  They got in Reynolds's car and she pulled out of the parking lot. "I knew you were coming today, and I was planning on being at the hospital ahead of you, waiting. I didn't quite make it. I'm sorry you had to hear about it from a nurse; that's not what I intended." Reynolds looked down at the flowers he still held tightly, and her heart went out to him. She wasn't an FBI agent for this moment-she was simply a fellow human being sitting next to someone whose heart, she knew, was being torn apart. And what she had to tell him would only make it worse.

  "Faith has been placed in Witness Protection. Buchanan too." "What?

  Buchanan I can understand! But Faith isn't a witness to anything!"

  Lee's relief was matched only by his outrage. This was all wrong.

  "But she is in need of protection. If certain people knew she was still alive-well, you know what could happen."