Humboldt University looming before him. He glanced back.
Nothing.
He turned into a side street and began to walk home.
When he reached the elegant old building on Sophienstrasse, his footsteps slowed. A man was slumped on the marble steps leading to the entry. His watcher. Wally was sure of it.
“That’s ballsy,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t want to tire you out with a long walk, friend. What can I do for you?”
The man raised his head. His face was a mass of bruises, the blood still fresh and the features raw and swollen. His hair was incongruously brown. But Wally had never forgotten the look in those eyes—like a wolf too wild to be taken.
“Eric,” he said.
Chapter 16
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, 3:38 A.M.
She’d been called into the Agency in the middle of the night many times, but it was always unnerving to see the vast parking lots empty under rank upon rank of brilliant lights. The electrified barbed wire that surrounded the compound was less obvious in daylight, and the SPOs—the security police officers who manned the gates—walked right up to the car window to stare intently at her badge and face before waving her through.
She and Cuddy would do what they could in the last few hours before Sophie Payne’s funeral. There might be some clue Cuddy had overlooked in the disc full of data Eric had sent out of Budapest—or a name lost in the thousands of pages of 30 April files. A link between the neo-Nazi group and somebody here at home—an academic conference where two men had met, a stint in a jail cell where two killers joined forces.
“I’ll get out a tasking cable to Berlin,” Caroline was saying as she and Cuddy swung into the Counterterrorism Center at 3:14 A.M . “Wally may have some assets left he can query—”
She stopped short, staring at the silver-haired man seated in her cubicle. He had a pile of her files—the ones she’d yet to destroy—before him on the desk and was systematically going through them, half-glasses resting on his nose, red pen poised.
“Berlin has already been tasked,” he said, holding out a copy of a cable. “They have all they need to wrap up this investigation.”
Caroline took the sheet of paper.
C/CTC ADVISES THAT CASE OFFICER MICHAEL O’SHAUGHNESSY/NIGEL BENNING DECLARED DEAD APRIL 1997 IS ALIVE AND MEMBER OF 30 APRIL TERRORIST
GROUP . . .
“You burned him,” she said hollowly. “Cuddy—he’s blown Eric sky high. There’s no cover left.”
Cuddy took the copy of the cable and scanned it rapidly. The core of Caroline’s body had deadened, as though all function of heart and bone had suddenly shut down. There was no way back. No help to be found.
“Pity you tossed so much in the incinerator, my dear,” Scottie said easily. “These files are sadly incomplete. That will look very bad when the Inspector General investigates what you knew, and when. Rather as though you had something to hide.”
“Get out of my desk,” she said with effort. “Please.”
Scottie laughed and swiveled in her chair. “I received your letter of resignation, Carrie. It saved me the trouble of firing you. But I must say I’m rather surprised to see you here. I’d have thought you’d borrow a page from Eric’s book—and turn up dead.”
“That’s not funny,” Cuddy said sternly, as though Scottie were a little boy with a bad sense of humor. “You know Dare Atwood has been murdered. Why weren’t you at the White House?”
“I had documents of my own to incinerate,” Scottie replied comfortably. “Sad about Dare. Who’ll take the dog, I wonder? We all know who’ll take her office. I must make my obeisance to Rinehart sometime this morning.”
Caroline was holding the shreds of her temper in both hands. Cross Scottie now, and she’d lose her final slim hope of bringing Eric home safe and alive. “I’m withdrawing that resignation. I’m here to help.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Scottie replied. “I’ve already informed the
Nothing.
He turned into a side street and began to walk home.
When he reached the elegant old building on Sophienstrasse, his footsteps slowed. A man was slumped on the marble steps leading to the entry. His watcher. Wally was sure of it.
“That’s ballsy,” he muttered. “Wouldn’t want to tire you out with a long walk, friend. What can I do for you?”
The man raised his head. His face was a mass of bruises, the blood still fresh and the features raw and swollen. His hair was incongruously brown. But Wally had never forgotten the look in those eyes—like a wolf too wild to be taken.
“Eric,” he said.
Chapter 16
LANGLEY, VIRGINIA, 3:38 A.M.
She’d been called into the Agency in the middle of the night many times, but it was always unnerving to see the vast parking lots empty under rank upon rank of brilliant lights. The electrified barbed wire that surrounded the compound was less obvious in daylight, and the SPOs—the security police officers who manned the gates—walked right up to the car window to stare intently at her badge and face before waving her through.
She and Cuddy would do what they could in the last few hours before Sophie Payne’s funeral. There might be some clue Cuddy had overlooked in the disc full of data Eric had sent out of Budapest—or a name lost in the thousands of pages of 30 April files. A link between the neo-Nazi group and somebody here at home—an academic conference where two men had met, a stint in a jail cell where two killers joined forces.
“I’ll get out a tasking cable to Berlin,” Caroline was saying as she and Cuddy swung into the Counterterrorism Center at 3:14 A.M . “Wally may have some assets left he can query—”
She stopped short, staring at the silver-haired man seated in her cubicle. He had a pile of her files—the ones she’d yet to destroy—before him on the desk and was systematically going through them, half-glasses resting on his nose, red pen poised.
“Berlin has already been tasked,” he said, holding out a copy of a cable. “They have all they need to wrap up this investigation.”
Caroline took the sheet of paper.
C/CTC ADVISES THAT CASE OFFICER MICHAEL O’SHAUGHNESSY/NIGEL BENNING DECLARED DEAD APRIL 1997 IS ALIVE AND MEMBER OF 30 APRIL TERRORIST
GROUP . . .
“You burned him,” she said hollowly. “Cuddy—he’s blown Eric sky high. There’s no cover left.”
Cuddy took the copy of the cable and scanned it rapidly. The core of Caroline’s body had deadened, as though all function of heart and bone had suddenly shut down. There was no way back. No help to be found.
“Pity you tossed so much in the incinerator, my dear,” Scottie said easily. “These files are sadly incomplete. That will look very bad when the Inspector General investigates what you knew, and when. Rather as though you had something to hide.”
“Get out of my desk,” she said with effort. “Please.”
Scottie laughed and swiveled in her chair. “I received your letter of resignation, Carrie. It saved me the trouble of firing you. But I must say I’m rather surprised to see you here. I’d have thought you’d borrow a page from Eric’s book—and turn up dead.”
“That’s not funny,” Cuddy said sternly, as though Scottie were a little boy with a bad sense of humor. “You know Dare Atwood has been murdered. Why weren’t you at the White House?”
“I had documents of my own to incinerate,” Scottie replied comfortably. “Sad about Dare. Who’ll take the dog, I wonder? We all know who’ll take her office. I must make my obeisance to Rinehart sometime this morning.”
Caroline was holding the shreds of her temper in both hands. Cross Scottie now, and she’d lose her final slim hope of bringing Eric home safe and alive. “I’m withdrawing that resignation. I’m here to help.”
“I’m afraid that’s impossible,” Scottie replied. “I’ve already informed the
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