“You’re using what you imagine to be her feelings for Sumner against her. You have no idea how she feels about him, and if she does care for him enough to do this, then she’s really the wrong person for the job. You know as well as I do that strong emotions often lead the person having them to make mistakes. People in love will try to save their loved one against all odds, and usually they die right along with them.”
“I agree in principle with what you’re saying, but not when we’re talking about Caldridge. She won’t let that happen. She’s tough and resourceful—Colombia’s proven that, and she’s already on the run. She’d be better off staying the hell out of the States for a while. And you know that none of these attackers will follow her to Somalia. They’d be insane.”
Stromeyer made a disgusted noise. “You’re insane for sending her there. You can’t seriously argue that she’s safer in Somalia than here. Go home and get some rest. I can only imagine that sleep deprivation has scrambled your brains.”
Now Banner listened to the phone ring and crossed his fingers that Stromeyer had altered her thinking on the subject. When Stromeyer picked up the phone, she dispensed with the usual hello and said, “Tell me you’ve seen the light now that you’ve rested.”
So much for a change of heart. “Caldridge just called me. She’s agreed to go help Sumner. I suggest we meet at Darkview to work out the rescue logistics. Want me to pick you up on the way?”
“Why the escort?”
“Caldridge said someone hit her with a strange medication after the bombing. I think there’s safety in numbers.”
“In that case, absolutely.”
Half an hour later, Banner arrived on a motorcycle in front of Stromeyer’s condominium building. He removed his helmet and looked around. She lived in the Georgetown area, a quiet, elegant neighborhood with tree-lined streets. Banner watched as several residents of the neighboring houses opened their doors to collect the morning paper. They were all women, and they all looked suspiciously alike. Each one glanced down the street, each one spotted him on his motorcycle, and each one frowned at him.
Stromeyer stepped out onto her porch. To Banner she looked different from the other women. More animated, less of a cookie cutout. She wore dark jeans and a short navy trench coat that she buttoned as she jogged down the steps. Her hair was loose. A triangular-shaped bag hung over her shoulder. Banner watched her take in the motorcycle.
“Planning on losing a tail?” she said.
“The women in your neighborhood all look alike. And every one of them frowned at me on this bike. Do I look disreputable?” He offered her a spare helmet.
She finished buttoning her trench, tied the belt, and did some magic with the bag’s straps that turned it into a backpack. She swung a leg over the cycle.
“This area isn’t known for its diversity, as you’ve noticed. A whole group of people here only ride in chauffeured limousines. Men on bikes are suspect.”
Banner prepared to start the engine. “Lacking diversity is one thing, but imitating each other is something else entirely. Why do they all look alike?”
“Beltway hair. Affectionately called ‘helmet hair.’ Designed to make the women look conservative. I’m surprised you haven’t noticed it before now.”
Banner shrugged. “I haven’t really focused on it before.” The motorcycle roared to life. He merged onto the street and headed to Darkview’s offices.
He picked up the tail ten minutes into the ride. So must have Stromeyer. She leaned in to him at a stoplight.
“Brown Crown Vic.”
Banner just nodded. He accelerated through the next intersection, barely making a yellow light. The Crown Vic stayed with him by blowing the red light. He sped up, splitting lanes and zipping past a MINI Cooper. The Crown Vic got caught behind the Cooper and a Honda Civic in the left lane. Through his rearview mirror, he
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