Top Ten by Ryne Douglas Pearson

crap.”
    “American made,” Nico assured him. “New auto pilot, radio, RWR, the works. Plus I’m gonna throw in something new.”
    “New better be useful,” Mills told him.
    “Oh, it could come in handy,” Nico boasted. “Mighty, mighty handy.”
    Mills checked the time again. “Early Monday, right?”
    “Seven in the a.m. tomorrow. Bright and early. I’ll even have her washed.”
    “You’re a prince,” Mills complimented him, and Nico gave him a bow. “You got the car for me?”
    “Just off the tarmac.” Nico reached one semi-clean hand into the front of his coveralls and tossed Mills a set of keys. “Fool left them under his back tire. How easy is that? I hope you like Buicks.”
    “If it will get me to Atlanta I’ll like it. Is it hot?”
    Nico looked at the clock now. “When the guy gets his boat back in off the lake and finds his trailer sitting there all alone, well, I guess it’ll be hot then.”
    Mills gave Nico a thump on the shoulder and headed for the door.
    “I’ll do her up nice,” Nico shouted after him. Mills had no doubt about that.
    He found the car right where Nico said it would be, just off Crutch Field’s aging tarmac. He got in, started it up, and spun the tires as he hurried away.
    *   *   *
    Daniel Weaver, Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, rose from the wingback chair to greet Ariel Grace as she was shown into room 404 at the Carrington Hotel in downtown Washington, just three blocks from the J. Edgar Hoover Building where she’d expected to be meeting him. Some bewilderment still showed on her face.
    “Agent Grace. Come in. I’m pleased to meet you.”
    Ariel shook his hand.
    “This is Assistant Director Mike Kellerman,” the director said, introducing one of the men with him.
    “Sir,” Ariel said, shaking his hand as well.
    “We met in Atlanta once,” Kellerman told her. “Retirement party for Terry Harman.”
    Ariel nodded. “I remember sir.”
    “I was Terry’s SAC in Dallas. What’s he up to now? Do you know?”
    “Last I heard he was getting kissed a lot by his grandkids,” Ariel said. She looked back to the director and noted that the pleasantness about his face was suddenly tempered as he gestured behind her.
    “You already know Jack Hale,” the director said, and Ariel turned slowly to see him standing behind the suite’s well stocked wet bar.
    “Hello, Ariel,” he said, and poured himself a glass of ginger ale.
    She could only stare at him for the longest moment, not knowing what to say. No—not knowing whether to say what she wanted to say. In the end the director didn’t give her the chance.
    “You’re probably wondering what the heck is going on,” Weaver said to her.
    She kept her gaze fixed on Jack Hale as he came from behind the bar to join them. “Yes sir. You could say I’m a little...curious.”
    “We’ll try to explain it all. Have a seat.” The director looked to the agent who’d brought Ariel from the airport. “Pete, that’s all for now.”
    Pete nodded and dutifully left. He’d stand outside the door until the meeting was over.
    The director and assistant director took the two wingbacks in the suite’s sitting area, while Jack Hale positioned himself on the small couch across from them. Ariel was left with no choice but to sit next to him.
    “I’m sorry, Agent Grace,” Director Weaver said. “We didn’t offer you anything to drink.”
    Shot of vodka, she wanted to say, but obviously couldn’t. In reply she simply shook her head.
    “There’s fizzy water,” Jack Hale informed her, smiling at her profile. “With lime.”
    “No thank you, Agent Hale,” she said without looking at him, hating that he remembered her favorite drink from the Atlanta office. Hating and wondering what his game was now. What the hell this whole thing was now.
    Director Weaver sensed her discomfort and started to talk. “We’re meeting here, Agent Grace, because we can’t chance being seen together at Hoover.