The Fix

  Decker grabbed Mars’s arm and pulled him away.

  They reached the hole and went through it. Mars looked back at Brown, coughing and wheezing, her jacket over her nose and mouth, as she squatted over the bomb.

  Then he and Decker raced down the tunnel. When they were far enough away from the gas he got a signal and called Bogart.

  All Bogart said was, “Got it.”

  Decker looked at his watch.

  Mars did too. “Two damn minutes,” he said, staring at Decker. “I got to go back, Decker. I got to go help her.”

  “Me too.”

  They ran back down the tunnel. When they got close the gas was now so thick that they clutched their heads and staggered. Mars hit the wall, and Decker nearly sank to his knees, his head pounding.

  “Come on!” screamed Mars, righting himself.

  They stumbled down the tunnel, reached the hole, and fell through it. Both men were violently sick to their stomachs.

  “Harper!” called out Mars.

  He had dropped his phone and couldn’t see in the darkness.

  Far above, Decker thought he heard rumblings.

  They were evacuating the building, his muddled mind realized.

  He and Mars got up and staggered forward, but they were now both disoriented as the gas overwhelmed their brains and their lungs.

  “We’ve got to find her, fast!” said Decker. “Before we pass out.”

  “Over there,” Mars managed to say.

  They crawled forward.

  The pile of rubble was still there.

  But there was no sign of Brown.

  Gasping, Mars reached the hole first. Decker joined him a second later. They both stared down at the burning red numbers on the detonator.

  They were not moving.

  They were stuck at four seconds.

  Two wires had been pulled free from the device.

  “Where’s Harper?” gasped Mars.

  Decker, his jacket pulled over his mouth and nose, looked groggily around. Harper Brown had fallen into the tunnel two feet from the bomb, her body wedged between the pipe and the wall. Decker reached down, grabbed her arm, and pulled. Mars saw what he was doing, jumped across the hole, and helped him. With their combined strength, they quickly pulled her up. Mars slung her over his shoulder.

  They stumbled to the hole in the wall and then picked up speed, racing along and occasionally bouncing off the walls of the tunnel. When they were far enough away to where they couldn’t smell the gas, they stopped and Mars set Brown down. They sucked in air, their heads clearing. Brown’s eyes were closed. She was turning blue. And there was something else.

  “Decker, she’s not breathing!” screamed Mars. He dropped to the floor of the tunnel and started performing CPR, pumping her chest.

  “Help me, Decker, help me!”

  Decker dropped down next to him and started breathing into Brown’s mouth after pinching closed her nose.

  “Come on, come on, breathe,” pleaded Mars. “Please, Harper, please. Don’t go. Don’t leave.”

  He kept pumping.

  And Decker kept breathing.

  And despite all that, Harper Brown remained still.

  CHAPTER

  81

  DECKER WAS IN a suit and tie. His hair was cut and neatly parted at the side. And plastered down with lots of hair gel.

  Melvin Mars was next to him, dressed as formally as his friend. Behind them was Jamison, in a black dress and matching stockings.

  Decker checked his watch. “It’s time.”

  They walked down the hall to an auditorium. It was full, and Bogart and Milligan were already there in the front row.

  Bogart looked up and caught their eye. He indicated the empty seats next to them.

  On the raised dais was a podium with a microphone. Behind that was the United States flag on one side and the flag of the DIA on the other. On the wall behind was the DIA seal.

  Decker stared at the seal and his mind went back to the first time he’d seen it and how Brown had described it to him. The black represented the unknown, while the flames and eagle represented knowledge and intelligence.

  And didn’t those seem in short supply these days?

  Yet they had broken through the unknown, hadn’t they?

  But everything came with a price.

  The director of the DIA appeared from the left side of the stage and approached the podium. He brought the ceremony to order and gave a few introductory remarks. Then he turned it over to a man who came out from stage right.

  Everyone in attendance instantly rose to his or her feet.

  Those in uniform saluted.

  The President of the United States walked to the lectern. He had no teleprompter and he carried no notes. He adjusted the mike and looked out over the audience.

  “Though exactly what happened at the Hoover Building has been largely kept classified for obvious reasons, we are here today to honor a patriot who acted with great heroism, without regard for her personal safety, and whose unselfish acts saved a great many people. As you know, this award is ordinarily given out by the Office of the Director of National Intelligence. However, since I number myself among those that she saved, I owe our recipient a great personal debt. One which I’m afraid I will never be able to repay. As some of you already know, her name will today be added to the DIA’s Torch Bearers Wall, not far from her father’s.”

  In the front row Mars put a hand over his eyes and bowed his head. Decker put a supportive hand on his shoulder.

  The president continued, “Thus it is with tremendous honor and the greatest respect that I present to Major Harper C. Brown the highest honor the National Intelligence community can bestow, the National Intelligence Cross for valor and heroism above and beyond the call of duty.”

  As one the crowd rose to its feet as Harper Brown, in her full dress uniform, appeared from backstage and wheeled herself out to the podium. From the chair, she crisply saluted the President. He returned the salute, presented the award, draping it around her neck, and then shook her hand.

  They both turned to the audience as the President said, “Major Harper Brown, your National Intelligence Cross award recipient.”

  Everyone in the room cheered, with Melvin Mars perhaps the loudest of all.

  Brown looked over the crowd, waved, and smiled even as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Then her gaze searched for and found Decker.

  She smiled and her eyes crinkled.

  He smiled and gave her a salute.

  Then she spotted Mars next to him.

  She winked.

  He grinned.

  When she looked away, Decker said, “The doctors think she’ll be back to full strength pretty soon.”

  “Thank God for that.”

  “Why were you crying before, Melvin?”

  “Damn, Decker, we almost lost her. The EMTs told us she’d probably died. But that we brought her back. It was that close.”

  “I know. But she’s alive, Melvin. Keep focusing on that.”

  He looked over at Jamison, who was still clapping and grinning. He caught her eye and she said, “She looks great, doesn’t she?”

  “Never better,” said Decker, grinning.

  “And you don’t look bad in a suit and tie,” added Bogart.

  Milligan nodded appreciatively. “In fact, you’re starting to look like a real FBI agent, Decker. Maybe we need to start holding you to a dress code.”

  Decker’s smile faded and he stopped clapping.

  * * *

  Decker, Mars, and Jamison got out of the car in front of Dominion Hospice. Mars was holding a box.

  Jamison said, “We’re going to Harper’s for dinner tomorrow night, don’t forget.”

  “Already bought the wine,” said Mars. “And she lost the wheelchair for good. They said she had some temporary weakness because of what happened with the gas. But she’s all fine now.”

  “And does that mean you’re moving to the area permanently?” asked
Jamison coyly.

  “Already got a contract down on a house that, what do you know, is only a couple blocks from her. We can go running together.”

  Jamison said, “Hey, I’m in on that.”

  “Cool, Alex.”

  Mars looked at Decker. “How about you?”

  “How about me what?” he groused.

  “You want to run with us?”

  “Only if you’re chasing a criminal.”

  As they walked to the front doors Jamison said, “Hey, Decker, couple of questions.”

  He looked at her.

  “So I get that Dabney’s work at the FBI gave the bad guys the idea for attacking the FBI. But what was the information exactly?”

  “He was working on the building’s infrastructure. To do that he had been given highly classified information about the building’s support structure and that gas line running under it. Plus info on the maze of tunnels under the street and the Hoover Building. That’s what Berkshire’s people really wanted. Bogart found out that they had already leased the building across the street, probably for surveillance purposes on the FBI. But now, with what Dabney had given them, they were able to draw up a new plan and worked around the clock to link up with the utility tunnel and take it under the Hoover Building and then sabotage the gas line. They also found out when the President and other world leaders would be there. They wanted to take them all out—kill eleven thousand people and cripple America’s premier crimefighting agency.”

  She nodded, taking this in. “Okay, remember when Walter Dabney told Natalie about the story from Disney World? His riding in the ambulance?”

  “Yeah, what about it?”

  “Why did he tell her that?”

  “Because he’s only human.”

  She looked confused. “What?”

  “Dabney knew at that point about his wife’s spying. But he was too honorable to tell his kids. He didn’t want them to hate her. But he also knew he was going to shoot Berkshire and kill himself, so he couldn’t resist telling his daughter a story that had him being the one who was there for her, and not her mother.”

  They entered the building and started down the hall.

  “Any word on what will happen to Mrs. Dabney and her daughter?” asked Mars.

  “Even though she voluntarily stopped spying, Ellie Dabney is going to do some serious prison time. Natalie might get off with some sort of probation. They can’t prove she knew anything about the actual espionage.”

  They checked in at the front desk and were led back to Joey Scott’s room. The little boy was lying in the bed with his eyes closed.

  Their escort, a nurse, gently roused him. When he opened his eyes, she told him about his visitors, then turned and left.

  The three of them drew closer to the bed.

  “Hey, Joey,” said Mars.

  Joey smiled weakly and lifted his hand in a wave before it dropped back to the bed.

  “Got something for you.”

  He opened the box and pulled out a football. He held it in front of the boy and said, “Look who signed it for you.”

  Joey looked at the writing on the ball and his eyes grew large.

  “To my friend Joey, Peyton Manning,” read Joey.

  Decker added, “And he sent a signed picture too.” He held up the framed photo so Joey could see it. “I’m going to put it on your nightstand. You can look at it whenever you want.”

  They all drew up chairs and sat next to the bed. Mars placed the ball next to Joey. The little boy put his hand on the pigskin and rubbed the spot where Manning had signed.

  Jamison whispered to Mars, “How did you score that?”

  “Friend of a friend who works at the NFL. They told me that when Manning heard about Joey he wanted to fly out here and meet him. I think he’s actually going to do that.”

  “Wow,” said Jamison. She took a book from her bag and opened it to a certain page. “Joey, I’m going to finish reading The Prisoner of Azkaban to you, okay? The last part is so exciting!”

  He smiled. “Okay.”

  While Jamison started to read, Decker put his hands on the bed rail and stared down at Joey. Every once in a while, Joey would look up at them and smile.

  And Decker found himself each time smiling back.

  He had lost Molly at about the same age Joey was now.

  And he knew that Joey didn’t have much longer to live. It hadn’t been that long since Decker had first met the boy, and Joey already seemed much weaker. Decker could see his body shutting down little by little.

  But for now, Decker saw no blue at all. He just saw a boy smiling while holding a football signed by a hero of his.

  Decker’s life was complicated, his future probably even more so. But for right now he forgot about having a perfect memory, or the horrific way by which he’d acquired it. He stopped thinking for at least a little while about the family he had lost.

  He glanced at the two people next to him, who were his friends. Two people who, despite his many shortcomings, would always be his friends.

  Then he looked back down at Joey. The boy’s eyes were closed, but his hand remained firmly attached to the precious football.

  Decker reached out a big hand and gently stroked Joey’s head. As he did so he felt his eyes moisten.

  But for now, right this instant, things were okay.

  * * *

  Decker had taken to thinking of this now as “his” bench. The skies were growing darker and the wind was picking up. The river flowed in front of him and in the swift currents he could see his own thoughts hurtling along. He put his hands in the pockets of his jacket and closed his eyes.

  Yet this time he was not engaging his prodigious memory. No perfect recall was required for what he wanted to think about. For a man who didn’t like change, there was a great deal of it heading his way. A new job at the FBI. Being a “landlord” with Jamison. Mars moving here. Harper Brown becoming a fixture in his life through her relationship with Mars. He didn’t even know if Jamison wanted to continue working at the FBI. She might leave and do something else. For all he knew Mars and Brown might get married and move away. Bogart and Milligan might get transferred.

  And then it would just be him.

  Amos Decker from Small-town Ohio, transplanted to this very strange land known as Washington, D.C.

  Alone.

  Again.

  He rubbed his eyes and put his hand back in his pocket. The good moment sitting with Joey Scott had been a welcome one, but it was now over. Though he could never equate what he was going through with the terminal illness that the little boy was enduring, Decker knew that his future was crowded with uncertainty. His