The Hit

  name of the person or persons who had seen the apocalypse paper.

  More miles went by. Robie stopped for gas and another meal. He sat at the counter, his attention focused on the food in front of him, but his mind racing well beyond the confines of the roadside diner.

  There was her shot list.

  Jacobs first. Gelder next. She said they were traitors.

  She also said there were others.

  But she had killed Jacobs and Gelder before she’d come out to see Roy West. So she had to know they were part of the apocalypse paper before she’d confronted West.

  That could only mean one thing.

  Robie had lifted the glass of iced tea to his lips but then slowly set it down without drinking.

  There had to be someone else out there. Maybe more than one who knew about the paper, who were perhaps actively pursuing its goals but were still unknown to Reel.

  She was methodically killing off these conspirators—that was how Robie naturally started to think of them—but her list was incomplete.

  So many more questions assailed him now, chief of which was why and how Reel had become involved in all this. What was the catalyst that had prompted her to risk everything to do what she was doing?

  He had looked the woman in the eyes. He had come away with a definite conclusion.

  This was not simply another mission. This was personal.

  And if Robie was right about that, there had to be a reason. No, there had to be a person involved who made it personal for her. She said they had killed someone who meant a lot to her. And he or she had been killed because they were going to expose the plot.

  Robie had lots of questions and no answers. But he knew one thing.

  An apocalypse was never how you wanted it to end.

  CHAPTER

  45

  CHILDREN WHOOPING. Balloons all the colors of the rainbow. Presents that each cost well into three figures.

  Judge Samuel Kent looked around the room and smiled at the antics of the elementary school–age kids in the large sunroom where the birthday party was taking place. Kent had married later in life, and his youngest child was a guest here at the home of a well-heeled lobbyist who made his money by selling whatever needed selling on Capitol Hill.

  Kent’s wife, nearly twenty years younger, was not in attendance. A spa trip to Napa valley with her girlfriends had taken priority over her son’s friend’s party. Yet Kent was happy to fill in. It gave him certain opportunities.

  He scanned the room once more and nodded his head.

  The man walked briskly toward him.

  He was taller than Kent, running to flab, and his hair was receding rapidly. And though it was a party, he wasn’t smiling. He looked, in fact, like he was going to be sick.

  “Howard?” said Kent, holding out his hand, which the other man quickly shook. His skin was clammy.

  Congressman Howard Decker said, “We need to talk.”

  Kent smiled and indicated a large piñata hanging from the ceiling in one corner of the room. “I don’t want to be here when they start attacking that thing. Shall we take a walk outside? The garden is very impressive.”

  The two men went out the French doors and started strolling through the elaborate gardens that covered the better part of three acres. There was a pool, a guesthouse, an outdoor stone pavilion, a reflecting pond, benches and gates and side gardens, and a potting shed. Both men were wealthy and thus felt right at home in such a palatial setting.

  When they were well away from the house in an isolated stretch of the property, they stopped walking.

  Kent said, “How’re things on the Hill?”

  “That’s not what I want to talk about and you know it.”

  “I do know, Howard. I’m just trying to keep your nerves from running away with you. Poker faces are important.”

  “And you’re not concerned? I understand she nearly got you,” said Decker.

  “We were prepared. The only problem was she was more nimble than we thought.”

  “You know Roy West is dead.”

  “Neither significant nor relevant,” replied Kent.

  “Reel?”

  “Again, neither significant nor relevant.”

  “I think she is very significant and relevant. Jacobs, Gelder, you? She has a list. How?” he demanded.

  “It’s obvious,” said Kent. “I trusted Joe Stockwell when I shouldn’t have. I thought he was one of us. He wasn’t. He fooled me and it cost us.”

  “So he told Reel?”

  Kent nodded, looking thoughtful. “That seems to be the case. Too bad we didn’t kill him sooner.”

  “Why? What’s the connection between Stockwell and Reel?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Kent. “But there must have been one. He was with the U.S. Marshals at one point and had good connections. I tried to find what those were after we learned he was spying on us instead of working with us. But a lot of it is classified. I couldn’t push too hard without raising suspicions.”

  “Then we’re all compromised. I’m probably on that list. He knew about me.”

  “Yes, you very well could be on the list.”

  “Reel got to Gelder. He was the number two, for God’s sake. What chance do I have?”

  “A very good chance. We almost got her, Howard. She has to know the targets are hardened by now. She’ll be on the defensive. She’ll have to pull back.”

  “If she killed West, she’s hardly on the defensive,” countered Howard.

  “West wasn’t really a hardened target. And we still don’t know all the facts. If she did kill him she went there to gain more information.”

  “And if he gave it to her?”

  “He had none to give. She was grasping at straws. That shows how weakened her position is.”

  “Someone had to tell her about West.”

  “We’re looking into that. But I don’t see it as especially important. We have bigger fish to fry.”

  “West went psycho militia. I would hardly call that not hardened. He had guns and bombs and a bunch of men as crazy as he was. And she still killed him.”

  “I never said she wasn’t capable or dangerous. She is.”

  “So she could get to me.”

  “She could get to me too. But we have to play the odds, Howard. And the odds are with us. But at the same time, when we entered into this ‘opportunity’ we knew it came with risks. You don’t set out to do something on this grand a scale without risks.”

  “What if she knows everything?”

  “She doesn’t. If she did there are other channels she could have pursued. She knows who is involved. She may know generally what we want to do. She doesn’t know the specific target. I would know if she did, trust me.”

  Howard passed a hand over his forehead, which was wicking off sweat though the day was cool. “It didn’t seem as risky when we were planning it.”

  “Planning something never seems risky. It’s in the execution where all the risk comes.”

  “And that’s what Reel has been doing, executing people.”

  “That’s what she does. And she’s good at it.”

  “How do you know so much about it?”

  “I wasn’t always a judge, Howard.”

  “Intelligence?”

  “Not something I can talk about.”

  “How did you end up on the bench?”

  “A law degree and friends in high places. And it allows me great cover and latitude for other endeavors. But I know what I’m talking about. We’ll get through this. Don’t for a second think that I’m not counterpunching against Reel. She’s good, but she’s alone. She can’t match our resources.”

  “She’s still out there. She’s still alive.”

  “For now.” Kent looked toward the house. “I think they must be getting close to cake and ice cream. We should probably head back. Don’t want to disappoint the kiddies.”

  As the two men walked back to the house, Kent thought about the next move o
n the game board.

  He had not been entirely honest with his nervous congressman.

  Reel was a force to be reckoned with; that was certain.

  But Kent had bigger problems.

  The fact of Jacobs’s and Gelder’s murders didn’t bother him so much. Now that the plan was being executed, it was to his advantage that principal players started dropping. If the plan went awry it was always fellow conspirators who turned and brought you down.

  Gelder probably would have held up, but he also had a lot to lose.

  Jacobs was a weak link. He was a necessary part of the operation on the ground, but he came up short when real pressure was applied. He would have turned on them. If Reel hadn’t killed him Kent would have.

  When they were back at the party, Kent glanced sideways at Decker as the ten-year-old birthday boy blew out his candles.

  Decker was another weak link.

  Kent should have known better than to enlist a congressman, but Decker had his value—his chairmanship of a committee that was of particular use to Kent. Now that value had been utilized and Decker’s importance had declined correspondingly.

  And there was one other person on board.

  He was not a weak link.

  Kent, in fact, had to take precautions against this person arriving at the decision that he himself was a liability.

  That was his bigger problem. If he was deemed to be a weak link by this partner, then his life was in grave danger. More danger, in fact, than having Reel on his trail.

  Kent left the house with his youngster in tow. He watched Decker get into a Town Car with his son. The driver looked capable and was no doubt armed.

  But there was only one of him.

  Right before Decker climbed into the car he stopped and looked back at Kent.

  The judge smiled and waved.

  Decker waved back and then got into the car.

  Kent climbed into his Jag. He had no guards with him. But he had his son. And from what he knew of Jessica Reel, she wouldn’t kill him in front of his boy. That moral compass of hers was his best protection.

  Now if he could think of a way to glue his child to him, he’d be fine.

  Absent that, he had to find Reel and kill her as quickly as possible.

  And he thought he had a way to do just that.

  And that plan involved a man named Will Robie.

  CHAPTER

  46

  ROBIE PARKED ACROSS FROM THE school and waited.

  He had returned to the D.C. area, put his truck back in the barn at his isolated old farmhouse, and taken a cab to retrieve his car from the mall.

  He hadn’t heard from Evan Tucker since he had left the IHOP.

  He hadn’t heard from anyone since he’d left the IHOP.

  He didn’t take that as a good sign.

  But he hadn’t been arrested. He took that as a plus.

  He stiffened when Julie came out of the school building and walked to the bus stop. He sat lower in his car and watched her.

  She was dressed in her typical kneeless jeans and floppy hoodie and dirty sneakers and carried the same overstuffed backpack. She tucked her long hair behind her ears and stared around.

  She wasn’t listening to her music on her phone.

  She wasn’t texting.

  She was being observant.

  Good, thought Robie. You have to be, Julie.

  The bus came and she got on. When it pulled off Robie follwed. He followed all the way until the bus stopped and Julie got off. Then he watched her make it safely into her home. When she walked inside and the door clicked behind her Robie drove away.

  He knew he couldn’t do this every day. But right now he just wanted to keep Julie safe. He just wanted to be accomplishing something positive.

  He stared down at his phone and decided to just do it. He hit his speed dial.

  Two rings later she answered.

  “Unbelievable,” said Nicole Vance. “Did you misdial?”

  He ignored her sarcasm. “You have time to meet?”

  “Why?”

  “Just to talk.”

  “You never want to just talk, Robie.”

  “Today I do. If you don’t have time, no worries.”

  “I can make seven o’clock, not before.”

  They made arrangements to meet and Robie clicked off.

  He had time to do something and he decided to take full advantage of it. He made another phone call and arranged to meet with the man.

  He really didn’t know what to expect, but he felt it was the path of least resistance. And to the extent that he trusted anyone, he trusted this person.

  Thirty minutes later he was sitting across from Blue Man.

  “I understand that several days ago you waylaid the director while he was being driven to work,” Blue Man said.

  “Is that the scuttlebutt here?”

  “Is it true?”

  “I needed some answers.”

  “Did you get them?”

  “No, that’s why I’m here.”

  “This is all above my pay grade, Robie.”

  “That’s not an excuse I can accept.”

  Blue Man fiddled with his tie and wouldn’t make eye contact.

  Robie said, “Are we being recorded here?”

  “Probably.”

  “Then we need to go somewhere else.”

  “Another IHOP? I heard about that. It’s now the stuff of agency lore, in fact,” said Blue Man, and he wasn’t smiling.

  “Let’s make it a Starbucks.”

  Twenty minutes later they walked into the Starbucks, ordered, got their coffees from the barista, and sat down at a table outside that was well away from all the other coffee drinkers. The wind was picking up, but for once it wasn’t raining and the sky didn’t look overly threatening.

  They sipped their coffees and Blue Man huddled in his trench coat. To Robie he looked like a banker out for a cup of expensive perked coffee beans. He didn’t seem like a man who made life-and-death decisions. Who dealt with issues of national security as readily as other people made choices for lunch.