"I think you screwed up big-time, and you just gave the Bureau a face-saving scapegoat," he said bluntly.
Reynolds's face grew serious. "You don't sugarcoat."
"Do you want me to waste time doing that?" Connie stood. "Or do you want to clear your name?"
"I have to clear my name. If I don't, I could lose it all, Connie. My kids, my career. All of it." Reynolds could feel herself trembling again and she took several deep breaths to counteract the panic she was feeling. She felt like a high schooler who had just learned she was pregnant. "But I'm suspended. No creds, no gun. No authority."
In answer Connie pulled on his overcoat. "Well, you've got me. I've got creds, a gun and, while I'm only a humble field agent after two and a half decades of doing this crap, I can do authority with the best of them. So get your coat and let's try to track down Lockhart."
"Lockhart?"
"I figure we deliver her, the pieces start to fall into place. The more they do, the more the blame gets shifted off you. I've talked to the VCU boys. They're spinning their wheels waiting on lab results and crap like that. And now Massey has them going hot and heavy on your angle and to hell with Lockhart for now. You know nobody's even gone to her house looking for clues?"
Reynolds looked miserable. "We were so reactive on the whole thing.
Ken killed. Lockhart gone. The fiasco at the airport. Then people calling themselves the FBI at Adams's apartment. We never really had a chance to take the proper investigative steps."
"So I figure we follow up some leads while they're still hot. Like checking out Adams's family in the area. I've got the list of names and addresses. If he went on the run, he might have gotten one of them to help."
"You could get into deep trouble for this, Connie."
He shrugged. "Not the first time. Besides, we don't have a squad supervisor anymore. I don't know if you heard, but she was suspended for being stupid."
They exchanged smiles.
Connie continued. "So, as second-in-command, I'm entitled to investigate an active case I happened to be assigned to. My instructions are to find Faith Lockhart, so that's what I'm going to do. They just don't know I'm doing it with you. And I talked to the VCU guys. They know what I'm up to, so we won't run into another team going through Adams's relatives."
"I need to tell Rosemary I might be gone overnight."
"Then go." He looked at his watch. "I guess Sydney's still in school.
Where's your boy?"
"Sleeping."
"Whisper in his ear that Mommy's gonna kick some butt."
When Reynolds returned, she went straight to the closet and got her coat. She hustled toward her study and then stopped.
"What's wrong?" Connie asked.
She looked at him, slightly embarrassed. "I was going to get my gun.
Old habits die hard."
"Not to worry. You'll get yours back soon enough. But you have to make me a promise. When you go to get your gun and creds, take me with you. I want to see their faces."
She opened the door for him. "Deal."
CHAPTER 41
BUCHANAN MADE A NUMBER OF OTHER PHONE CALLS from the parking garage as he worked out his arrangements. He then went up to the law firm and spent time on an important matter he suddenly cared nothing about. He was driven home, his mind working the whole time as he devised his plan against Robert Thornhill. That was one area of his being that the CIA man could never penetrate or control: Buchanan's mind. That fact was enormously comforting. Buchanan was slowly regaining his confidence.
Maybe he could give the man a run for his money.
Buchanan unlocked the front door to his home and went inside. He lay his briefcase down on a chair and passed the darkened library. He turned on the light to gaze at his beloved painting, to give him strength for what lay ahead. As the light came on, Buchanan stared in disbelief at the empty frame. He staggered over to it, put his hands through the frame and touched the wall. He had been robbed. Yet he had a very good security system, and it had not been tripped.
He raced across to the phone to call the police. As his hand touched the receiver, it rang. He picked it up.
"Your car will be around in a couple of minutes, sir. Going to the office?"
At first Buchanan's mind didn't register.
"To the office, sir?"
"Yes," Buchanan was finally able to say.
He put the phone down and stared over at where his painting had hung.
First Faith, and now his painting. All Thornhill's doing. All right, Bob, first point to you. Now it's my turn.
He went upstairs, washed his face and changed his clothes, carefully selecting what he needed to wear. He had a custom-built entertainment system in his bedroom housing a TV, stereo, VCR and DVD player. It was relatively safe from burglars since one couldn't take the components out without unscrewing numerous wooden pieces, a very time-consuming process. Buchanan did not watch TV or movies. And when he wanted music, he put a 33 platter on his old phonograph.
Sticking his hand in the slot of the VCR, Buchanan pulled out his passport, credit card and ID, all under an alias, and a slim bundle of hundred-dollar bills and put it all in a zippered inner pocket of his coat. Coming back downstairs, he looked outside and saw his car waiting. He would let him wait a few more minutes, just for the hell of it.
When that time had passed, Buchanan picked up his briefcase and walked out to the car. He climbed in and the car drove off.
"Hello, Bob," Buchanan said as calmly as he could.
Thornhill glanced down at the briefcase.
Buchanan nodded his head toward the tinted window.
"I'm going to the office. The FBI will expect me to take my briefcase.
Unless you assume they haven't tapped my phone line by now."
Thornhill nodded. "You have the makings of a good field operative in you, Danny."
"Where is the painting?"
"In a very safe place, which is far more than you deserve under the circumstances."
"What exactly does that mean?"
"That exactly means Lee Adams, private investigator. Hired by you to follow Faith Lockhart."
Buchanan feigned being taken aback for a minute. As a young man he'd had notions of being an actor. Not in the movies, but on the stage.
For him, lobbying was the next best thing. "I didn't know she had gone to the FBI when I did that. I was only concerned for her safety."
"And why was that?"
"I think you know the answer."
Thornhill looked offended. "Why in the world would I want to harm Faith Lockhart? I don't even know the woman."
"Do you have to know someone before you destroy her?"
Thornhill's tone was mocking. "You were wrong to have done it, Danny.
The painting will probably be returned to you. But for now, learn to live without it."
"How did you get into my house, Thornhill? I have a security system."
Thornhill looked as though he might burst out laughing. "A home security system? Oh, dear."
It was all Buchanan could do not to fling himself on the man.
"You amuse me, Danny, you really do. Running around trying to save the have-nots. Don't you understand? That's what makes the world go 'round. The rich and the poor. The powerful and the powerless. We'll always have them, until the world ends. And nothing you do will change that. Just as people will always hate each other, will betray each other. If it weren't for the evil qualities in humanity, I wouldn't have a job."
"I was just thinking that you missed your calling as a psychiatrist," said Buchanan. "For the criminally insane. You'd have so much in common with your patients."
Thornhill smiled. "That's how I got on to you, you know. Someone you tried to help ended up betraying you. Jealous of your success, your wanting to do good, I suppose. He didn't know about your little scheme, but he aroused my curiosity. And when I focus on someone's life, well, kept secrets are not an option. I tapped your home, your office, even your cl
othing, and found myself a treasure trove. We so enjoyed listening to you."
"Fascinating. Now tell me where Faith is."
"I was hoping you could tell me that."
"What do you want with her?"
"I want her to come and work for me. There is a friendly competition between the two agencies, but between the FBI and my agency, I would have to say that we play much fairer with our people. I've been working on this project longer than the Bureau. I don't want all my efforts to be in vain."
Buchanan chose his words carefully. He knew he was in great personal danger here. "What can Faith possibly give you that I already haven't?"
"In my line of work, two is always better than one."
"Would your math include the FBI agent you had killed, Bob?"
Thornhill took out his pipe and fiddled with it.
"You know, Danny, you would be well advised to keep yourself focused on your part of this puzzle only."
"I consider every part my part. I read the newspapers. You told me Faith had gone to the FBI. An FBI agent is killed working on an undisclosed case. Faith disappears at the same time. You're right, I hired Lee Adams to find out what was going on. I haven't heard from him. Did you have him killed too?"
a public servant. I don't have people killed."
"The FBI got on to Faith somehow, and you couldn't allow that, because your whole plan goes down the tubes if they find out the truth. And did you really think I believed you'd let me walk away with a slap on the back for a job well done? I didn't survive this long in the business by being a damned idiot."
Thornhill put his pipe away. "Survival, interesting concept. You consider yourself a survivor, and yet you come to me and make all these sorts of unfounded accusations-"
Buchanan leaned forward and placed his face right next to Thornhill's.
"I've forgotten more about the subject of survival than you ever knew.
I don't have armies of people with guns running around doing my bidding while I sit safely behind the walls of Langley analyzing the field of battle like it was a chess game. The minute you came