The Innocent

  “I know that. But she’s also a tough kid. And smart. And determined.”

  Robie’s mouth twisted. “This isn’t some scrape-up on the playground. Or some chemistry test you either pass or fail. One or both of us probably won’t make it through to the end. So what chance does she have?”

  Vance said, “But you’re just a killer, Robie. You said that’s all you are. So why do you care what happens to me or her? It’s just another job. If we die, we die.”

  “But she shouldn’t die. She deserves to have a life.”

  “Pretty weird statement for a cold-blooded killer to make.”

  “Okay, Vance, I get your point.”

  She pointed toward the house. “Let’s go work on the plan. All of us.”

  Robie didn’t say anything, but he started to walk toward the house. Vance fell into step beside him.

  He said, “Whatever happens, Julie is going to survive this.”

  Vance said, “And for what it’s worth, I’ll do all I can to make sure you do too.”

  CHAPTER

  81

  JEROME CASSIDY.

  Elizabeth Claire Van Beuren. Her maiden name was Elizabeth Claire and she had incorporated that into her married name, Van Beuren.

  Gabriel Siegel.

  Those were the three names on the list.

  Robie stared down at them as he drank his coffee at the kitchen table of the farmhouse.

  It was eight-thirty. The sun was well up. He could hear the shower running upstairs and figured Vance had just stepped into it. Julie was already up. She was in the back room, no doubt brooding about their last encounter.

  Fifteen minutes later Vance was seated across from him, her hair still wet, her pants and shirt wrinkled but presentable.

  “If we have to be off grid much longer,” she said, “I might have to get a few things.”

  He nodded, rose, and poured her a cup of coffee.

  She spun the pieces of paper around and eyed the list of names.

  “Who do we go after first?” she asked.

  Robie handed her a cup of coffee right as Julie walked in. Her eyes were puffy and her clothes were even more wrinkled than Vance’s. She obviously had not bothered to undress when she had gone back to sleep.

  Robie held up the cup. “Want some?”

  “I can get it,” she said irritably.

  She took down a cup and poured out her coffee. They sat at the table, not making eye contact.

  Robie pushed the pieces of paper at Julie and said, “Recognize any of these names?”

  She took her time looking at the list.

  “No. My parents never mentioned any of them to me. Do you have pictures of them?”

  “Not yet,” answered Robie. “You sure, though? None of them ring a bell?’

  “None.”

  He took the list and eyed it.

  “Gabriel Siegel is closest distance-wise. Lives in Manassas. We’ll go there first, find out what we can.”

  Vance said, “If we’re doing it geographically, Van Beuren will be next and Cassidy last. But they might be at work. I’m assuming these are the home addresses.”

  “I thought about that too. But if they’re not at home and someone else is, we can flash our creds and get the work addresses.”

  “Once we hit one of these addresses we could pick up a tail, Robie,” said Vance. “And they could follow us right back here.”

  “Well, we just have to make sure they don’t do that.”

  “How about we call the people on the list first?” said Julie. “That way we don’t have to expose ourselves.”

  “Or how about I call the Bureau in and get them picked up for questioning?” said Vance. “They can’t have bought off everyone at the FBI.”

  “That’s what we thought last time,” noted Robie. “It didn’t work out too well.”

  “Come on, you know what I mean.”

  “I’d prefer we do this alone,” he said.

  “Okay, so we go with this Siegel guy first,” said Vance. “I’ve looked at his military history. What does that tell us about him?”

  “He was the staff sergeant. The leader of the squad. Fifty years old now. Out of the service for years. Don’t know what he does now. My source didn’t have that info.”

  Julie pulled out the phone Robie had given her. “Let me plug in his military history and address and see if Google can tell us anything.”

  She looked at Robie’s sheet and then typed away on her miniature keyboard. She waited for the data to load.

  “Mr. Siegel has a Facebook page.” She turned the phone around so they could see it. An image of a jowly man with graying hair stared back at them.

  “Do we know it’s the right guy?” asked Vance.

  Julie said, “His Facebook says he was in the Army during Gulf One, and he’s even listed the name of the Army squad he was in.”

  She showed this to Robie, who nodded. “He’s the right Siegel.”

  Julie continued. “According to his profile he works at SunTrust Bank as a branch manager.”

  “Lots of SunTrust branches around here,” said Vance. “Does it say which one?”

  “No. But his likes are guns, football, and chili cook-offs. He has twenty-nine friends, which isn’t a lot, but I don’t know how long he’s been on Facebook either. And he’s a really old guy.”

  “He’s only fifty,” Vance pointed out.

  Julie shrugged. “Like I said, he’s a really old guy. And I don’t see anything on his page that would explain why all these people are dead.”

  “What about Cassidy?” said Robie.

  Julie hit some keys and the page loaded. “Quite a few Jerome Cassidys.” She ran her eye down the page and hit the scroll key. “Offhand I don’t see any that list military service or the address you gave, at least on the Google summary page. I can go more in-depth on each of them.”

  “Try Van Beuren. That’s not such a common name,” said Vance.

  Julie did so. The page loaded. “A lot more than one would think,” she said. “It’ll take a while to go through these.”

  “We don’t have a while,” said Robie. “We need to hit this now.”

  He had pulled the car into the barn. He had earlier loaded the vehicle up with gear he thought they might need from the bunker underneath the barn. He showed Vance the firepower in the backseat. She touched an MP-5 and gazed at a Barrett rifle that could punch a hole in an armored Hummer.

  “Where’d you get stuff like that?” she asked. “Never mind, I don’t want to know,” she added quickly.

  Robie took out from the trunk three armored vests and put one on Julie while Vance slipped one on, Velcroing it tightly to her torso and putting her jacket on over it.

  Julie said, “Is this really necessary?”

  “Only if you want to survive,” said Robie.

  “It’s heavy,” she said.

  “Better than taking the bullet it’ll stop,” replied Vance.

  Robie drove, Vance rode shotgun, and Julie sat in the backseat. Robie had backed the car into the barn, so he pulled it straight out. He got out and closed and locked the barn door.

  When he got back in Vance said, “Might be the last time we can come here.”

  “It’ll be what it’ll be,” replied Robie. “Now, let’s see what Mr. Siegel can tell us.”

  He gunned the engine and drove toward the road.

  CHAPTER

  82

  IT WAS A quiet tree-lined street with modest-sized houses with attached garages, houses that would sell for two or three times what they would fetch in most other parts of the country. The lots were small and poorly landscaped, the bushes around the cookie-cutter homes overgrown enough to hide most of their fronts. Cars were parked along the streets and in a few of the yards small kids played under the watchful eyes of their mothers or nannies.

  Robie slowed his car and checked the addresses. Vance saw it first.

  “Third one on the right,” she said. “There’s a van in the
driveway. Hopefully, someone’s home.”

  Robie eased over to the curb and killed the engine. He took off his sunglasses, picked up a pair of binoculars from the front seat, and surveyed the area. There were multiple attack points, too many for them to adequately cover.

  “We’re way out in the open here,” he said.

  “No surprise,” replied Vance. “I’ll go knock on the door. You cover me from here.”

  “How about the other way around?” said Robie.

  “I’ve got my FBI creds, Robie. They trump yours.”

  “A federal shield is going to intimidate anyone.”

  Vance already had the door open.

  “If someone starts shooting, make sure you shoot back,” she said. “And shoot straight!”

  Robie and Julie watched as Vance walked up to the front stoop and rang the doorbell.

  Robie pulled his pistol from its holster, hit the button to roll down the passenger-side window, and kept his gaze sweeping in long arcs but always returning to an imaginary three-foot box around Vance.

  “She’s pretty brave to just walk up there,” noted Julie.

  “She’s a super-special FBI agent; it comes with the territory.”

  “Don’t try to make nice with me, Robie.”

  “So I’m Robie now? What happened to Will?”

  She didn’t answer.

  The front door opened and Robie fixed his gaze on the woman standing there. Vance flashed her cred pack and then took a few minutes explaining to the woman what she wanted. The look on the woman’s face—Robie assumed she was Siegel’s wife—was one of astonishment. The two women spoke for about a minute longer, and then the door closed and Vance walked quickly back to the car.

  Robie saw the curtain on the front window of the house move to the side and the woman peer out.

  Vance got back into the car and Robie started it up.

  “Gabriel Siegel works at a SunTrust branch about ten minutes from here. Got the address from his wife.”

  “She looked surprised,” said Robie.

  “She was surprised. I think she thought it had to do with some problem at the bank.”

  “Maybe her husband is stealing money,” piped up Julie. “Maybe he’s laundering it for terrorists. And my parents and the others found out.”

  “Maybe,” said Robie. He looked at Vance. “The lady was watching you as you walked back to the car.”

  “I’m sure she was. She’s probably calling her husband as we speak. So let’s get going.”

  “I’ll take the meeting with him,” said Robie. “You stay in the car with Julie.”

  “And when do I get to do something other than sit in the car?” she asked.

  “Your time will come,” said Robie. “Before this is over everybody’s time will come.”

  They reached the bank branch in less than ten minutes. Robie left them in the car and walked into the small brick building right off a busy road in Manassas. He asked for Gabriel Siegel and was shown back to a glass-enclosed cubicle about ten feet square.

  Siegel was about five-eight, stocky and pale. To Robie, he had looked much better in his Facebook photo.

  Siegel rose from the chair behind his desk and said, “What’s this about?”

  His wife obviously had called him.

  Robie flashed his badge and said, “You were in an Army squad in Gulf One?”

  “Yeah, so? Does the Army want me to reenlist? Not going to happen. I did my stint. And I’m too out of shape to carry a rifle in the desert.”

  He sat down in his chair, while Robie remained standing. “I’m more interested in the people you served with. Keep in touch with any of them?”

  “Some, yeah.”

  “Who exactly?”

  “Exactly what is this about?”

  The banker was showing some balls, thought Robie.

  “It’s a national security issue. But I can tell you that it might be tied to the bus explosion and the deaths of those people at the restaurant on Capitol Hill.”

  Siegel turned paler still. “Jesus. Somebody from my old squad was involved in that? I can’t believe it.”

  “So you know them all, well?” Robie asked pointedly.

  “No. I meant that, well, we all fought for our country. And to turn against it…” His voice trailed off and he just sat there, pudgy hands on his cheap desk, looking like a little boy who’d just been told his puppy had been run over by a car.

  “Which of them have you kept in touch with?”

  Siegel came out of his trance and said slowly, “Doug Biddle, Fred Alvarez, Bill Thompson, and Ricky Jones died. Years back.”

  “That I know. But they didn’t live in the area. They were all spread out.”

  “Yeah, but we would call each other. Exchange emails. Doug came here once and I took him around to some of the monuments. Fred got killed in a car accident. Billy put a damn gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Doug and Ricky both had cancer. Younger than me. I think it was all the crap we were exposed to over there. You know, Gulf War syndrome. I could be dying and not even know it. Every time I get a migraine I think it’s all over.”

  He sank back in his chair.

  Robie sat down opposite him and said, “Any of your old buddies locally that you hang with?”

  “I saw Leo Broome a few times. That was a while back.”

  “How far back?”

  “Over ten years ago. Ran into him at a bar in Seattle, of all places. He was out there on business and I had just changed jobs and was at a seminar. He seemed to be doing okay. Think he worked for the government or something like that. Don’t remember exactly.”

  “Anyone else?”

  “In the Middle East I was closest to Curtis Getty. But I haven’t seen him since we got back stateside. Don’t even know where he is now.”

  That would be dead, thought Robie.

  “Leo Broome ever mention Getty?”

  “Don’t remember. For some reason it didn’t seem like they had kept up. But like I said, that was a decade ago.”

  Ten years ago, that might have been the case, thought Robie. “Anyone else? Rick Wind, for instance?”

  “I read that he had been murdered. Is that what this is about?”

  “Had you been in contact with Wind?”

  “No. Not for years. Used to see him. But he’d gotten strange. Bought that pawnshop in that crummy neighborhood. I don’t know. It was just