The Innocent

Robie got them settled in the house, showed Vance where things were, set the alarm and perimeter security, and then strode out to the barn. He climbed on his motorcycle, slipped on his helmet, and started the bike. The powerful pulses of the engine soothed him, gave him something else to focus on besides what he had to do later.

He rode his bike east and then north. He reached the Beltway and followed that long curve north. He raced over the Woodrow Wilson Bridge, the winking lights of D.C. to his left, the green sweep of Virginia running to Mount Vernon to his right.

The building he arrived at nearly thirty minutes later was brick, small, and had a high fence running around it. There was a guard in uniform posted out front. Robie had called ahead. He was on the list. He had his proper creds. The guard let him pass through after doing a thorough search.

A few minutes later he was walking down the only hall the building had. Doors on the left and right led off from this main artery. They were all closed. The hour was late. There wouldn’t be many people here.

But there was at least one. The one he wanted. The man who had held Robie’s position before Robie had.

He stopped at one door, knocked.

Footsteps came his way. The door swung open.

A man in his mid-fifties with white close-cropped hair stood before him. He and Robie were about the same height. The man was trim, his shoulders broad; he seemed to have retained much of the strength of his youth.

When he shook Robie’s hand, that strength was clearly evident. He ushered him in and closed the door, but not without first taking a look down the hall, ostensibly for any threats. Even here, Robie would have done the same thing. It was just a part of you at this level.

The room was small, efficiently laid out. No personal mementos were evident. The man sat behind his desk, on which was a small laptop. Robie sat across from him, settled his hands over his flat stomach.

“It’s been a while, Will,” said the man.

“I’ve been kind of busy, Shane.”

Shane Connors said, “I know you have. Good work.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Connors cocked his head to the left. “Explain that.”

Robie took ten minutes to walk him through the recent developments. When he was done the other man leaned back in his chair, his gaze solidly on Robie.

“I can get the squad makeup right now. But once you get that, what are your plans?”

“To follow it up. There’s a maximum of seven of them left. Local ones will be the focus, of course.”

“I can see that.”

Connors leaned toward his laptop, hit some keys, and then sat back. “Give it ten minutes.” He continued to look at Robie. “It’s been twelve years for you.”

“I know. I’ve been counting too.”

As though on cue, Robie could hear the tick of a clock coming from somewhere in the office.

Connors said, “Looked down the road?”

“I’ve been looking down the road since the first day.”

“And?”

“And there are certain possibilities. But nothing more than that.”

Connors looked disappointed by this, but he said nothing. His gaze went to the laptop. For the next eight minutes both men stared at it.

When the email fell into the electronic mailbox, Connors hit a few keys and a printer resting on the edge of the desk whooshed. Some papers slid out. He picked them up but did not glance at the pages before passing them to Robie.

“I need a fresh car. Untraceable,” said Robie. “I can leave my bike as collateral.”

Connors nodded. “It’ll take two minutes.”

“Thanks.”

He made a call. Two minutes passed. The computer dinged. Connors nodded again.

“Done.”

They rose.

Robie said, “I appreciate this, Shane.”

“I know.”

Robie shook his hand. As he turned to leave Connors said, “Will?”

Robie turned back.

“Yeah?”

“When you look down the road next time, look farther than a place like this.”

Robie glanced around the office, settled his gaze back on the man, and gave a slight nod. Then he was walking down the hall, the papers clutched in his hand.

CHAPTER 79

Before starting up the car, a trim, tan Chevy, Robie looked at the pieces of paper. There were only three names on them, because of the seven squad members other than Wind, Getty, and Broome, four had died, all of them years ago. That made Robie’s job a little easier. At least potentially. There was something else that made it easier still. All lived locally. Also included were their current addresses and a brief military history of each. The military kept impeccable records.