Threat Level Black

“Hey, listen, Andy, it’s not like we got nothing better to do,” said the agent, Pete McGovern. He was a non-smoker but in every other way extremely dependable, the sort of guy who answered his phone on the first ring and paid off on poker debts. “Me and Christian over here have to finish checking on a whole shitload of references this afternoon.”

“Which would you rather be doing,” asked Fisher, “looking in some guy’s bathroom window so Social Security can hire him to deny a widow’s monthly check, or breaking the biggest national security case of your lifetime?”

“Don’t pull my pud, Andy.”

“That’s what I like about you, McGovern: You have a way with words.”

“Where’s the stinking address?” asked the agent. “And, for the record, these background checks were for the Department of Justice.”

“Even more reason to blow them off.”

The cell phone buzzed in Howe’s pocket. The man sitting next to him turned and pointed his gun at his face.

“If I don’t answer it, they’ll get suspicious,” he said.

“If you touch it, I’ll shoot your head off,” said the man.

Alice sat next to him in the back of the large Mercury, her hands bound and a scarf tied across her mouth. She looked angry, not afraid.

The men had put police-style handcuffs on Howe’s wrists, but his hands were in front of him and he thought he might be able to grab the gun if he lunged. But the men in front also had weapons, and it seemed unlikely that he would be able to overcome all three men before one of them shot Alice.

He’d have a better chance once they stopped the car and they got out.

“What the hell is it you want, anyway?” Howe asked.

No one bothered to answer.

“Are you not telling me because you don’t know?” he asked. “Or because you’re stupid?”

“Just shut the fuck up, okay?” said the man on his right. He pushed the pistol against his head. “Because, really, the easiest thing to do would be to shoot you here.”

“Franky,” said the driver. “Not unless we have to.”

Fisher pulled over to the side of the road to consult his map. As he pulled it out, his cell phone rang. It was McGovern.

“Apartment’s empty. Door was unlocked. Sign of a struggle.”

“Just like in the movies,” said Fisher.

“We’re going to need local help.”

“Yeah, do it,” said Fisher. “I got to keep this line clear.”

He keyed off the call before McGovern could say anything else, then tried Howe again. Once more there was no answer. He went back to looking at the map. Of the hundreds of thousands of roads in the area, Howe could only be on ten thousand or so. Fisher lit a cigarette as he considered the mechanics of roadblocks. He flipped on the radio just in time to hear a traffic report from the WKDC traffic chopper. Fisher listened to smoking buddy Maureen Justice claim that traffic hadn’t moved this smoothly since Madison ’s second administration.

Out of ideas, Fisher snapped off the radio and went to the pay phone to call McGovern.

“Local detectives sent some people right over,” said McGovern. “They were real cooperative until they heard your name. What are you going to do now?”

“Wait for my phone to ring. If Howe calls we can track it down. I already have it set up.”

“What if he doesn’t call?”

“Then we move over to Plan B.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not sure, but it involves spectacular detective work, a car chase, gunshots, and a hell of a lot of cigarettes smoked down to the nub.”

Howe had to punch two keys on the cell phone to call the last number he had dialed; without taking the phone from his pocket it wouldn’t be easy to find the buttons, let alone hit them in the proper order. And there was little chance of even getting the phone out without the thug next to him seeing.

The driver’s comment earlier seemed to mean that they were under instructions not to kill him. But it could also mean that he wanted to wait until they reached a place where it was more convenient.

They were moving along at a good clip on the highway, but there were enough cars nearby that someone might at least notice if the car veered suddenly, or even see bullets flying through the side glass.

Better to wait and see what developed.

Chapter 14

The world above Tyler ’s head shaded red, pulsing with the short, sharp breaths he took. He forced himself to look for Somers. Three breaths, four-he looked left, looked back right, finally saw the historian sprawled behind him.

God, I killed him.

Tyler scrambled over to him. Somers was breathing. As far as Tyler could tell, he hadn’t been hurt, just lost his wind.

Gunfire popped nearby, the sound ricocheting off the nearby hills. The helicopter lay on its side fifty yards in front of him.

He was too scared to help the people stuck in it; too chicken.

Coward. Stinking coward.

Tyler leaned his head forward in the direction of the stricken aircraft. He felt as if something were holding him back, wind rushing against him. Voices screamed at him:

Coward.

Coward.