The Innocent (37 page)

He pulled into the condominium complex and got out of the Volvo. Julie trailed him inside the building. They rode the elevator up, got off, and walked down the hall.

Robie knocked on the door of 701.

He heard footsteps. They stopped. Robie sensed an eyeball looking at him through the peephole.

The door opened.

Vance wore black jogging shorts, a pale green Marine Corps T-shirt, and white ankle socks. She stared first at Robie, and then her gaze fell to Julie.

Julie exclaimed, “You’re getting super agent Vance to cover your ass?”

Vance looked back at Robie. “Super agent Vance? What the hell is going on? Who’s the kid?”

“That’s why I’m here,” said Robie.

Vance stepped back and let them pass through. She shut the door behind them.

Robie said, “Got any coffee? This might take a while.”

“I just put some on.”

“I like mine black,” said Julie.

“Oh, really?” said a bemused Vance.

“Michele Cohen and her husband are dead,” said Robie.

“What?” exclaimed Vance.

He sat on the sofa and motioned Julie to take a seat. Vance stood in front of him, hands on hips.

“Cohen is dead? How?”

“She was lying, like I said. The truth caught up to her.”

“Why would she lie?”

“Her husband had gambling debts. This was a way out, or so they thought.”

“How do you know they’re dead?”

“I saw him with a third eye at a bar in Bethesda. She died later along with two federal officers.”

Vance gaped. “What in the hell is going on? What federal officers?”

“Maybe that coffee first? I’ll help you.”

He walked into the kitchen and Vance was right on his butt.

She gripped his shoulder. “You better start talking and making sense, and you better do it now, Robie.”

“Okay. First, I don’t technically work for DCIS.”

“Big surprise. What else?”

“This needs to be off the record.”

“The hell it is.”

“You want that cup of coffee now?”

“What I want are some straight answers from you.”

Robie poured out two cups of coffee and handed one to her. He looked out the window at the lighted monuments in D.C. He pointed to them.

“What’s it worth to you to keep that place safe?” he said, turning to Vance.

She said incredulously, “What’s it worth? Hell, it’s worth everything.”

Robie took a sip of his coffee. “Now, what’s it worth to keep that girl in there safe?”

“You haven’t even told me who she is.”

“Julie Getty.”

“Okay, how does she figure into any of this?”

“She was on the bus that night, but got off before it blew up.”

“How the hell do you know that?” Vance asked sharply.

“Because I got off with her. That’s why I knew Cohen was lying. As you can see, Julie and I aren’t black.”

Robie took another sip of coffee and turned to look back at the monuments.

Vance stood there rocking back and forth on her heels, obviously trying to process this stunning revelation. Finally, she stopped rocking.

“
You
were on that bus,” yelled Vance. “Why? And why am I just finding out now?”

Julie said, “Because it was a need to know and you didn’t need to know. At least back then.”

They both turned to see Julie standing in the doorway.

Vance looked from her to Robie. “Need to know? So you’re in intelligence? I swear to God, Robie, if this is some CIA bullshit that we’ve been running around in circles on, I will seriously consider shooting somebody, starting with you.”

“There’s something off with this whole case, Vance, and there has been from the start.”

“Robie, you have a ton of explaining to do, starting now. What were you doing on that bus? And what happened there? And who blew it up?”

“I don’t know who blew it up. But it had to be done remotely. Not a timer.”

“Why?”

“They didn’t want to kill either of us, that’s why.”

“Again, why?”

“Don’t know. I just know that they want one or both of us alive, for some reason.”

Vance turned to Julie. “What were you doing on the bus?”

“Can I have my coffee first?”

“Jesus, here.” Vance handed Julie her cup. “Now, what were you doing on the bus?”

“Some guy murdered my parents. My mom sent a note to me at school, or at least I thought it was from my mom. The note told me to get on that bus and meet them in New York. When I did, the same guy who killed my parents got on and attacked me. Will helped stop him. We got off the bus. And that’s when it blew up. Knocked us both off our feet.”

Vance snapped, “It was
your
gun we found near the bus. You were in Jane Wind’s apartment. You were going to kill her.”

“Just listen to him, Agent Vance,” pleaded Julie.

“Why should I?”

“Because somebody killed my parents. And Will saved my life, more than once, actually. He’s a good guy.”

When Vance looked back Robie was sipping his coffee, staring out the window, his back to her.

Vance calmed and said, “I think I’ll take a cup of coffee too.”

Julie poured one and handed it to her.

Vance glanced at Robie. “Is the rest of what you’re going to tell me just as bad?”

“Probably worse,” he replied.

“You’ve put me in an awkward situation. I should report all of this.”

“Agreed. You should. I did with my people, only to find out we had a traitor or two in the ranks. I wonder what the odds are of there being more?”

She hiked her eyebrows. “You mean at the Bureau?”

“You never had any bad apples?”

“Not many,” she said defensively.

“It only takes one,” noted Julie.

“It only takes one,” repeated Robie.

Vance sighed and slumped against the counter. “What do you want me to do?”

R
OBIE TURNED THE
Volvo in at Dulles Airport and took the shuttle bus to the main terminal. He bought a ticket on a United Airlines flight leaving for Chicago in about two hours, went through security, and hit the restroom along with a dozen other guys. He went into a stall with his duffel bag and came out later with a collapsible roller and wearing a warm-up suit, glasses, and a ball cap. He walked to an exit, rode the bus back to the car rental outlets, leased a new set of wheels using a credit card under an alias—an Audi this time—and sped west on the toll road.

He peered in the rearview mirror. If anyone could keep up a tail after that, they deserved to win.

An hour later he pulled into his hideaway in the woods. He drove the car into the barn and closed the doors. Using a rake to shove straw out of the way on the floor of the barn, he revealed a metal hatch. He removed the hatch and hoisted himself down through the opening. He flicked a switch and old fluorescent tube lighting blinked on. He skipped down the metal steps and put his feet down on a solid concrete floor. He had not built this place. The farmer who’d originally owned the property had grown up in the thirties. When the fifties had come along he’d decided to build a bomb shelter under his barn, thinking that some wood, straw, and inches of concrete could protect him from any thermonuclear shenanigans the Soviet Union might decide to throw at America.

Robie moved down a short hallway and stopped. In front of him was a wall of firepower that he had drawn on in the past to accomplish his work. It included pistols, rifles, shotguns, and even
a surface-to-air missile launcher. It seemed James Bondish, but was actually just the typical stock-in-trade for people in Robie’s field. He took down what he thought he might need and stacked it against one wall.

He opened a drawer of a workbench and pocketed a couple of electronic transmitters. He spent another ten minutes picking out various other items that might come in handy and packed everything up in a large duffel bag. He carried it up the steps, closed the hatch, spread the straw back over it, and put the duffel in the trunk of the Audi.

Five minutes later he was speeding back east. He checked in at an extended-stay motel and unloaded his equipment. He changed clothes and called Julie. Robie had left her in the care of Vance and the FBI. Vance had only told her superiors that Julie was a possible witness and needed protection. Two agents from out of town had been called in to assist with the protection detail. Right now Robie didn’t really trust anyone in D.C.

Julie sounded excited. “I got an idea. I called the Broomes on the phone you gave me. And I got a text back,” she said. “They want to meet.”

“You know it’s probably
not
the Broomes, right?” said Robie in a calming tone. “They could have had the Broomes’ phone, and when they got your call, they just texted back to your number. If it were the Broomes they probably would have simply called.”

“Do you always have to be a downer?” asked Julie.

“Where and when?”

She told him.

“Can you come and pick me up?” she asked.

“Julie, you’re not going anywhere near that place.”

He could almost see her face falling across the digital ether.

“What?”

“This is most likely a setup. You’re not going. I’ll handle it.”

“But we’re a team. You said so.”

“I’m not putting you in any more danger than you already are. I’ll handle it and then report back to you.”

“That sucks.”

“I’m sure from your point of view it does suck, but it’s the smart thing to do.”

“I can take care of myself, Will.”

“Under most circumstances I would agree with that. This is not one of those circumstances.”

“Thanks for nothing.”

“You’re welcome.”

But she had already clicked off.

Robie put the phone back into his pocket and mentally prepared for the upcoming meeting. At some point whoever was behind this would no longer be interested in keeping him alive. He wondered if that time was about to come.

He gunned up and slipped a few other items into his jacket pocket, then called Vance and filled her in.

“I’ll come with you,” she said.

“You sure?” he asked.

“Don’t ask me again, Robie. Because my answer might just change.”

T
HE
M
ARTIN
L
UTHER
K
ING
J
R.
Memorial’s official opening had been delayed because of a hurricane that had exhibited incredibly bad timing as it swept up the East Coast. But now the memorial was open. The centerpiece was the Stone of Hope, a thirty-foot-high statue of Dr. King, comprised of 159 granite blocks fashioned to look like a single chunk of stone. Its official address was 1964 Independence Avenue, after the 1964 Civil Rights Act. The memorial was roughly equidistant between the Lincoln and Jefferson memorials, and sited along the “line of leadership” between the other two memorials. It was adjacent to the FDR Memorial and was the only memorial on the National Mall dedicated to a person of color, and a non-president.

Robie knew all of this and had even attended the opening ceremony for the memorial. But tonight he was only interested in survival.

He spoke quietly into his headset as he eyed the memorial. “You in place?”

Vance’s voice came into his ear. “Roger that.”

“See anyone?”

“No.”

Robie kept moving and kept looking. He had on night-vision goggles, but they couldn’t see what wasn’t there.

“Julie?”

The voice was to his left, near the memorial.

It was a man. Robie tightened the grip on his pistol and spoke into his headset again. “Did you hear that?”

Vance said, “Yes, but I don’t have a visual on the source yet.”

A second later Robie did.

The man stepped clear of the memorial. In the wash of moonlight and with the aid of his special goggles Robie could see that it was indeed Leo Broome. He recognized him from a photo he had seen in the man’s apartment.

Vance’s voice came into his ear. “Is that Broome?”

“Yes, sit tight and cover my back.”

Robie moved forward until he was within ten feet of the other man.

“Mr. Broome?”