The Innocent (42 page)

“No,” said Robie tersely. “I don’t think they’re cops or Feds.”

Vance cut the wheel to the left and screeched the Beemer into a ninety-degree turn, racing down a side street.

“Well then
do
something!” she snapped.

He turned, looked at Julie, who was hunkered down in the seat. “Undo your seat belt and get on the floorboard,” he said.

“What if the car wrecks and I don’t have a belt on?” she said.

“I think that’ll be the least of your worries.”

Julie undid her belt and dropped into the space between the front and rear seats.

Robie took aim with his Glock and fired once through the shattered back window. His shot hit the front of the SUV. Robie had aimed to take out the radiator. His shot had hit dead center. He could hear the round ping off.

“Armored,” he said to Vance.

He fired next into the left front tire. The rubber should have shredded. It didn’t.

“Run-flat tires,” said Robie. “Cute. Really cute.”

“If they’re armored we should be able to outrun them,” said Vance.

“Depends on what kind of horsepower they’ve got.”

He fired again, at the windshield. It cracked part of the glass, but the SUV did not slow down.

“Well, at least they’re not perfect,” said Robie.

He saw the gun appear from the passenger-side window. Robie observed instantly that it wasn’t just any gun. If it hit them it would be over.

He grabbed the wheel from Vance and slammed the car into a hard right turn that took it off the road, over the curb, and into someone’s front yard.

A split second later the gun pointing from the SUV roared a dozen automatic times. The rounds missed the Beemer, but behind them the car that was parked nearest the intersection exploded.

The SUV couldn’t make the turn and continued to speed down the road. Then came the screech of brakes and gears reversing.

Robie worked the wheel and the Beemer jumped the curb and landed back on the road. He took his hands off the steering wheel and looked back.

“What the hell was that?” demanded a shaky-looking Vance.

“It’s called a Sledgehammer,” said Robie. “Assault combat shotgun. I recognized it from the big ammo drum. It must’ve ignited the fuel tank on that car back there.”

He pointed up ahead. “Take the next left and then a right and then hit the gas hard. By the time they get back on our tail we’ll be gone.”

Vance did as he instructed and they were soon alone on a road leading west away from all the shooting. They could hear sirens seemingly coming from all directions.

Julie sat up and buckled her seat belt after wiping shards of automobile glass off the seat and out of her hair.

Robie glanced at her. “You okay?”

She nodded but didn’t say anything.

He looked around. “You left your backpack at the safe house?”

She nodded again.

Vance said, “What changed, Robie?”

He looked at her after easing his gun back into its holster.

“Come again?” he said.

“They didn’t want to kill us before, just scare the shit out of us or intimidate us or who the hell knows what. But now it seems pretty clear they want us gone. So what changed?”

“Could be lots of things,” he answered. “Without knowing the endgame it’s hard to know what makes these folks tick. Or what part any of us play in all of it.”

“So we need to figure out the endgame,” said Vance.

“Easier said than done,” replied Julie.

“What changed?” This time the query came from Robie.

Vance and Julie looked at him. “That’s what I just said,” replied Vance.

He didn’t answer. He just stared straight ahead.

He would’ve smiled, only he didn’t because it might lead to nothing.

But finally,
finally
Robie might have something.

R
OBIE DIRECTED
V
ANCE
to his hideaway farmhouse. At his demand she had turned off the GPS chip in her phone. Vance had called in to her supervisor on the drive over and reported what had happened. One FBI agent was dead on the scene, the man Robie and Julie had seen. The other agent was nowhere to be found. In fact, the Bureau could not confirm that he was in fact the agent that had been sent to Virginia to protect Julie.

Vance dropped the phone into her lap with a grimace of disgust. “Dammit! Get the little shit right and the big shit doesn’t happen.”

“You have to go off grid,” said Robie. “You okay with that?”

“Does that mean you actually trust me?”

“They were willing to kill you back there too.”

“I have no problem going off grid so long as there’s a plan.”

“It’s evolving. But I need some information.”

“What kind?”

He looked at Julie, who sat in the backseat staring at him.

“What changed was Julie came up with the right answer.”

“What answer?” Julie asked.

“It was a timing issue, really. As soon as you said it the red dot appeared on your chest. That’s when we both might’ve become expendable.”

Vance looked at Julie. “What did you say?”

She said, “That my dad and Mr. Broome and Rick Wind were part of a squad. And a squad has nine or ten soldiers in it. So maybe they talked to someone else in the squad. And that’s where all this
started. I mean, if the three of them kept in touch, maybe some others did too.”

Robie nodded and looked at Vance. “So the safe house wasn’t just unsafe. It was also bugged. They could hear everything we were saying. And the second Julie said that, the dot appeared.”

Vance said, “You really think that might be it? The other members of the squad?”

“I think we need to find out whether it is or isn’t, and we need to do it fast.”

“You can get that info pretty quickly from DCIS.”

“I could. But since DCIS has been infiltrated I don’t want to tip my hand.”

Vance slumped back as she drove and thought about this. “And the Bureau might have been infiltrated too.”

“Might have been!” exclaimed Julie. “What part of tonight did you miss super agent Vance?”

Vance grimaced. “Okay,
was
infiltrated.” She looked at Robie. “So what do we do?”

“I know someone who might be able to help,” he said. “An old friend.”

“You sure you can trust this person?”

“He’s earned that trust.”

“Okay.”

“But I have to leave you to go see him,” said Robie.

“Do you think it’s a good idea to split up?” asked Vance nervously.

“No,” he replied. “But it’s the only way this will work.”

“How long will you be gone?” asked Julie anxiously.

“Only as long as I have to,” he replied.

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.

B
EFORE 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.

He slipped the papers into his pocket, started up the car, and raced past the guard on his way out of the small government complex. As he retraced his route back to Virginia, he thought about Connors in his little cage back there. Connors had taught Robie pretty much everything he knew. The man was a legend in the field of sanctioned assassinations. When he’d officially retired and Robie had gone full throttle, operating all over the world, he and Connors had lost contact. Yet Robie could still vividly remember the first mission the two had performed together. After the kill was done, Connors had kissed the barrel of his rifle. When Robie asked him why he had done that, Connors had replied simply, “Because it’s the only thing standing between me being here and me not being here.”

There were a few men who could not be bought under any circumstances. Shane Connors was one of them.