The American (28 page)

Vanderveen looked up in annoyance before answering. Several ambulances were racing past him on the Dwight D. Eisenhower Freeway, and he could barely hear the woman over the scream of their sirens. “No. You've been very helpful.”

“You're welcome. Have a good day, sir.”

Vanderveen hung up and walked back to the Honda. He remembered Kealey as a man with incomparable devotion to the units in which he served. Since he had served in a number of units, it had taken a number of calls. A lot of calls, in fact. Vanderveen had almost given up when it finally came to him.

In that glorious moment of epiphany, he remembered that Kealey had once gone to the commanding general at Bragg with a fund-raising idea for the Ranger Memorial Foundation. This recollection had then led him to the USARA, one of the leading organizations chaired by former Army Rangers.

Vanderveen felt a twinge of satisfaction as he crossed the Francis Case Memorial Bridge and left the darkening Washington skyline far behind. He had come to a decision. He was going forward with it. He had come too far, worked too hard to throw it all away now. To assume the woman had taken her own life before talking required a tremendous leap of faith on his part, but he was prepared to take that leap. There was too much to lose if he didn't.

It had been a productive day, and Vanderveen allowed himself a glimmer of satisfaction at the knowledge that he once more held the power of life and death over a man whose fate should have been sealed on a Syrian hilltop seven years earlier.

 

After the late-night dash from the Hay-Adams, Kealey had traded down to a far more modest hotel on the outskirts of Alexandria. He had paid cash in advance before learning that the Elgin story was already dead, thinking that if the reporters managed to track him down, they had probably earned themselves a story. He was drained—physically from the long hours and the constant stress, and emotionally from the protracted argument with Harper that had not managed to resolve itself.

Ryan had no illusions that his career would continue at the Agency, but he respected Harper, counted him as a friend, and it bothered him that he had walked out of Langley without trying to repair the rift between them.

He brought the BMW to a halt in the dying light of the hotel's parking lot. He breathed deeply and closed his eyes, allowing himself, just for a moment, a glimpse at what life might hold when it was all said and done. The teaching at Orono wasn't bad; it was boring, but he could live with that. Maybe he'd get more involved, take on some extra classes. Maybe they would move, find a place closer to the city. Katie had suggested it recently, but he wasn't sure if she had been serious or not.

They could go anywhere. Ryan had a great deal of money, mostly inherited from his grandfather on his mother's side. He tried not to flaunt it…There was the car and the fancy hotels, but the house on Cape Elizabeth, while comfortable, was nothing overly extravagant for the area, and retirement was still nothing more than a distant possibility. The engagement ring had been his biggest purchase by far of the past year.

At the same time, he wasn't cheap, and there were so many places they could go…

He got out of the car and walked toward their room. Maybe, for a while at least, it would be good to get away. He wondered what she would think of a ceremony at sunset on a beach on the Mediterranean, and a smile touched his face at the thought of her reaction. Suddenly, he couldn't wait to ask her.

Unlocking the door, he was greeted only by silence when he pushed into the room. “Katie?” No answer.

Looking around, his eyes moved to the bed. Her luggage was sitting on the bedspread, her clothes spilling out of it. Just then she emerged from the bathroom and, seeing him, stopped dead in her tracks. The look on her face said it all.

It's your fault, Ryan,
a little voice inside told him.
You've been ignoring her for weeks. You should have expected this.

Still, he had to ask it. “What are you doing? What's wrong?”

There was a long silence as she summoned up her resolve. When she did, her words hit him like a slap in the face: “I'm leaving, Ryan. I'm going back to Maine.”

He had seen it coming, of course, but that didn't make it any easier to hear. “Why?” She didn't answer, instead moving forward to cram the rest of her clothes in the bag. “Katie, please, just…Will you stop for a second?”

Her movements slowed until she stopped completely and looked up at him. Even from across the room, he could see that she was trying hard not to cry.

“Why are you leaving?”

“‘Why?'” She was incredulous, staring at him with a strange combination of anger, disappointment, and hurt on her face. “Are you seriously asking me that? Ryan, I've hardly seen you in the past few days, and all I can think about is what you're doing and whether you're okay or not. Do you have any idea how hard that is? Do you even remember why I came down here in the first place?”

“Yes, I
do
know. I told you—”

“You're such a liar,” she interrupted bitterly. The look in her eyes reflected the pain she was feeling. “You don't understand at all. If you did, even a little bit, you wouldn't be putting me through this. You would know how much it hurts.”

He was beginning to realize how serious this actually was. “Katie, I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. I didn't know, I swear…”

She was still staring at him. The disappointment had given way to a gaze of distrust, which was somehow far worse. “I love you, Ryan,” she finally said. “I do. But I can't be here while this is going on, I just can't. Being here, so close but not knowing what's happening, wondering if someone's going to knock on the door in the middle of the night and tell me that you—” She broke off abruptly, unable or unwilling to verbalize the thought. “It's just too much for me.”

A horn sounded outside. Katie swiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her sweater and picked up her bag. “That's for me,” she whispered. “I called a taxi. My ticket is waiting at the airport.”

Ryan didn't know what to do. For all the anguish he was feeling, the worst part was seeing her in pain. He thought about reaching out for her, trying to hold her back, but sensed that that would only make things worse. He was fighting for words. How often does everything come down to a few sentences? What could he offer that might limit the distance between them?
Say something.

“Katie?” She turned at the door but refused to lift her gaze. “I hope you understand that what I said before, about needing you…I meant that, you know? I can't think of anything else, or say anything else that would be more true.”

She let go of what might have been a choked sob, but she still wouldn't meet his eyes. “Don't call me, Ryan.”

“What?” The panic started to rise inside. He took a step toward her. “Katie, listen—”

“No!” She held up a wavering hand to stop him. “Just…don't, okay? Not for a while. I need some time.”

“Katie!” She was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

He stared after her in disbelief, wanting to follow but unable to move, trying desperately to figure out what the hell had just happened. Looking around, he was vaguely aware of sterile prints and stock furniture. This would be life without her, he knew. Flat surroundings and still air.

He couldn't go back to that, not after what she had given him. He needed time, time to think about it, time to figure out how to get her back, but something was piercing his thoughts. He looked around, dazed, still trying to get his mind around the disaster that had just transpired. His cell phone was sitting on the dresser where he had tossed it earlier. After staring at it for a good twenty seconds, he finally realized that it was ringing.

 

Ryan was running back out to the car less than thirty seconds later. The tires on his BMW left a 6-foot strip of rubber behind as he peeled out into the night, back toward the city lights, back toward Washington. He had taken his jacket and his phone. For the moment, decisions about Katie would just have to wait.

W
hen Naomi woke, her return to the world was a gradual process. First she had a sense of shadows spread across the ceiling, separated only by fine threads of yellow light. As she gained a sense of her surroundings—
a hospital?
—the light seemed to bleed into the dark patches, so that she soon became aware of the faces staring down at her. She read them carefully as her vision cleared. When she saw concern and not dread in their eyes, she felt relief wash through her body.

Ryan took her hand as Harper went to look for a nurse. “Naomi, can you hear me?”

She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and she wasn't altogether there yet. “Mmmm.”

“You're going to be fine,” he assured her. “You took two rounds, but the vest caught both of them. I wouldn't move around for a little while, though. It's going to hurt.”

Sure enough, she felt a crushing pain in her chest when she tried to sit up. Ryan eased her head back onto the pillow and smoothed her hair. “Jesus, I just told you not to move,” he said in quiet exasperation. “I don't believe you sometimes. If I told you not to run into traffic, you'd probably do it just to spite me.”

She smiled weakly. “How long have I been out?”

“About three hours. How do you feel?”

She tested her limbs and winced. “Sore. Can I have some water?”

As Ryan went to fill a cup from the sink, she said, “When can I go home?”

“We're waiting to see,” he replied gently. He handed her the cup. “Try to get some rest.” He squeezed her hand as she drank. Harper reentered the room, followed soon thereafter by a harried-looking nurse. The young woman proceeded to check Naomi's vital signs as Ryan pulled the deputy director toward the door.

Once they were in the hall, he leveled Harper with angry eyes. “What the
fuck
was she doing on that raid, John?”

“She's a grown woman,” Harper responded quietly. “She wanted the chance and I gave it to her. Besides, you're in no position to question me, Ryan, not after the shit you pulled with Elgin.”

The younger man looked away and tried to calm himself. Anger wouldn't help him here, and he knew it. “What was in the apartment?” he finally asked.

“Not much, but it's early yet. We're still trying to ID the occupants. The landlord had names, of course, but they were meaningless. It would have been nice to take one of them alive. The Bureau found a cell phone, still intact but cloned. We probably won't get anything useful out of that. The outgoing calls were deleted. There was a laptop, too, but someone put a half dozen rounds into it when the shooting began.” Harper leaned back against the wall and rubbed his eyes. “It wasn't a good trade, Ryan. HRT lost four operators with another one on the way out. The SAC got clipped as well. We didn't get shit in return. The Bureau's in an uproar; that's two of their top guys on the East Coast dead inside of a month. The only positive thing is that we've been able to throw the press off track. They're carrying it as a high-risk arrest warrant that went bad.”

“There was no kind of documentation anywhere in the apartment? I find that hard to believe.”

“Well, believe it,” Harper said. “They knew what they were doing.” A thoughtful expression came over his face. “I'm interested in the woman. You know how the Iranian hard-liners feel about women in general. They would only use one if it was absolutely necessary. Whatever she was doing for them must have been special. The landlord said these two landed on her doorstep about six months ago, so we'll have people checking immigration records from early in the year. If they were meant to be long-term sleepers, they would have burrowed right in. It would have been Tehran to Western Europe, to break up the trail, then on to Washington. There's a good chance we'll pick them out sooner or later.”

Ryan looked up. “What makes you so sure they were Iranian?”

“Naomi said she heard them calling out to each other in Farsi when the shooting started.”

“That only narrows it down, John. Farsi is spoken in Afghanistan, Iraq, Bahrain…They could have been from just about anywhere in the Middle East.”

The DDO frowned impatiently. “Given recent developments, Ryan, I think it's safe to say they weren't Iraqis. This lead originated with Shakib, remember?”

“Yeah…” Kealey sighed heavily. “Yeah, you're right.”

Harper was looking at him curiously. “What's wrong with you?”

“Nothing.” He realized he had snapped out the answer. “What now?”

Harper was still staring at him. “They'll be discharging Naomi in an hour or two,” he finally said. “The Bureau's supposed to be faxing the apartment inventory over to Langley, so I want to get back and take a look. Can you wait for her?”

“Yeah, I'll wait.” Ryan rubbed his face wearily. He was tired, and he didn't want to sit around for an hour or two and brood about Katie, but he couldn't leave Naomi alone in the hospital. “Not a problem. I have some things to think about anyway.”

Harper nodded and clapped a hand lightly on Kealey's shoulder. As he began to walk away, Ryan hesitated, then called out to him.

Jonathan turned. “Yeah?”

“About the woman who shot Naomi…”

Harper shook his head slowly. “It wasn't Naomi who got her. Naomi managed to get off a few rounds but missed. It was one of the Bureau guys.”

“Okay…thanks.”

“You bet.”

As Harper was walking away again Ryan felt something lift from his shoulders. It was the last thing Naomi needed right now, to live with that burden. He was glad she wouldn't have to.

He went back in to wait for her.