Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

“He’s told what he knows, which is only bits and pieces. You’re the one who has all the details. I want to hear them. From you. Right now.”

“Of course. And you will.” She leaned forward on the sofa. “But the most important thing is what I’ve learned today. It’s why I’m here. It’s why I had to give Abby up.”

“And what’s that?”

“She tracked down Dylan Garrick last night. Found him at the bar where the bikers hang out. She left with him. I got a positive ID from the bartender.”

Michaelson sat back in his chair. “So Abby Sinclair killed Garrick?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Shot him, execution-style?”

“Yes.”

“Why? To protect Andrea Lowry?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Why, then?”

Tess took a breath. “Abby was in the house when Garrick’s crew entered. She’s the one who fought them off, not Andrea.”

“You were in the goddamned house, too. You must have seen her there.”

“I saw her.”

“She’s the reason you got interested in MEDEA in the first place?” Michaelson was getting it now. “She’s why you wanted to be on the squad. You manipulated me.”

“That wasn’t hard,” Tess said with a smile, “Dick.”

She knew he hated to be called Dick. She wasn’t helping herself by baiting him.

Hauser cut in. “I don’t follow. If Sinclair wasn’t trying to protect Lowry, why did she hunt down Garrick?”

Tess shut her eyes. “She was pissed off. She nearly died in the firefight. I think she wanted… revenge.”

“Oh, great.” This time Michaelson did get up. “Just great. She’s killing people for revenge. Maybe she’ll go after the congressman next.”

He said it without thinking, but there was a sudden coldness in the room.

“Shit,” Michaelson added. “You don’t think she would, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Tess said.

“You know her.”

“Not really. I’m not sure anybody does. She keeps secrets. She plays games. You never know what she’s really thinking-or what she might do.”

“You’re saying she could go after Reynolds?” Hauser asked.

“It’s not impossible.”

“We’ll make it impossible.” Hauser stood up. “We’ll get her off the streets.”

“If you can find her,” Tess said.

“We’ll start with her home address.”

Tess shook her head. “I doubt she’ll be there. She probably expects us to be on to her by now. She’s not going to sit around waiting to be three-oh-two’d.” Form 302 was the Bureau’s standard arrest form.

“I’ll get a warrant,” Hauser said. “Telephonic approval won’t take long. Or I can plead exigent circumstances and make a warrantless entry. One way or the other, I’ll muster a raid squad and hit her residence. If she’s not there, we’ll conduct a search. There may be something in her records to indicate where she is and what she’s planning.”

“I’d like to be in on that,” Crandall said with a glance at Michaelson.

The ADIC acknowledged him with a vague gesture. “First do an indices check on Sinclair. See if her record is as clean as McCallum claims. Then you can join Agent Hauser’s team at the residence.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Go. Both of you. Agent McCallum and I have a long discussion ahead of us. Maybe by the time we’re done, you’ll have Abby Sinclair in custody. And I promise you, once we’ve got her, she’ll never see the light of day again.”

These last words were aimed at Tess. She knew Michaelson meant it.

The door opened and closed, and then she was alone with the assistant director. He settled down behind his desk again and steepled his hands. His ferret eyes and hawk nose loomed over his tented fingers.

“Start talking,” he said.

Abby waited until she was on the outskirts of San Fernando, cruising down Foothill Boulevard, before calling Andrea again. This time Andrea answered on the first ring. The hissing noise in the background indicated that she was in the bathroom again.

“It’s go time,” Abby said. “Get in your car and head southeast on Glenoaks Boulevard. You’re wearing the wig, right?”

“Yes.” There was a tremor in Andrea’s voice.

“Steady now. No need for any opening-night jitters. I’ve done this kind of thing before.”

“You have?”

“More times than I can count.” This would have been true only if she couldn’t count to zero. Normally she was the hunter, not the quarry. She’d never actually had to break free of surveillance. But how hard could it be?

She supposed she was about to find out.

“Keep the phone on,” she added. “Let me know once you’ve gotten onto Glenoaks. Oh, and remember rule number one of countersurveillance. No looking over your shoulder. That’s what the rearview mirror is for. If you start looking around in an obvious way, they’ll know you’re onto them.”

“I wouldn’t even know what to look for.”

“That’s fine. Just assume they’re tracking you. They may be behind or ahead or on parallel streets-probably all of the above.”

“Behind and ahead?”

“Most likely. They’ll be bookending you. Standard procedure, if they have enough vehicles.”

“Then how can I possibly get away?”

“Piece of cake. Just do as I say. I’ve got it all worked out.”

A few minutes passed. Abby spent the time navigating to Glenoaks Boulevard, where she parked at the curb and watched the traffic stream by. Andrea’s voice came over the phone again.

“Okay, I’m driving southeast on Glenoaks.”

“Tell me the next cross street you pass.”

“I’m coming up to it now. Corcoran Street.”

That was approximately a half mile northwest of where Abby was parked. “Call out each cross street as you pass it. I’m going to pull in somewhere behind you as you pass Filmore Street. Remember, don’t look for me.”

“God, I hope I don’t screw this up.”

“You’re handling the assignment like a pro.” This was true. Andrea was doing better than Abby had expected.

She waited as Andrea announced each new street in turn: Vaughn, Eustace, Paxton, Montford. As she said Filmore, the Chevy Malibu swept past Abby in the slow lane. She let a few more cars drive by before pulling away from the curb. Ahead, she could see the Chevy.

“Got you in sight. Everything’s hunky-dory. Just keep going for a while.”

“What do I do then?”

“Don’t worry about the future. Be in the moment. Countersurveillance is a Zen thing.”

The next few blocks went smoothly enough. Abby almost got caught at a stoplight at Van Nuys Boulevard but blew through it as the signal cycled from yellow to red. Last thing she needed was to be redboarded right now.

She knew that the undercover Bureau cars must be all around her, keeping Andrea in a surveillance net. She made no effort to identify them. For undercover work the Bureau could use anything from an ambulance to a VW bug. The agents could be alone or in pairs, and could be of any description. She wouldn’t catch them talking into their radios, because the microphone would be hidden in the windshield visor or held below the dash.

Though she liked to talk down the feebies, the truth was that they were good at shadowing a moving target. Even so, they didn’t scare her. Not much, anyhow. They might be good, but she was better. She was always better. Better than everybody. This was her philosophy, and it had kept her alive so far.

Up ahead she saw the landmark she was looking for. “See that car wash? It’s one of those drive-through deals. Turn in there and get on line. I’ll be right behind you.”

“We’re getting our cars washed?”

“Yes, we are. I hope you brought some money. It costs seven ninety-five. And don’t get the hot wax, please.”