Andrew Britton - The Operative

Bishop was about to give her a story about a Hezbollah sharpshooter attacking Jewish centers of activity when Muloni’s eyes suddenly went very wide. Her back arched, thrusting her chest forward, and her chest spewed blood and organs in a column. Some of it struck Bishop in the chin and throat.

An instant later he heard the delayed crack of a single gunshot. It rolled over him, echoing down the narrow street. As the woman fell to the pavement, Bishop could see what her body had been blocking. He saw the people freeze and look ahead, to the west. At the head of the mob was Assistant Director Hunt.

The prick, Bishop thought. He didn’t come the way Muloni had been expecting. He had come up behind her. Bad luck on her part-or because I would have been in the way? he wondered.

As Hunt jogged forward, Kealey emerged from the mob right behind him. He charged forward, shoulders hunched, obviously not certain whether the AD was finished shooting. Bishop believed he was. Hunt was holding his weapon pointed down in his right hand while he drew his credentials with his left.

“Are you all right?” Hunt yelled ahead. “I saw her draw a weapon.”

Bishop didn’t answer. He heard footsteps behind him, raised his hands to show he wasn’t holding a weapon, turned as a quartet of NYPD officers converged on the spot.

“FBI business!” Hunt shouted, keeping the gun down but raising his ID. “She was in league with the sniper!”

Hunt was a bad apple, all right. Shouting that second part broke every rule there was. The identity of any suspect was need to know. Either he was trying to get the police to stand down ASAP or he was trying to put that information out there.

Why, you bastard? ”

Just as important, what was Muloni doing here? Even if the Bureau put two agents on Veil without letting the other know-because of the leak-how did she get here when the notice went out only hours before?

Hunt arrived, breathing heavily. His eyes were on Muloni. He nudged her weapon aside with his foot, checked her pulse.

“She isn’t getting up,” Bishop said.

“No,” Hunt agreed. He picked up the gun with a handkerchief, put it in the inside pocket of his blazer. The cops arrived at the same time as Kealey. The AD showed his badge around without looking up. He put it away, patted the body down.

One of the officers called in the shooting. He described it as “an FBI action against an armed terror suspect.”

“You okay?” Kealey asked, circling around Hunt and Muloni.

“Yeah.” There was disgust in Bishop’s voice and in Kealey’s expression.

“Who are you two?” one of the cops asked.

Bishop held up his hand to show he was going to reach for something. He drew out his own ID. Kealey did the same.

“This card is expired, sir,” one of the cops said to Kealey.

“Call President Brenneman,” he said. “He’ll vouch for me.”

Kealey was looking at Hunt when he said that. The AD’s eyes rolled up. He knew the name had been dropped for his benefit. Hunt rose. Bishop had watched as he’d confiscated Muloni’s phone. He’d palmed it carefully, but not carefully enough. Bishop knew what it was. Bishop removed his jacket, knelt, and laid it on top of Muloni.

“These men are fine,” Hunt said.

The policemen exchanged looks. Kealey’s ID was returned. The cop who had spoken to Kealey, Officer Ratner, still seemed unconvinced.

Hunt faced him impatiently. “Don’t you have traffic to clear so we can get a meat wagon to pick up this individual?”

“Don’t get belligerent, sir,” the young officer replied.

“Christ Jesus, we’ve got a sniper running around with accomplices, and you don’t think I should be yelling at you?”

“What I think,” the cop said stubbornly, “is that you just shot a woman in the back, and I’m supposed to take your word about who, what, and why.”

“Did you see the gun?”

The cop didn’t answer.

“Was it pointed at this individual?”

Officer Ratner remained silent.

“Let’s go,” one of the other officers said. “We’ll check in with the FBI field office, see if he’s kosher.”

“Tell them it’s Assistant Director Hunt you’re asking about,” he snapped. “Do you need me to spell any of that for you?”

“No, we’ve got it,” the other officer replied.

The others started to go. Ratner remained where he was; one of the others reached back and drew him away by the arm.

The scene was incongruous to Bishop. Two men alpha dogging over a dead woman and a growing puddle of blood. He glanced at Kealey, who handed him a handkerchief, indicated the blood on his chin. Bishop wiped it away.

Hunt calmed slowly. He was perspiring, possibly from having run over in the heat, possibly from something else.

Kealey was watching the AD carefully. “How about putting the gun away?”

The remark drew a sharp reaction from Hunt. “Are you challenging me, too?”

“Not at all. I’m trying to get you back to center,” Kealey replied. “You just killed someone.”

“In the execution of my duties-”

“Yes, and now the shooting is over-”

“I saved your partner!”

“Thank you,” Bishop said evenly, hoping he didn’t sound overly solicitous. He was with Kealey on this: he didn’t like the way Hunt was looking at them. “Mr. Hunt, you know as well as I do, the rule book says if you discharge your weapon, you have to surrender it. We’re not going there. All Mr. Kealey asked is that you holster the firearm. Otherwise, I do have the authority to confiscate it.”

Hunt considered this, then shoved the weapon in its holster. He looked at the IA officer. “Sorry, but you walked into a situation that has been ongoing.”

“What do you mean?” Bishop asked.

“We’ve been watching this agent for several months. We believe she is-was-a sympathizer with radical Muslim causes.”

“Was she?” Bishop asked, staring at him. “I watched her rough up a Muslim assassin in Quebec. She didn’t seem very sympathetic.”

“Veil was bait,” Hunt said. “We believe Muloni engineered Veil’s escape.”

“Speaking of Veil,” Kealey said, “do you mind if we forgo the trip to the lab right now? Maybe nose around and see what we can find out?”

Hunt relaxed noticeably. “Not at all. In fact, I’d appreciate the assist.”

“Great. Tell us what to do,” Kealey said.

“They’ve found the body of a UPS driver about a half mile up South Street,” he said. “Why don’t you head over there, see if you can figure out where she went or what surveillance cameras might have seen her?”

“Sure thing,” Kealey said.

Leaving the corpse behind-she would have to wait her turn to be picked up-the men separated, Hunt going east while Kealey and Bishop headed north. The two men made their way up Centre Street, past the bridge, then cut over to the east.

“There’s a guy on the edge,” Kealey said.

“He’s also full of it,” Bishop said when they set out.

“Which part?” Kealey asked.

“About Muloni being a sympathizer.”

“Was she going to shoot you? She looked like it from where I was standing.”

“Very possibly,” Bishop said. “That’s the thing. She was tailing us. She was convinced that we’re in league with Veil. And I don’t think she was kidding.”

“Well, that’s a dead end now. The bigger problem is I don’t think Veil is done. These feel like sideshows.”

“Killing dozens of people, shutting down a major city-that’s a sideshow?”

“It’s a short-term hit,” Kealey said. “People will be back in a few days. A couple of businesses will decentralize, like they did after September eleven. That doesn’t generate fundamental change. It isn’t reason enough for someone to have gone through the trouble of springing this particular assassin.”