Mike Lawson - House Divided

“That’s where we’re supposed to meet,” Carlucci said.

“Okay, Agent. Thank you for your cooperation and, again, I want to stress that it’s not in your best interest to get involved in this.”

Claire had no idea if Carlucci would call the FBI’s legal attache in Kabul or meet with DeMarco, but her gut told her that she wouldn’t do either of those things. All that really mattered at this point was that she knew that DeMarco hadn’t told Carlucci anything significant-and she needed to get him out of that coffee shop.

“Sir,” Perkins said, “the cab dropped him off in Rosslyn, near the metro station.”

“Did he go into the station?” Levy asked.

“No. He went into the McDonald’s near the metro but he’s not there now.”

“All right, Perkins. I want you to get four cars over to Rosslyn and start looking for him. Tell your men when they find him that they’re not to talk to him. I want DeMarco tossed into a car and I want your people to remain outside the car until I get there.”

“Claire,” Gilbert said, “we’re picking up radio traffic from Pentagon police vehicles. They’re searching Rosslyn for DeMarco.”

Shit. She knew that was going to happen. Levy’s men had seen DeMarco use the ATM at the Hyatt, found out from the Hyatt’s people that he’d taken a cab, and it was a cakewalk from there. The good news was they didn’t know exactly where DeMarco was. But if DeMarco left the coffee shop-which he would do eventually when Carlucci didn’t show up-the Pentagon cops might spot him walking on the street.

“Where’s Alice?” Claire said.

“She’s still ten minutes from Rosslyn.”

“What the hell is taking her so long?”

“Traffic.”

Even the NSA couldn’t do anything about the traffic.

“Connect me to that coffee shop,” Claire said.

DeMarco looked at his wrist to check the time, and realized he no longer had a watch. He asked a lady sitting near him for the time and she told him-but made it clear that she wasn’t interested in starting up a conversation with an unshaven guy dressed like an escapee from a poor man’s gymnasium. Diane was late. Only ten minutes late, but she’d always been a punctuality freak. Maybe she’d gotten held up in traffic.

“Sir, is your name Joe DeMarco?”

DeMarco had been looking out the window. He turned to see who was speaking and saw it wasn’t the lady who had reluctantly given him the time. It was the barista, a cute gal in her twenties-but she really should lose the nose ring.

“Uh, yeah,” he said, but he was wondering how the girl knew his name. He’d been in the place a couple of times but had never introduced himself. The hairs on the back of his neck began to stand at attention.

“You have a phone call,” the barista said.

“A phone call?”

“Yeah. Some lady. She said it’s real important.”

It must be Diane calling, probably to tell him that she’d been delayed-or maybe to say that she’d changed her mind about meeting him.

“Sir, do you want to take the call?”

“Yeah, I’ll take it,” DeMarco said. He walked over to the counter and picked up the phone. “Hey, Diane, are you on your way?” he said.

“This isn’t Diane.”

Oh, shit, if it wasn’t Diane, it could only be the NSA. Goddammit! How in the fuck did they find him?

“Is this you, Alice?” DeMarco asked. “How did you find me here?”

“It’s not Alice, it’s Alice’s boss-and how we found you is irrelevant. All you need to know is that the Pentagon Force Protection Agency is cruising Rosslyn looking for you, and the Pentagon cops work for John Levy.”

“Who’s Levy?”

“He’s the man who tried to kill you last night at Tuckahoe Park.” Before DeMarco could ask another question, the woman said, “You have a choice to make, DeMarco. You can either stay in that coffee shop-”

“Goddammit, how did you know where I was?” DeMarco asked again.

“As I was saying, you can either stay in the coffee shop and wait until we pick you up or you can take your chances with Charles Bradford’s people. You have to believe me, DeMarco. We are your best option. We are your only option. And keep in mind, we’re the ones who kept Levy from killing you last night. If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead. So what’s it going to be?”

DeMarco didn’t answer.

“And one other thing, DeMarco. Agent Carlucci is not going to be meeting with you.”

Son of a bitch! DeMarco had never believed any of that paranoid Big Brother nonsense the antigovernment crowd was always spouting-but he’d become a true believer in the last few days.

And he’d had enough. He was sick of these people controlling his life.

“I’ll tell you what I’m gonna do. I’m going to call the Arlington P.D., a detective named Glazer I know over there. I’m going to tell him the FBI and the NSA are covering up why my cousin was killed, and that you guys are trying to kidnap me. And after I talk to the cop I’m gonna call the closest TV station. Then I’m going to hold a fucking press conference while I’m being protected by a bunch of SWAT guys. Oh, and one other thing. I’ve got a. 38 in my pocket-I got it from Perry Wallace last night-and if Alice’s pals come through the door, I’m gonna shoot ’em if they try to take me out of here.”

How do you like them apples, you bitch?

“DeMarco, the landline you’re currently using will be dead the minute you hang up. And if you or anyone else in that shop has a cell phone, you’ll find that the cell phone isn’t getting a signal. I repeat: we are your only option.”

DeMarco didn’t answer but at that moment he saw a Pentagon patrol car cruise slowly past the coffee shop, the two officers inside it swiveling their heads as they looked at pedestrians on the sidewalk. He quickly turned so his back was to the window.

“And one other thing, DeMarco. If you don’t cooperate, somebody is going to whisper into the ear of the Afghanistan government that a certain CIA agent is playing around in their backyard. So I’m not screwing around here. You either do what I tell you or your girlfriend is going to become a gigantic embarrassment to the CIA and an international headline-and that’s the best-case scenario.”

“You goddamn-”

DeMarco stopped swearing and took a breath.

“Okay,” he said. “I’ll wait for your people to get here.”

“Alice will be there in five minutes. She’ll park in front of the shop but don’t go to her until she signals you. Do you understand?”

“Yeah, I understand,” DeMarco said. He was so tired of this; he had never felt more impotent in his life.

A couple minutes later he saw a black SUV double-park in front of the coffee shop, but since the vehicle’s windows were tinted he couldn’t see who was in it. Then the passenger-side window powered down. It was Alice. He watched as she looked around and then saw her speak into the phone mike protruding from the headset she always seemed to be wearing. He wondered if she slept with that thing on. She still hadn’t looked over at the coffee shop. She just kept checking the street around her, talking to someone, and then she finally turned and faced him and made an arm motion for him to join her in the car.

DeMarco hustled out of the coffee shop and jumped into Alice’s SUV. Alice immediately said, “Buckle your seat belt.”

Without thinking, DeMarco looked down to find the seat-belt latch and when he did Alice pressed a Taser against his throat.

“Give me the gun, DeMarco.”

“I don’t have a gun. I just said that.”

Holding the Taser against his throat, Alice ran her hands over his torso, behind his back, down his legs. She was close enough to him that he could smell the scent of the shampoo she used. When she finished patting him down, she said, “Okay. But if you give me any shit at all, I’m gonna run fifty thousand volts through you just for the fun of it.”