David Baldacci - The Innocent

“For a lot of people it is.”

“And there are a lot of people with screwed-up priorities. Especially in this town.”

“Politician again,” he said, making her face flush. “Want me to be your campaign manager?”

“Yeah. I can run on a platform of caring for others more than you care for yourself. That’ll go over really big with the powers that be.”

“Hey, screw them. Take your message to the people.”

He watched her as she finished her meal. “So, really, what’s next for you after the White House?”

She shrugged. “Just about everybody there has his life planned out forty years. They know exactly what they want and how to get it. Overachievers, I guess.”

“Over-something,” replied Robie. He was thinking about Julie’s similar answer when talking about the future.

Lambert added, “And when you work at the White House you’re really dedicating your life to someone else, the president you serve. Your whole identity is connected to the success of someone else.”

“Must be tough living your life that way.”

“Frankly, I never thought I’d ever get this far.”

“You must have done something right. Ivy League? Connections?”

“Guilty on both counts. My parents are pretty well-off and they’re active politically, so I know they pulled strings to get me here.”

“I think to get to the big white house you have to do it mostly on your own, because everybody at that level has strings to pull.”

“Thanks for saying that. It’s not usually what I hear.” She pressed her napkin against her lips and studied him. “So what’s next for you?”

“Maybe a change in direction. I’ve been doing the same thing too long.”

“Change is good.”

“Maybe. And maybe we can talk about it some more another time.”

She beamed. “Are you asking me out?”

“Is there an interim step I missed? Can’t go from drinks to date?”

“That’s okay in my rulebook,” she said quickly.

Later, when the check came, Robie picked it up despite her protests. “It’ll equal out,” he said. This comment made her smile.

He walked her back to the White House. She’d explained that she needed to finish up a few things and retrieve her bike. Along the way Lambert slipped her arm through his.

When they arrived at the gate she held out a card. “All my relevant info is on here, including my desk at the White House.”

Robie took the card. “Thanks.”

“Is there a way I can get in touch with you?”

Robie gave her his cell phone number, which she inputted to her phone.

She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thanks for a really nice time, Will. And let’s work on that ‘date’ thing together.”

“Count on it,” said Robie.

A few moments later she had hurried through the White House gate.

Robie walked off, trying to put aside their encounter yet feeling the warmth of her lips on his face.

It was strange days indeed.

Robie stood in front of the terminal from where the doomed bus had left. In his mind he went over once more the events of that night. He had failed to kill Jane Wind and the backup shooter had done his job for him. Robie had executed his escape plan and come to this bus terminal to catch a ride out of the city. He had told no one. He had left no trail of any kind.

But I did reserve a bus ticket for that day and for that bus using an alias that only I was supposed to know existed. But someone else knew. And they were willing to kill all those people just to get me.

He glanced around. There was no way anyone could have planted that wheel-well bomb on the bus here. It had pulled into the terminal and people had boarded. As soon as the door closed after the last passenger, the bus had sped off. But there were other people around the terminal. Another bus was leaving soon to take people south to Miami. The bomber would have been seen. No, the explosive was not placed on the bus here.

Robie walked over to the terminal building. He glanced through the plate glass window and made sure the woman behind the counter was not the same woman who had sold him his ticket. It wasn’t. He had confirmed earlier that there were no surveillance cameras either inside or outside the building. The company probably didn’t have the money to spend on such things.

He went inside the terminal. It was as dingy as the buses used by the company. He walked toward the counter and stood in line behind a large woman with a baby clinging to her chest. Another child was in a car seat, which the woman was swinging back and forth. This image made Robie think of Jane Wind and her two kids.

When Robie got up to the counter the young woman looked back at him with a bored expression. It was nearly eleven and she probably wanted to get out of this place.

“Can I help you?” she mumbled.

He held up his creds. “I’m looking into the bombing of one of your buses.”

She sat up straighter and looked more attentive. “Okay.”

“I need you to tell me where the buses come in from before they arrive here and load up passengers.”

“We have a maintenance and prep center two blocks from here. The driver checks in there, goes over the trip schedule, and then does a bus safety inspection. It gets fueled and cleaned there too, stuff like that.”

“Give me the exact address.”

She wrote it down and passed the piece of paper to him.

“Thanks,” said Robie. “What time do you get off?”

She raised her eyebrows as though she thought he was hitting on her and was not pleased by it. “Midnight,” she said warily. “And I’ve got a boyfriend.”

He said, “I’m sure. You go to school?”

“Catholic University.”

He looked around the depressing interior of the cinder-block building. “Study hard,” he said. “And never look back.”

He climbed into his Volvo and headed two blocks south.

The gate to the maintenance and prep yard was shut and locked. Robie finally got the attention of a security guard who was making rounds. The guy was suspicious until Robie flashed his badge. The guard unlocked the gate.

“Had some FBI agents in here already,” the man said. “And some NTSB guys too, to see if the bus had something wrong with it.”

“Did it?”

“Beats me. So what can I do for you?”

“Walk me through the prep for the buses.”

“I don’t really know that much about it. I just get paid to walk around with a gun looking for trouble. And in this area you usually find it.”

“Who does know? Is that person here?”

The guard pointed to the old brick building. “Two dudes in there. They work until two a.m.”

“Names?”

“Chester and Willie.”

“They been here a while?”

“I’ve only been here for a month. They’ve been here longer. Don’t know how much longer.”

“Thanks.”

Robie swung the door open and looked around at a cavernous space with high ceilings, rows of tube lighting, five parked buses, rolling toolboxes, generators, and work lights in grill cages. Everything was drenched with the odor of oil, grease, and fuel.

He called out, “Anybody here?”

A tall, thin black man dressed in work overalls walked around the front of a bus rubbing his hands on a dirty cloth.

“Can I help you?”

Robie held up his cred pack. “Need to ask you some questions.”

“Cops already been by.”

“I’m just one more cop coming by,” replied Robie. “Are you Chester or Willie? Guard outside told me,” he added when the man looked suspicious.

“Willie. Chester’s under a bus pulling a transmission.”

“So run me through how the buses are processed.”

“They come in maybe six hours before they’re scheduled to head out. We go over them in here. Got a checklist of maintenance items. Check the engine, coolant, tire tread, brakes, steering fluid, clean the inside of the bus, pick up all the crap people leave behind. Then we take it behind the building to the washing shed. Clean the outside. Then we gas it up at the fueling station near the front gate. Then it sits until the driver checks in and takes it to the terminal.”