John Miller - Inside Out

“It's me.”

“A lot of people are worried about you,” he told Sean.

“I figured my sudden departure might raise some eyebrows.”

“Are you all right?”

“I'm perfectly fine. After you left, I tired of the company.”

“Do you have money?”

“Enough.”

“Why are you running?”

“I'm moving around at the moment to make sure when I stop I'll be out of danger.”

“I was afraid you might have been kidnapped.”

“No, I wasn't kidnapped. I just wanted to let you know that so you wouldn't worry. You can tell your chief marshal I am fine, and even though he lied to me, I forgive him.”

“Lied how?”

“I've been watching the news and I can't help but notice they are playing fast and loose with the facts.”

“You don't know the half of it.”

“It's nice hearing your voice, Massey. I mean that. I'd love to chat, but I have to make a plane.”

“Will you stay in touch?” He suppressed the urge to add please.

“I can't call back for a while.”

“Why not?”

“You're kidding, right? Ever heard of traces? The marshals can't protect me. Look, I'll get in touch from time to time, if you don't mind.”

“I'd like that a lot. You just promise that if you ever need my help, you'll call me?”

“So long, Massey.”

The line went dead. Winter's heart sank, wishing there had been some way to prolong their conversation. He knew he had to help her. He dialed Hank's cell phone.

“Yeah?”

“You aren't working late again, are you?” Winter asked him.

“Yeah,” Hank answered. “Sun to sun, son.”

“Sean Devlin just called. She wants Shapiro to know she's all right. She said she knows he lied to her, but she forgives him.”

“Lied about what?”

“Didn't say. Can you handle that?”

“I'll tell him. He might want to talk to you. The attorney general has set a press conference for Thursday morning. It won't be a secret after that, and you can get on with your life.”

“Thursday,” Winter said.

“If you need to talk, I'm here. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, Hank. I do. Thanks.”

Winter hung up. He felt sick and, except for once three years before, more helpless than ever.

New York, New York

Herman Hoffman read the note that had been placed on the table beside his Wedgwood plate, “I'll let you know what my orders are in a little while,” he said to the man who had delivered it.

“Yes, sir.”

“I need those call transcripts ASAP.”

The man vanished.

Herman cut a slice from the veal medallion and chewed it, keeping his eyes on the plate. He lifted the wineglass and sipped. He patted his lips with the edge of the linen napkin, then pushed the note to Ralph and watched as he read it.

“We have her located. What now?” Ralph asked, looking up.

“I'm considering what the appropriate response should be. Eat.”

Ralph cut a chunk of sirloin.

“Mrs. Devlin was at a pay phone in Richmond, Virginia thirty-three minutes ago. Richmond is a very big town to cover without assistance. With a transcript of the call, it might be possible to know if she is in a car passing through and picked out the phone at random, or is staying nearby and had no other access to a telephone. Or maybe she has access but knows better than to use a phone within close proximity of her hide.” Herman speared a red potato and, holding it up, examined it as though seeking some imperfection on its skin.

Ralph didn't interrupt, just listened and chewed.

“She escaped a marshal surveillance team,” Herman mused. “The woman vanished into thin air with the authorities covering airports, train and bus terminals. She has no one to turn to and can't gain access to her trust accounts or use a credit card without us knowing it.” Herman rubbed his chin. “Ralph, what would you do?”

“Wait until she uses up her cash and resorts to a credit card.”

“She may have resources we aren't aware of. The question is where is she heading and how soon. My instincts tell me that she will be staying in Richmond for a time, not because of her limited resources but the natural instinct to hide, keep a low profile. She will use the credit cards only to misdirect, so I'll ignore that. She will eventually have to go for her trust account, but we can't afford to wait her out. Not with Fifteen making such a ruckus.”

Ralph's fork was frozen in midair as he listened. He knew very well who Fifteen was, but he had no idea what sort of ruckus his boss was referring to.

“I'll send a pair to Richmond. That way at least we will be in the area when we get our next fix on her.”

“Send me, sir. I won't miss her.”

“I have just the pair in mind. I don't want to tell Mr. Russo yet that she is alive. With luck, I won't have to. He's such an excitable fellow. For the present, we'll just let that sleeping dog lie.”

Ralph nodded absently. “I'd like to go.”

“I feel much safer with you here.”

“Lewis says that if we don't take Massey out, he could be trouble later on.”

“I won't be prodded into sanctioning a man who got lucky. And if Massey wasn't lucky, I don't want to risk another man. I'll just let Fifteen deal with the deputy and I'll concentrate on the woman.”

“Lewis is different now. I can't put my finger on it, but he's changed.”

“Time and circumstances can do that. How's the wine?”

“Needs sugar.”

“I doubt the vintner would agree, but go ahead.”

Herman watched Ralph put a half spoon of sugar in the vintage Bordeaux and stir.

Herman was fast approaching the end of the trail, but he had never felt more alive. This operation, perhaps the last he would ever oversee, had been complex from its very inception. It could have fallen apart at so many junctures, but it had proceeded perfectly until Massey got in the way. Herman had rarely come up against a single adversary he could admire. On many occasions, he had ordered sanctions that pitted one, or several, of his men against a target protected by a large security force. Any single man who could kill four of his boys, as Massey had, clearly deserved respect. He was a remarkable warrior, but the skills that made him that hardly translated into his becoming a threat now that he was off the field-the fighting near him was over.

Herman would not send men against Massey for merely having been a remarkable obstacle. This was just a game, and sportsmanship dictated that coaches didn't punish opposing players for scoring.

Concord, North Carolina

While Winter and Lydia were clearing the dinner dishes, his cell phone buzzed from the bedroom. He got to it on the third ring.

“Yeah?” Winter answered.

“I found them. Those four men were Special Forces. But they died long before you met them.”

“That's crazy,” Winter said. “I killed ghosts?”

“You're thinking inside the box. You know what a cutout is? Technically anybody who drops their real identity in favor of a new one for security reasons is a cutout. A protected witness would be considered a cutout, as would a CIA or FBI agent who is going undercover.”

“You're sure they're cutouts?”

“Yes. As for Ward Field, it started out as a training base for pilots during the second world war and continued operations through 1974 before it was classified as redundant by the Air Force and closed. But the land and the base, although decommissioned in 1974, remains restricted airspace. According to a series of reports in The Washington Post, Ward was listed as one of the CIA's launching pads for sensitive operations. Remember Iran-Contra, when the CIA flew guns south and, according to some, ferried cocaine on the return trips in order to sell it on the streets to purchase more guns? According to the articles, Ward Field was a secret base where cargo planes landed and took off. Isolated plus restricted equals perfect.”