Andrew Britton: The Assassin

“So the Bureau’s done with him?” Kealey asked.

Harper nodded. “As far as they’re concerned, everything that came out of Rudaki’s mouth was a lie. They’ve washed their hands of it… or at least, they’ve tried to. This has really hurt their reputation, especially since it wasn’t that long ago that they had to deal with Hanssen and all the damage he did.”

“What do you think?”

“I think Rudaki might have given us some truth, if only by accident.”

“Because of his cousin,” Kealey said.

“Exactly. The defense minister was supposedly passing us info because he was unhappy with the regime’s attempts to disrupt U.S. policy in Iraq by killing Tabrizi and the prime minister. Of course, it wasn’t true; Iran was never involved. But if Bagheri had nothing to do with it, why would Rudaki bring him up to begin with?”

“He needed a cover for the lies he was selling us,” Kealey pointed out. “Maybe the cousin was just the most convenient excuse.”

“Maybe,” Harper muttered. “We’re still talking to him. I think Bagheri might know a lot more than he’s letting on, so we’re looking for leverage. If anything comes of it, I’ll let you know. The question is, would you want to be involved?”

Kealey looked over. “Is that what you came here to ask me?”

“No, because that would imply a temporary role.” The other man paused. “Look, I want you back in the fold. What’s it going to take to get you back to Langley?”

Kealey brushed some snow off the wooden railing, watching absently as it drifted down to the frozen surface of the pond. “John, it’s a possibility. I want to come back, I think, but for now, my place is here.”

“She won’t see you, Ryan. She probably won’t want to see you for a very long time.”

“Then I’ll wait,” Kealey said simply. “As long as it takes.”

Harper thought about saying something but decided against it. He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting over to the manor house and the black government SUVs parked nearby. “Okay. I understand. When you’re ready, give me a call.”

Kealey nodded. Their eyes met, and they shook hands firmly. “Have a safe trip. Say hi to Julie for me.”

“Will do.”

Kealey watched him go, but before long, his gaze drifted back to the house. For a brief instant, he thought he saw a face swathed in bandages at one of the third-story windows, but then it was gone.

He stayed that way for a long time, staring out at the frozen pond, just thinking about things. What he had said was the plain truth, but he knew Harper didn’t really understand. Kealey would stay in town and drive out here every day forever if that was what it took. He wasn’t sure how Naomi had come to mean so much to him in so short a time, but he couldn’t deny his feelings. All he wanted was to see her again. There were things he wanted to say, of course, but mostly, he just wanted to see her. He thought he’d give anything to see her.

By the time he turned and finished crossing the bridge, a light snow had started to fall. He had almost reached his truck when the heavy oak door cracked open behind him. He turned instantly at the sound.

It was Everett, and she seemed relieved to have caught him. “She’s changed her mind, Ryan. I think she was just waiting for Mr. Harper to go. She’ll see you now.”

LOUDOUN COUNTY, VIRGINIA

Kealey followed her up the narrow staircase. They continued past the second floor, up to the third. When the house was first built, the top floor had been used as a storage area for commercial goods, but since the extensive renovation in the mid-1970s, the open space had been divided into four large rooms separated by a single hall, each with its own private bathroom. As he followed her down the corridor, he was distinctly aware of a growing unease; Naomi had finally agreed to see him, but he had no idea what to expect.

He wondered if she hated him, if she blamed him for not taking the shot before Vanderveen could cut her. It was a distinct possibility, he knew, though the thought was almost too painful to bear. From her point of view, it must have seemed so simple. He had a gun; Vanderveen had a knife. She couldn’t know that Vanderveen had given him no target, that he’d done everything possible to keep her body between them. Nor could he have explained it to her, at least not to any purpose. It would have sounded like an excuse, nothing more.

The hall ran the length of the building. They were halfway down when Everett stopped and turned to face him. It seemed as though her genial nature was relegated to the ground floors; up here, she was a much harder person. He watched as she adopted a serious, clinical expression, and knew at once that she was about to relay unwanted information.

“Ryan, before you go in, I want to make you aware of a few things. I know you’ve expressed no interest in her specific injuries, but-”

“It’s not that I don’t have an interest,” he said. His voice was low but firm; he wanted to be clear on this. “It’s just that I’m here for her no matter what. I don’t see that knowing the specifics makes a difference.”

“I understand, and I can appreciate your point. But I think you need to know.”

Kealey took a deep breath. “Okay.”

“Nearly all the damage is superficial. She was extremely fortunate in that respect. The knife missed the cervical branch of the facial nerve, but the wound to the cheek was very deep. There was no damage to the parotid gland, but there was some damage to the zygomatic muscles, both major and minor, as well as the buccal branch of the-”

“I don’t know what any of that means,” Kealey said, trying to push down his rising fear. “How bad is it? Just tell me that.”

The head nurse blew out a short breath. “All of the muscle damage has been repaired. Her recovery should be in the ninetieth percentile, maybe higher. She’s already made amazing progress. The buccal branch of the facial nerve — that controls movement of the mouth and nose — was partially severed, but the sutures held, and the prognosis is good… extremely good, in fact. The nerve damage is almost certainly temporary, but her speech is still a little off, so be prepared for that.” Everett broke off, gathering her next words. “Most of all, it’s just a very… traumatic injury. The way it happened, I mean. She’s been having nightmares, insomnia, loss of appetite, things of that nature. And of course, the injury is to the face, so…”

“So what?”

“Well, she was a beautiful woman,” Everett said uneasily, as if that explained everything.

“She still is.”

Everett nodded slowly; Kealey’s tone was tight and insistent, and she knew better than to argue. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but I have the feeling she’s very nervous about seeing you. Or rather, nervous about you seeing her. I hope you can handle it.”

He stared at her until she looked away.

“Sorry,” she started. “I-”

“It’s okay. Can I go in now?”

She nodded. “The door’s open, but she needs to rest. You can have thirty minutes, but that’s it. You can see her again tomorrow if she’s up to it.”

Everett turned and walked back down the hall. A second later he heard her feet on the stairs. Kealey put a hand on the door and took another deep breath. He thought about knocking, then realized that she might not want to raise her voice or even talk at all. In the end, he just tapped lightly and pushed inside.

The room was half in shadow, the curtains pulled back. Kealey could see snow drifting past the large windows overlooking the pond. The walls were the color of clotted cream, the furnishings simple enough: a large bed with a thick lavender comforter, an armchair and a couch against one wall, antique bookshelves against the other. There was also a small TV and a number of end tables scattered over the rough oak floor. Every spare surface was covered with floral arrangements in all manner of vases.