Andrew Britton - The Assassin

Abruptly pushing the thought out of his mind, he rose and made his way unsteadily to the bathroom, his right foot banging painfully against a half-empty bottle of Jameson’s. Looking down, he briefly wondered where the full-size bottle had come from; as far as he knew, the small refrigerator in the corner contained only miniatures. He filled a plastic cup with tap water and knocked it back, then repeated the process. He was filling it up for a third time when someone began pounding on the door to his room.

“Go away,” he yelled. The banging resumed, and he repeated the phrase, only louder.

“Kealey, is that you?” More banging. “Open the door!”

He paused, trying to place the voice. When it came to him, he muttered a low curse and crossed to the door.

Samantha Crane was standing there when he pulled it open, hands on her hips, an angry expression spread over her face. She was dressed in baggy gray warm-ups, New Balance running shoes, and a navy Penn State sweatshirt, which, if she’d been born and raised in that state, might have explained the slight accent he’d noticed before. Her long blond hair was dripping wet, errant strands plastered against her cheeks. She’d clearly been caught in the rain on the way over.

He gestured to her outfit and said, “Were you out running, or is this pretty much standard attire for FBI agents these days?”

The question caught her off-guard, but she collected herself and snapped, “That’s none of your business. I want the…”

She momentarily lost track of her words as her gaze moved down to his lean, muscular torso, her brown eyes widening slightly. Kealey was suddenly conscious of the prominent scar on his lower abdomen, as well as the older scar on the left side of his chest. He wished he’d thought to pull on a T-shirt.

“I want the computer,” she hurriedly finished, snapping her steely gaze back to his face. “Mason kept a personal laptop at the warehouse. You took it, and I want it back. Right now.”

“How did you find me? The room isn’t registered under my name-”

“That’s not important!” Her voice was too loud; she was nearly shouting. “Now where is it? You gave it to Langley, didn’t you?”

He held up his hands and said, “Back up a minute. What makes you think he had a computer?”

She sighed in exasperation; clearly, she wasn’t buying his act. “We picked that up from the witness I told you about. The laptop was first on our list, so we sealed off the warehouse and sent in an Evidence Recovery Team. Obviously, they came up empty,” she added sarcastically. “Then we had the techs check the tower in Mason’s office. It didn’t take them long to decide that it was only used to display the feeds from the security cameras.”

“So?”

“So that doesn’t add up, because he would have needed some way to keep track of clients and shipments. He did that using a laptop computer, the laptop you stole from my crime scene. I want it back, Ryan, and in case you haven’t noticed, I’m running out of patience.”

He shrugged and said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Sam.” He caught himself reciprocating, using her first name to draw a response. Then he wondered why he had done it, deciding it was probably the combination of his pounding hangover and her goading, elevated tone.

Whatever the reason, it worked. Her face darkened, and she poked a finger into his chest. “Don’t fuck with me. If you don’t start cooperating, I’m going to go and talk to the assistant director at the WFO and have him call the attorney general. The oversight committee will be tearing you and your employer apart by the end of the workday. That’s how long I’m giving you to hand it over. After that, all bets are off.”

Kealey just looked her square in the eye and said, “When were you going to get round to thanking me?”

Her mouth dropped open as she stared at him in disbelief. “ Thanking you? For what?”

“For saving your life. Last I saw, Mason had the drop on you.”

“Until you tackled me, you mean?” She scowled and rubbed her left arm, as though the pain accompanied the memory. “That really hurt, by the way, and it’s not like it did any good. Your little college flashback didn’t stop him from shooting me.”

Something about what she’d just said struck a chord with him, but he stored it away and said, “It couldn’t have been that bad. You’re walking around, aren’t you?”

“It was just a nick, but that’s not really the point, is it?” She looked at him suspiciously. “Why didn’t you just shoot him, anyway?”

“That would have been bad for both of us,” Kealey pointed out. “Besides, I told you I needed to talk to him. I would have been able to do that if you’d just taken my advice in the first place. Not to mention the fact that seven of your fellow agents would still be alive.”

That seemed to get to her. She fell silent and averted her gaze.

“Listen,” Kealey continued, “I didn’t take the laptop. I can’t give you something I don’t have.”

Her eyes flashed, and she straightened her shoulders. “Then I guess I’ll be making some calls,” she snapped. “You should probably start thinking about a new career, Kealey. Like maybe in fast food, because that’s all you’ll be qualified for by the time I’m through with you.”

And with that, she spun on her heels and stormed off down the hall, her damp sneakers squishing over the expensive carpet.

Kealey closed the door and moved into the room, considering her words as he glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand. Despite what she’d said, he knew that Crane’s offer was less than sincere. If he were to hand over the laptop, she would probably hit him with charges of tampering with evidence and obstruction of justice. However, her unexpected appearance did serve one purpose: she had tipped her hand, and Kealey knew he didn’t have long to gather the necessary information.

Scooping his jeans off the floor, he searched the pockets for the secure cell that Harper had given him. Once he found it, he called Naomi, who answered sleepily. After bringing her up to speed, he placed a second quick call to Harper. Then he cut the connection and headed back to the bathroom, where he showered quickly and brushed his teeth. As Kealey finished getting dressed twenty minutes later, he was still thinking about Samantha Crane. Something about that woman just didn’t fit.

FAIRFAX COUNTY, VIRGINIA

The Liberty Crossing Building in McLean, Virginia, serves as the logistical hub of the NCTC, which was founded in August of 2004 under Executive Order 13354. The main floor is cubicle free and littered with pale, wood-topped modular desks bearing flat-screen monitors, while the second floor is home to glass-enclosed offices, from which supervisors representing fourteen different agencies are able to keep a watchful eye on the worker bees below. Just after 11:00 in the morning, Naomi Kharmai was working at a free desk on the lower level, surrounded by forty fellow analysts, when she saw Kealey push through the glass doors on the other side of the room.

Remembering her careless words of the previous night, she was tempted to crawl under her borrowed desk and hide. Instead, she just swung her gaze back to the screen and pretended to be engrossed in her work as he started across the floor toward her.

Naomi had lain awake nearly all night thinking about what Harper had told her over the phone. It explained everything, from Ryan’s drastic change in appearance to his reluctance to talk about the past ten months. Her first reaction had been anger. She couldn’t believe that Harper had sent her into that situation without giving her all the facts. Moreover, she now had a pretty good idea of why she’d been transferred to London in the first place. After all, she had played a major role in the events of the past year, and the senior leadership couldn’t very well have her sitting around asking questions about something they were trying to cover up.