Andrew Britton - The Assassin

“Or Samantha Crane,” Kealey muttered.

“Ryan, I agree it looks bad,” Harper said, “but the evidence against Crane is purely circumstantial. We have to keep that on the back burner for as long as possible. Let’s see if we can get to Rudaki first.”

Before anyone could say anything more, the phone rang again. Harper answered it, said a few words, and replaced the receiver. Turning toward them, he said, “Liman just verified it. The item stored in Ruhmann’s unit was definitely a BLU-82. He gave our people permission to go in and check it out. The unit was empty.”

“Damn it,” Naomi said bitterly. “We must have missed him by hours.”

“Any chance we’ll get it at the border?” Kealey asked.

“I don’t think so,” Harper said slowly. “It sounds like Vanderveen timed this well. I don’t think he’ll show up without the necessary paperwork, and if it’s all in order, he’ll be waved right through.”

“Can we at least get the word to customs?”

“I can’t do it myself. That has to go through Homeland Security. The wheels are already in motion, but now I need a statement from Liman in Montreal. Once it arrives, I can get it out to the right people. Chances are, he’s already crossed the border, anyway.”

“So what does that leave us with?” Naomi wondered.

“Rudaki,” Kealey said, repeating her earlier words. “We have to get to him, John. Immediately.”

Harper hesitated. “The last few days haven’t exactly done wonders for my credibility. I’m all out of favors. I don’t think the director will pull any strings for me based on what we’ve managed to dig up so far.”

“He has to. There’s too much resting on this. I don’t care how you make it happen, but I need to talk to him. Face-to-face, first thing in the morning.”

“I can still get you an Agency plane,” Harper said. “I’ll call the director first and see if I can get him to work it out with the assistant director in charge in New York.” The DDO felt the need to point something out. “If it happens, Ryan, and it probably won’t, you’ll be surrounded by FBI agents. I hope you realize that. And if Rudaki is hiding something, a friendly discussion isn’t going to get it out of him.”

“I’ll worry about that when I’m on the ground,” Kealey said. “Just get me the meeting, John.”

“I’ll do my best.” He reached for the phone, checking his watch in the process. “This will take a while. Why don’t you two get some rest?”

“Actually, I-”

“Get some sleep,” Harper ordered, his voice taking on an authoritative tone. “You should take a look in the mirror… You’re dead on your feet. If I manage to get you in there, it’ll be first thing in the morning. You need to be ready.”

Reluctantly, Kealey nodded and stood, followed by Kharmai. They left the room as Harper started to dial.

WASHINGTON, D.C.,FORT ERIE, CANADA

Much later, Ryan Kealey lay still on a bed in one of the second-floor guest rooms. He had stripped off his sweatshirt but was still in his jeans. The room was draped in shadow, the far wall rippling with light from the streetlamps beyond the double-hung windows. He had tried to sleep, knowing he needed to get some rest, but his mind was far too active. After leaving Harper’s office, he had gone downstairs with Naomi. They had talked with Julie Harper for a while, the two women sharing half a bottle of wine. Kealey had settled on beer, but he limited himself to two, as he wanted to be sharp for the morning.

After an hour of this, Harper had called them up to the office. The news was not what they had hoped for, though it wasn’t entirely bad, either. Director Andrews had bought into the theory, mainly because Harper had done his best to leave Kealey’s name out of it. The DCI had then called the FBI director at home and explained the situation. Twenty minutes after the initial call, Harper had the ADIC of the New York field office on the phone. Arrangements were made for Naomi Kharmai to sit in on an interview with Hakim Rudaki at 11:00 AM the following morning. The meeting was to take place at 26 Federal Plaza in Manhattan. It was the best Harper could do; Andrews wasn’t about to allow Kealey anywhere near the Iranian informant, especially in a federal building. He had made an exception for Kharmai, whose sins — at least in his eyes — were less egregious than Kealey’s.

Kealey was glad that one of them had the chance to confront Rudaki, but he knew that it was a long shot. Naomi didn’t have much of a chance at penetrating the Iranian’s defenses. After all, the man had managed to convince the senior FBI leadership that his information was genuine, probably with Samantha Crane’s help. And that was the other thing: Crane would never allow Kharmai to see Rudaki unless she was present.

Despite Harper’s restraining words, Kealey was certain that Crane was working with Vanderveen. The idea that the former U.S. soldier was now heading for New York City with a device capable of killing thousands made Kealey feel sick. He didn’t know how it had gotten this far, but there was no doubt in his mind that Vanderveen intended to use the bomb the following day, and if he succeeded, the death toll would rival that of 9/11. It simply could not be allowed to happen.

He thought it through for as long as possible, but eventually exhaustion set in, and everything started to blur. Kealey closed his eyes, listening to the whisper of rain against the windows, the occasional rumble of a passing car in the damp street. The house was almost completely quiet. For some reason, he wanted noise and sound, anything to distract him from the memories that encroached in the dark. He held them at bay for as long as he could, but he couldn’t stop the inevitable.

He wasn’t surprised that the past should get to him here. He hadn’t visited the Harper home in nearly a year, and the last time he had stepped foot through the door, Katie had been at his side. He could remember that night with startling clarity, and for good reason: it was the night he had asked her to marry him. After they left for the hotel, he’d surprised her with a moonlight visit to Rock Creek Park. They had walked in the snow, and on a bridge over a frozen stream, he had shown her the ring. Against all odds, she had said yes, and in doing so, she had made his life complete.

Kealey pushed the memory away, but it was no good. For a moment he wished he was back in Iraq, where he could go on pretending that nothing had ever happened, that she was still alive and well. He would give anything, everything he had to go back to the house on Cape Elizabeth and find her waiting, arms open, eyes shining, a pretty, precocious smile on her face. The thought caused a stinging pain to build on the bridge of his nose, but just as the image threatened to overwhelm him, he heard a slight tap at the door, and a shaft of light slipped into the room.

Kealey sat up to see Naomi at the door, her figure bathed in the warm light of the hall. She was wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt and cotton drawstring pants, her feet bare. She took a few hesitant steps in, as though second-guessing her decision, but then she came to the edge of the bed and sat down. Ryan eased back and waited, but she clearly didn’t know what to say. After a minute, he broke the silence.

“How’s your arm?”

He saw her smile in the half-light of the room. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve asked me about it.”

He realized she was right. “I’m sorry, Naomi. I’ve just been caught up in everything.”

“Me, too,” she said. “Anyway, it’s fine. Julie changed the bandages for me after you came up. She used to be a nurse, you know.”

“I could have done that for you.”