Andrew Britton - The American

Brenneman nursed his coffee and stared out at the rain clouds moving over the gardens. It was several minutes before he spoke. “John, I respect your judgment… I always have. Nothing you’ve said just now has disabused me of that notion. At the same time, I can’t afford to change my schedule without something more concrete. I’m not trying to prove anything; this isn’t about reckless bravery. I’m meeting with President Chirac and Prime Minister Berlusconi early next week. If we can come to some agreement for compensation of lost oil contracts, that meeting might very well result in the dismantling of Iran’s weapons program without one American soldier setting foot in the country.” There was a brief pause. “It’ll be historic, John, the best thing I’ve done in four years in office. I just won’t cancel that meeting without good cause.”

The president stood, signifying that the conversation was over. Harper rose to his feet as well, and the two men looked at each other in silence as the rain streamed down the large windows beside them.

“I’m sorry you feel that way, sir, but I respect your decision.”

Brenneman reached out to firmly shake hands with his deputy director. He thought about the steel wires protruding from the torn remains of the Kennedy-Warren, and he remembered the mangled vehicles that had lined Independence Avenue less than a month earlier.

“I want you to find the bastard, John.” Brenneman’s voice was low, but the anger it held cut through his calm demeanor. “Find him and put him down.”

“You have my word on it, Mr. President.”

ALEXANDRIA, VIRGINIA

It was early evening when Ryan finally pulled into the Alexandria Detention Center’s parking lot after having battled the reams of rush-hour traffic on I-95. He locked his car and walked toward the building’s entrance. Adam North was already there, waiting on the steps and smoking a cigarette. He smiled as Ryan approached, and the two men shook hands.

“It’s about damn time,” North said. “What happened?”

“The traffic around here is a killer. I don’t know how people put up with that every day.”

“Hey, the money’s in the city. People will suffer anything for a paycheck every couple of weeks. Listen, I have bad news.”

“Tell me.”

“Elgin’s found himself a lawyer, and he’s recanted on waiving his Miranda rights.”

Ryan closed his eyes and shook his head. “I should have seen this coming. Court-appointed, right?”

North took a final drag on his cigarette and flicked the butt into the gutter. “No, he’s actually managed to get somebody decent, probably on the smallest retainer possible. Elgin’s assets have been frozen, and I guarantee that his attorney isn’t aware of that little fact.”

The DEA agent paused and turned his face up to the dim light, breathing in the damp, heavy air. “The government’s moving fast on this one. He’s already been indicted, and the A.G. is seeking three Federal counts. Conspiracy to murder U.S. nationals tops the list. Maybe if they weren’t in such a hurry… I don’t know. Doesn’t matter, anyway. He’ll never talk to you one-on-one now. You want to leave it, see if we can cut a deal?”

“We don’t have time for that. Besides, he had a knife to Naomi’s throat, Adam. He’ll give us the information, one way or another, and then he can rot in jail. What does the conspiracy charge carry, anyway? Twenty years? If he doesn’t feel like talking, he’ll be lucky to see day one of that sentence.”

With most people, Adam would have dismissed these words as an empty threat. Instead, he was immediately reminded of Elgin’s screams in the dark back room of the Waterfront Bar. “Where is she anyway?”

“Naomi? I told her it got pushed back a few days. I’m hoping that she doesn’t call me on it until then.”

A small smile replaced the bigger man’s uneasy expression. “I wouldn’t want to see her face when she finds out…”

Ryan caught the intentional change in subject and sensed North’s lingering apprehension. “Listen, you’ve seen this guy’s sheet, right?” He received a hesitant nod in return. “Elgin raped a thirteen-year-old girl, okay? Not to mention that ninety-two people died at the Kennedy-Warren, and he could have stopped it. Think about that, Adam. Ninety-two dead, hundreds of lives ruined, all so Elgin could clear… what? A couple thousand dollars, maybe? He doesn’t deserve any sympathy, especially from us.”

They were asked to turn in their weapons. North obliged, handing over his Glock, but Kealey shook his head and held up empty hands. After they moved through a metal detector, North signed the register while Kealey looked on impassively. Ryan was required to show the deputy identification to get a temporary pass, but that was all. It was the one thing on which he had insisted, and Harper had come through for him; there would be no record of Ryan Kealey’s visit to the prison.

He wondered if Harper had already realized his mistake. For Kealey to be held responsible for any unfortunate incident that might befall Thomas Elgin, there would have to be an official record of his arrival at the detention center.

The interior of the structure was not at all what he had expected. Most of the walls were painted powder blue, and the floors were covered by cheap government carpet, but carpet nonetheless. He thought that was an unusual thing to see in a prison. The most surprising thing, however, was the lack of noise. It took him a while to notice the absence of sound, if only because it was such an obvious disparity.

North noticed his confusion. “This is what they call a ‘New Generation’ prison. Everything is controlled from a single operations center, and the deputies move freely among the prisoners. Inmates who get loud or try to fight are removed immediately, and noise suppression was taken into account when they chose the building materials.”

“It seems like all that would be pretty expensive,” Ryan said.

“I guess the benefits outweigh the cost. Anyway, I don’t know what you know about the Bureau of Prisons, but Elgin has already been placed into the CIM system. I thought it would happen eventually, but-”

“Hold on, you’re going to have to explain that to me.”

They were passing through an open lounge, filled with wooden tables and comfortable-looking armchairs. Several inmates were crowded around a television, set at a low volume, absorbed by a basketball game while a deputy sheriff looked on with a bored expression. Ryan was struck by the guard’s casual stance, and he couldn’t get over the relaxed atmosphere that seemed to blanket the detention center.

His attention snapped back to North as the acronym was explained: “CIM is the Central Inmate Monitoring System run by the Feds. It applies to pretrial prisoners as well, and Elgin earned a place due to the publicity his case is already getting in the media.”

A small frown spread over Kealey’s face. “I hope he’s not getting any special treatment.”

North shook his head. “No, nothing like that. He is getting some special attention, though. That’s what I’m saying… I can’t guarantee that I can get you in the room alone with him.”

Ryan gave him a sharp look. “I can’t do this without your help, Adam.” A moment later he spoke again, but in a much lower voice. “More to the point, I need you to keep your mouth shut when it’s done. We’ve already talked about this. If you want out, just say the word.”

The tone of his voice left North with little doubt that leaving was no longer an option. “I’ll get you in there,” he said.

Ryan smiled with relief. “Good.”

They were cleared through an electronic door that led into the operations center. Seconds later, the watch commander walked up and extended a large hand.