Greg Rucka - Critical Space

"Okay, so he's sprung."

"Potentially sprung. Belief in reincarnation is not a mental defect."

"Fair enough," I said. "Find out why he got expelled."

"First thing in the morning. And how was your day, snookums?"

"I could tell you. But it would take most of an hour, at least. You might want to sleep."

"Nah. I'm lying here with the phone in my ear. If you bore me, I'll just nod off."

"You're in bed?"

"Yup," she said. "Naked, even. Tell me a story."

I told her about my day. She didn't nod off.

When I finished, she said, "I'm coming home."

"Why? You're doing more good following up on Keith than you can do here."

"I'm afraid for you, that's why."

"Don't be. There's nothing that can be done tonight. Moore thinks the Drama stuff is bullshit, anyway."

"Moore doesn't impress me the way he does you," Bridgett said, and I could hear her moving, imagined her rolling up onto an elbow. "Drama's already visited you once when you were alone in that apartment. I don't want that happening again. If I'm there, you've got a little more protection."

"I'll tell you what I told the others, Bridie. Even if she is on the move, she's not coming here."

"And I'll tell you what they should have said in response, Atticus, which is that you cannot possibly know what she will or will not do. From what you've told me about her, she made a point of singling you out. She's targeted you before."

"She singled me out because I was running the operation. If she's truly after Lady Ainsley-Hunter, she won't come here, because that'll tip her hand. Which means that the only other reason to come here would be a personal one, and since she didn't bother to hunt us all down after everything with Pugh had been resolved, I'm inclined to believe she's not interested in taking things personally. Havel's book hasn't changed that."

"Oh, fuck you," she said softly. "I hate it, I absolutely hate it, when you start using logic."

"Well, I do it so rarely," I pointed out.

"You got that right. Just be careful."

"I will be," I said. "You, too. Get some sleep, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Don't worry about me."

"It works two ways, you get to tell me to be careful, I get to worry about you."

Her silence seemed suddenly sullen. Then she said, "Is that how it works?"

"Did I say something wrong?"

"It's late, Kodiak. I'm tired. Drama's maybe gunning for you. You'll forgive me if my tone isn't everything it should be." She wished me safe rest, and hung up.

I went to bed, thinking that the phone never had been my friend, and never would be.

We met at six on the nose the next morning, all of us in our work clothes and Kevlar vests, and before we did anything else, I shared Moore's news about Oxford. At first, they all thought it was a bad joke.

"My sense of humor, while damaged, is not quite that morbid," I told them. "Moore has reliable intelligence that another of The Ten is on the prowl in our neck of the woods."

"Jesus Christ," Natalie said. "Two of them?"

I nodded. "This one's called Oxford. There is a positive, however."

"Her Ladyship has canceled her trip?" Corry asked hopefully. "She has taken vows and entered a convent in Upper Volta?"

"Not that positive," I said. "Moore's intelligence mentions nothing of Drama, and in fact, indicates that she has been inactive for much of the last year."

They considered that. Then Dale said, "So Moore's intelligence on Drama is basically that he has no intelligence on Drama."

"It's better than him confirming what Gracey and Bowles told me yesterday," I pointed out.

"Becomes a question of who we believe."

"Yes."

"Which leads us again to the question of why did the CIA bother to tell you she was on the move in the first place," Natalie said.

"Yes."

They all looked at me as if I had something more to add. I did, but it wasn't very insightful.

I said, "Let's get to work."

While Natalie and I handled the final weapons and radio checks, Dale and Corry went to the garage up the block from the office to retrieve the vehicles. It took them a little over thirty minutes to make certain that the cars were secure, and by a quarter of seven we were on our way to Jersey. Natalie and Dale took the Benz, leaving Corry and me with the Lexus. Both cars had been purchased for the firm, and both vehicles were hardened top to bottom, though the Benz was the more heavily armored of the two, sporting gun ports, Run-Flat tires, and a fire-suppression system in addition to the standard reinforced frame and bulletproof glass.

Corry drove, following Dale's lead in the Benz. The traffic out of the city was as heavy as the traffic on its way in, but worse. A lot of the delivery trucks making runs from the outer boroughs liked to cut across the island and use the Holland Tunnel, trying to cut down on tolls. When you're boxed in by three four-ton trucks, it doesn't matter if the car you're in is reinforced or not.

I kept my eyes moving the whole time, looking for tails front or back, until we were past Newark and turned onto 280. We had an almost two-hour drive ahead of us, though Dale was moving quickly, punching through traffic as efficiently as possible to keep us on schedule. If we arrived at the airport early, that would be fine; it was arriving late that we couldn't allow, and though I knew that Moore wouldn't let Lady Ainsley-Hunter off the plane unless we were present and in position, I didn't want to keep them waiting.

Natalie's voice came clear over the radio in the car. "Dale says we're good, looks like we're free and clear."

"Wonderful," I said.

"Hey, Corry? " Dale asked. "Is Atticus white-knuckling it?"

"I'd check, but then I'd have to look away from the road, and then he'd freak out," Corry answered.

"Drive, damn you," I said.

Over the radio speaker, I heard Natalie and Dale chuckling.

"ETA roughly one hundred minutes, " Dale reported. "Out. "

Corry grinned, adjusting his grip on the wheel. Past West Orange the views changed, the industrial heart of Jersey fading to a more pastoral countryside. Our route had been chosen to take us past a number of airports, both large and small fields, just to keep any potential tails guessing. Past Parsippany, we turned north onto 287, the Boonton Reservoir to our east. The traffic here was lighter, and we accelerated to almost eighty for a short burst. No tails revealed themselves.

"How'd you sleep?" Corry asked after a while.

"Well, just not for long. Ended up staying on the phone with Bridgett for almost two hours after I got home. You?"

"Not badly, all things considered. It took me an hour just to make certain the house was secure, you know?"

I laughed, and Corry nodded.

"You, too?"

"Me, too," I said. "What'd Esme say?"

"Well, I woke the baby up when I was checking the nursery, and Esme didn't much care for that. Asked me what the hell I thought I was doing. I told her I was just making certain the place was safe."

"You didn't tell her about Drama?"

He grimaced, shook his head. "It would've just kept her up all night. She needs her sleep. Did you tell Bridgett?"

"Yeah, but it's a different situation. She's working for us on this, so I figure she needs to know all the facts."

After a moment, Corry said, "I don't like keeping things from my wife."

I thought about how to answer, and then my cell phone rang. It was Bridgett.

"Hey, you," she said. "You'll never guess where I am."

"Philadelphia Community College."

"Oh, you are good." If she thought our last call had left a tension, there was nothing in her voice to acknowledge it. "In fact, I am in the Office of Campus Security at Philadelphia Community College, where I have just finished speaking with Chief of Campus Security George Abrega, who runs the show here. And the Chief has very generously shared with me some details about Mr. Joseph Keith, class of year before last."