Jeffery Deaver - Edge

Loving and his partner. I’d hoped they’d both be here.

“Roger. All teams, stay in position. No motion, no sound. Sniper one, can you target the subject vehicle?”

“Negative.”

“Roger.”

I wondered momentarily if the partner was Loving’s protégé, as I had been Abe’s and Claire duBois mine. Did Loving lecture about the rules of play the way I had been lectured and I lectured now? This seemed at first a crazy thought but then I asked myself, why? Tradecraft of all types had to be mastered.

“Team Two. Subjects are on western perimeter of the parking lot, observing Zagaev’s vehicle.”

Freddy’s voice whispered, “Move Omar’s head around but not so he’s looking back toward them.”

“Roger that.”

The robot glanced to the side. The head dipped. Whoever guided the mannequin was an artist.

“Subjects’re checking out the park. Okay, they’re separating, moving up on either side of the car. Be advised, both have weapons now. Autoloader handguns.”

“Copy that.”

So they weren’t going for a sniper shot; they were going to take him from behind, close. Just shoot him and have done with it.

Or, I reflected, this might not be a kill at all. Maybe their intention was for the partner to cover the transaction as Loving collected the money. They would shake hands and leave.

I was breathing hard, forcing myself not to strain forward for a glimpse but staying low in the brush. Suddenly I felt a trickle down my spine and looked behind me fast, though I knew Loving couldn’t have come up behind me here, not with the tactical agents arrayed as they were.

I saw nothing but saplings and brush.

“Tac Op Leader. We’ve got a visual. Both suspects are in confinement positions.”

Freddy said, “You’re greenlighted.”

“Roger. Greenlighted. On my command, Teams Three and One, flash-bangs… then move in, flanking and rear. Hold… hold…”

I wondered what the communications here had been like in July of 1861 when troops had been preparing to engage.

“Now. Move in, move in!”

I heard a series of explosions and saw flashes as the tactical ops teams sped forward.

My hand was cramping-my left hand, not the one I used for shooting-and I was half rising from cover. I sucked in air. I realized that I hadn’t been breathing for a good thirty seconds or more.

The teams converged, screaming, as they were instructed to do, “FBI, FBI, on the ground, let me see your hands! Let me see your hands!”

“We’ve got-” one started to radio.

A long pause. “Team Three to Tac Op Leader. Need you here. Now.”

What was going on?

“I don’t get it…”

“Shit.”

My heart sank at the transmissions, hardly what you would have hoped for in a successful operation.

And, moving from cover, I made a deduction that proved to be true. The two men sneaking up on Omar were displaying what appeared to be law enforcement shields. They were, of course, detectives from Prince William County, here to investigate the reports of a drug deal or cries for help that Loving had undoubtedly called in the minute he hung up from speaking with Zagaev.

A call made to distract us while he orchestrated his escape.

I WAS SPEAKING to Claire duBois.

“Loving’s on the run. He might be driving but I think he wants to get clear of the area. Data mine flight reservations. I want to know anybody who bought a ticket, after he talked to Zagaev-about three p.m.-for travel today. Maybe from Dulles, National or BWI but I think he’s still going to be avoiding them, especially now that he suspects we’ve turned Zagaev.”

“Amtrak?” duBois asked.

“Freddy’s told the police at Union Station to look for him. But I’m betting he wants to put more distance between us faster than taking a train.”

“I’ll get right on it.”

Zagaev had no clue where Loving might have gone, except to add that the flight to Charleston, West Virginia, had taken him about five hours, which suggested he was based somewhere on the West Coast, though possibly Mexico, the Caribbean or Canada.

The tactical officers were assembling their gear. We talked to the county detectives but it was no surprise that the call that had brought them here had been anonymous and from an untraceable phone. “The caller said he’d seen somebody selling ‘army guns’ from the back of his car. What were we supposed to do? Jesus, you guys scared the shit out of us. Flash-bangs? Messed up my eyes, I’ll tell you. I’m talking to my commander about this.”

I realized Loving’s choice of a crime was smart. Had he reported a drug deal or a girl’s shouting for help, as I’d thought originally, a standard patrol car with uniformed officers would have shown up. Selling weapons brought plainclothes detectives, which tricked us into believing they were Loving and the partner and prolonged his chance to escape.

Freddy said, “How’d he know we turned Zagaev?”

“Years and years of doing this shit.”

The agent lifted an eyebrow. “A sense of humor and you’re cursing, son.”

Ten minutes later duBois called back. “Five minutes after Zagaev and Loving hung up, a man named Richard Hill bought an e-ticket to Seattle from Philly. It was the next available flight.”

“Why do you think it’s Loving? That’s not a known alias of his.”

“Well, for one thing, because Richard Hill is dead. His birth certificate was used to get a driver’s license two years after he died.”

“Ghosting.” This was a common technique for establishing a false identity.

“Exactly. But mostly we know because the airline records the calls; I got the clip. Voice print matches.”

“Flight time?”

“Little under three hours from now.”

“One ticket?” I was thinking of the sandy-haired partner.

“No, two. Another fake name. That person’s dead too.”

I told her I’d get back to her, disconnected and then gestured Freddy over and told him. He grunted. “Your girl data mines better’n my girl. Tell you, Corte, I might hire her away from you.” He called the Bureau’s Philly field office and briefed them. He disconnected and turned back to me. “They’ll be on site in twenty minutes.”

“Subtle, Freddy. Call them back and tell them to be subtle. They need to stay invisible till the last minute.”

“They’ll be subtle.”

I cocked my eyebrow.

“I’ll call ’em back.” Then he gave me a rare grin. “You coming along for the hunting party?”

I thought of Rhode Island. I thought of Abe. The idea of being present at Loving’s arrest was immensely appealing.

How badly I wanted to go…

But I said, “I’ll leave that to you folks. I’m going to head back to the safe house, keep an eye on my principals.”

“What for? The case’s over with, Corte.”

“That’s true, Freddy. But the fact is they still need guarding.”

“We got the sole primary in custody and the lifter’s headed for the hills. Who’d they need protecting from?”

“Themselves.”

THE ATMOSPHERE IN the Great Falls safe house suggested that what I’d told Freddy was true.

I walked into the middle of a fight between the sisters. It was intense and even my arrival, presumably with vital information about the case, didn’t deflect the jousting. Ryan was nowhere to be seen.

“I was upset.” Joanne slapped her thighs. “What do you think? People say things when they’re upset they don’t mean. Come on. How can you move out?”

“I’d planned it already.”

“Not with Andrew,” Joanne said.

“He’s changed.”

“Oh, please, Mar. Men like that don’t change. They say they do, they recite crap from twelve-step programs. But they don’t change.”