Court kicked his foot gently. “Talk. Don’t think. Talk.”
“Denny said you assassinated the wrong man on an operation in Italy. You did it intentionally, in violation of clear and unmistakable orders.”
Court did not react to this; he just kept scanning the car. A couple of days ago hearing this lie from Travers left him gobsmacked, but now he expected it. He simply replied, “Not true. Denny wants me terminated because of what I know about AAP.”
Court glanced again at Ohlhauser and watched the man furrow his brow. Confusion on his face. Ohlhauser kept looking down at the floor.
Court said, “It’s an old program I used to be involved in. Called the Autonomous Asset—”
Ohlhauser looked up and interrupted him. “I know what AAP is. Hell, I drafted the finding that sanctioned the program.”
“What?” Court said. “You looked surprised when I mentioned AAP. Why?”
“I was only surprised that you think the shoot on sight against you has anything to do with that program. Why on earth would Denny term you for your old job?”
“I don’t know why. All I know is that all the other operators from AAP are dead.”
“Is that right?”
“Yes. I’m the last one. Denny needs to silence me. To remove the compromise.”
Max rubbed his face. His eyes under his glasses. A nervous affectation. “Look, Violator, I hate to break this to you, but your theory doesn’t make a bit of sense.”
“Why do you say that?”
Another rub of the face. The skin of his thick cheeks reddened. “Because AAP is still up and running. Under another name. I mean… I’ve been out of the Agency for just two years, and it was going strong when I left.”
Court sat back in his seat. The train came to a stop at the Farragut North station. Several people got on. Court scanned them perfunctorily, but his mind was on Ohlhauser’s assertion. When it started rolling again, Court said, “I don’t believe you.”
Max shrugged. “Why would I lie about that?”
“But—”
“BACK BLAST, Violator. Denny came to me because of BACK BLAST.”
Court shook his head violently. “Forget BACK BLAST, it’s just a cover story Denny is using. I did nothing wrong.”
Max sighed. “I just know what I was told, and I was told you took a payoff from the Serbs to kill the wrong man.”
Court stared at Max. “The Serbs?”
“That’s what Denny said.”
“Then Denny is a goddamned liar. When I worked for the U.S. government I never took a cent from anyone other than the U.S. government.”
Ohlhauser shrugged. “I guess Denny is the man you need to see.”
Court’s jaw flexed. “Don’t worry. I’ll be seeing Denny.” Court took his eyes off the other passengers in the car now, just as it began to slow before the next station, and he looked at the man in the red bow tie. He got the impression the man wanted to say something, but was holding back. “What is it?”
“You say you did what you thought was right on BACK BLAST. If that’s true, then the shoot on sight wasn’t justified. But I did what I thought was right when I signed the shoot on sight, so you kidnapping me or… or worse. That’s not any more justified.”
“Spoken like a lawyer facing an armed man.”
Ohlhauser shook his head. “Maybe you killed the wrong guy. Maybe by me signing that paper, I signed the death warrant for the wrong guy.” He heaved his shoulders. “I’m truly sorry if I acted with bad information, but I did not act in bad faith. I did what Denny asked me to do. That is all.”
“You were a rubber stamp for Denny Carmichael.”
Max leaned forward. “You’re damn right I was. And you were the tip of Denny’s spear. We’re the same, you and me.”
Court just switched gears. He didn’t want to hear anything more about Denny Carmichael and Operation BACK BLAST. He said, “This new iteration of the Autonomous Asset Program. Where is it located?”
Ohlhauser answered immediately. “How would I know that? I am out of the Agency, and even when I was in the Agency, I wasn’t operational side.”
“Did they move it? It used to be in a compound at Harvey Point.”
“I’m telling you, Violator. I don’t have a clue.”
The train stopped at the Dupont Circle station. Court fought his anger and frustration at reaching another dead end, and he stood quickly. He just wanted to get back to his room, to regroup, and to come up with some other options.
He pulled Ohlhauser to his feet, turned him around, then pushed him towards the door.
They walked together in the station, just as they had ten minutes earlier before boarding the train at Metro Center. Court leaned in to Max’s ear and said, “Go up the escalator to the mezzanine, then head to the escalator for the opposite platform. Take the train back to your office. We’re done here.” Max nodded without looking back, and Court leaned close one more time. “How ’bout that? You aren’t dead. You’re going to have to tell your friends on CNN that I’m not the monster they’re making me out to be.” Court immediately began lagging back a few feet. His plan was to separate from Ohlhauser here in the bowels of the crowded station and get up to street level, where he knew he could quickly melt into the busy neighborhood.
The crowd thickened on the mezzanine level at the top of the escalator, and Court drifted even farther back. He slipped off his raincoat, revealing his new black suit, and then he pulled off his suit coat and walked on in his shirtsleeves. He wadded the coats up into a tight ball as he exited the turnstiles to leave the station, and he crammed them both in a garbage can at the bottom of the five-story-high escalator that led up to Connecticut Avenue.
But as soon as he got on the escalator he saw them. Two D.C. Metro cops heading down the opposite escalator. They were checking faces, clearly looking for someone.
Court looked ahead and above him now. He could just barely make out the pale blue uniforms of two more cops at the top of the escalator, four stories up.
He turned quickly and began heading back down the escalator, pushing to the right of others on the stairs in hopes of covering his retreat. As soon as he got to the bottom of the stairs he hurried back along the mezzanine, planning on getting down one of the escalators to the platform level. From here he could jump on the first ride out of here in either direction.
He went back through the turnstile and walked a few feet, but there Max Ohlhauser appeared out of the crowd in front of him, along with four D.C. Metro police officers. The faces of the policemen did not register with Court at first. He just saw Max, the uniforms, and he started to turn away, hoping the fact he’d shed his jacket and his coat might disguise him to Ohlhauser.
But that had been too much to hope for.
“There! That’s him!”
All four cops reached for their weapons, right in the middle of the crowded mezzanine of a subway station.
Court knew he could run, though his chances for escape weren’t particularly good. There were at least eight cops in the vicinity and they all seemed to be hunting for him. Running would have long odds, although he’d certainly wiggled his way out of tighter spots than this. But, Court told himself, if he tried to make a break for it now, there was a chance one of these cops would open fire, just like they had done the other night, and there was no way they wouldn’t hit innocents here in the busy metro station.
Reluctantly, Court raised his hands. Surely they wouldn’t shoot him in cold blood with his hands up, he told himself.
Quickly all four cops stepped up to him, their guns still drawn, and they turned him around and walked him to a wall. They kicked his legs apart, pushed him till his hands slapped high on the wall.