Chapel nodded. He’d assumed as much, though he’d hoped there was another reason Hayes knew so much about the chimeras. “Some of the names on the list don’t make any sense at all. There are three people on that list who couldn’t possibly have been involved in the project. People with no connection to Camp Putnam. And then there’s you.”
“Me?” Hayes said. “I’ve never been to that place.”
Chapel shrugged. “Your link to the chimeras seems pretty tangential. But it’s real. You worked for the CIA at one point. You did yearly debriefings of people the agency wanted to keep an eye on. Specifically, you debriefed William Taggart and Helen Bryant.”
Hayes blinked rapidly. “Sure. They were a couple of scientists. Biologists, I think. A little creepy, as I recall. I always assumed they worked in germ warfare.”
“You debriefed them but you didn’t know why they were being checked up on?”
Hayes frowned. “That was common practice back then. CIA practice. Everything was cutouts; nobody knew anybody else’s business. That’s why they got a lawyer to do the debriefings in the first place. I wasn’t privy to anything truly sensitive, so they could trust me not to give away any secrets by accident.”
That jibed with what Chapel knew of the CIA and its culture of compartmentalized information, but he was still surprised. “How did you even know what to ask them?”
“I had a script,” Hayes said. “ ‘In the last year, have you met with or spoken by telephone with anyone who identified themselves as an official of a foreign nation? Has anyone you don’t know approached you in a social situation and asked questions you felt uncomfortable answering?’ That kind of stuff. It was really just a checklist — they would say no to every question, I would make marks on a form, and then I would go home. I debriefed a lot of people. Scientists, defectors, former radicals who claimed to have gone straight. It was just part of my job.”
Chapel nodded. That wasn’t helpful at all — he’d really hoped Hayes might have known something about Taggart and Bryant that he didn’t — but at least it was one small mystery cleared up. There was another one, though. “You were also counsel when Christina Smollett sued the CIA.”
“Who?”
Chapel gritted his teeth. “A mentally ill woman in New York City. The suit was probably brought by her parents. She claimed the CIA was sending people into her bedroom at night to sexually assault her.”
Hayes made a disgusted face. “There were always cases like that. I hated them. Those people were obviously suffering, but it wasn’t our fault. It was my job to get rid of them as quickly as possible. Preferably without spending any money.”
“You don’t remember this case in particular?” Chapel asked.
“No. I could go through my old files,” he offered.
Chapel held up a hand. “No need.”
“Why her?” Hayes asked. “Why did you bring her up?”
Chapel leaned to the side and tilted his head a little to the left. Was there sweat on Hayes’s forehead? Just a trace. Not enough he would even notice it. And his pupils were a little dilated, Chapel decided.
Interesting.
Extremely interesting.
“Her name came up in one of my investigations, but it’s probably nothing,” Chapel said. No point in telling the judge that Christina Smollett was on the kill list.
Not when Hayes was lying to him about not knowing who she was.
Hayes was a good liar. He’d been a lawyer, once, so it made sense — he’d been trained how to keep his cards close to his vest. But Chapel had been trained in military interrogation techniques. He could spot the telltales. He knew when someone was withholding facts from him.
Hayes knew exactly who Christina Smollett was, Chapel was sure of it. And he knew why she was on the list.
DENVER, COLORADO: APRIL 14, T+57:36
“All right, let’s move on,” Chapel said, because he knew better than to push — if he started demanding information now, Hayes would just shut down and refuse to talk at all. There might be time to ask more questions later. “Talk to me about this itinerary. I understand you plan to move to a different location. Somewhere I’m not allowed to know about until we get there.”
“I’ve already seen that your systems can be hacked,” Hayes told him. “And Tom — Director Banks — told me that whoever released the chimeras has access to military technology. Apparently they used a Predator drone to break open Camp Putnam.”
Chapel hadn’t known that. He filed it away for later review. Right now he had to focus on keeping Hayes alive.
“I think it’s a bad move to change locations now. You’ll never be more vulnerable than when you’re in transit.”
“Whoever is giving the chimeras their instructions already knows I’m here. What they don’t know is the new location.”
“Which is?” Chapel asked.
Hayes surprised him by actually telling him. “I have a house up in the foothills of the Rockies. A little place outside of Boulder.”
“Is it secure? Can it be secured?”
“It’s six acres of land, mostly forested. All of it fenced. There’s one private road leading to it so we don’t have to worry about traffic. It’s hard to find if you don’t know where to look, and it’s not listed under my name — technically it belongs to my ex-wife, but she’s in Washington State now and won’t be dropping by.”
So, Chapel thought, it’s distant from the local police, and if they needed help it would be a long time coming. One road leading in meant only one escape route if they needed to flee. Forested land was Quinn’s favored terrain — it was where he’d grown up. Add to that the usual problems of a rural location: spotty cellular coverage (if any), frequent power outages, and it would be pitch-dark at night.
But Hayes did have a point. The Voice, the author of the kill list, wouldn’t know where they were going. And he’d been right to keep the information from Chapel as well — the last thing they needed was a repeat of Stone Mountain.
“Okay. We’ll leave tonight, about two in the morning—”
“The convoy is gathering right now,” Hayes said. “Reinhard has overseen everything. We’ll leave as soon as the lunchtime rush hour is over.”
Chapel sat back in his chair. He had pushed Hayes hard enough already. Maybe it was time to ease up a bit. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try reasoning with him. “It would be safer at night. I’d also like to get you in a nondescript car. The black sedans your people use will make good decoys, but if you’re in a different car, then even if Quinn attacks during the transfer you’ll be safe.”
“I’m taking my limousine,” Hayes said, in a voice that wouldn’t brook disagreement.
Chapel sighed. “I’ve been trained in how to do this,” he said.
“So has Reinhard.”
Chapel shook his head. “I was flippant about it before, but really, whoever trained him had no idea what this situation was going to be like.”
“I’ve known Reinhard for nearly ten years,” Hayes said. “I trust him. He’s kept me safe through riots and protests and death threats from some of the most hardened criminals in Colorado. You, Captain Chapel, I’ve known in person for less than an hour. When we get to the house, he’ll accept your command. You can see to security there as you please. But right now I’m putting my life in his hands.”
“Okay,” Chapel said. “At least let me oversee the embarkation. The absolute most dangerous time is when you move from this office to your vehicle. I’ll feel better if I’m watching you while you make that switch.”
“As you wish,” Hayes said.
IN TRANSIT: APRIL 14, T+58:39