“This that Bishop guy? The paranoid schizophrenic?”
Uzi frowned at DeSantos. “Let’s go see what the problem is. He seemed uptight.”
“He’s paranoid. Being uptight goes with the territory.”
The drive to Fairfax, Virginia, took them longer than Uzi thought it would. But they drove around, surveilling the area like all Special Operational Forces did. Looking for routes to E & E — evade and escape — should it be necessary. Assessing risk, evaluating the terrain.
Satisfied as to the meeting place, they parked and waited. A car pulled up behind them, half a block away. Its headlights flashed twice; Uzi looked at DeSantos, who was stifling a laugh.
“Go on, flash your brake lights,” DeSantos said.
“What’s so funny?”
“This guy thinks he’s one of us.”
Uzi popped open the door and got out, then headed into the park with DeSantos a few paces behind him. Bishop waited while the two of them walked down the path, then stopped and faced one another as if engaged in conversation.
“Now what?” DeSantos asked.
“He likes to make sure the area’s secure before he’ll come over here.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“I shit you not.”
DeSantos turned and looked at Bishop’s car.
“Don’t stare,” Uzi said. “It’ll just make him nervous.”
“And you said this guy wasn’t paranoid?”
“I’m saying I understand his situation. He digs into volatile issues. There’s a lot of money at stake, a lot of power. He pisses off a lot of people in Washington.”
DeSantos shrugged. “So do I.”
Bishop’s car door opened and he emerged from the darkness wearing a wool hat with ear muffs pulled down over his head and a black trench coat with a turned-up collar.
As he crunched a path across the grass toward Uzi and DeSantos, DeSantos turned away. “Oh, man. This guy’s a piece of work.”
“Keep an open mind, will you? Just listen to what he has to say.”
“Fine. But only if I can keep myself from laughing—”
“Gentlemen,” Bishop said.
Uzi gestured at his partner. “This is Hector DeSantos, Department of Defense.”
“Department of—”
“Relax, Mr. Bishop. He’s on my task force. And I’ve known him a long time. What’s on your mind?”
Bishop glanced around and spoke to the air around him. “I’m being followed, I think my phone’s being tapped, and I’ve had a number of hang-ups today.”
“How do you know you’re being followed?” DeSantos asked.
“Mr. DeSantos, would you know if you’re being followed?”
“I’ve had extensive training—”
“I used to be a private investigator,” Bishop said. “I know what I know, sir. And I’m being followed.”
“Right now?”
“I know how to deal with it. I’m clean at the moment, but I don’t know how long it’ll last. They may have some sort of tracking device on my car somewhere.”
DeSantos threw Uzi a sideways glance. Uzi knew DeSantos was stifling a laugh.
“And the phone tap?” Uzi asked.
“I took apart the handset, but didn’t find anything. They must be tapping in at the switch box. There’s clicking on the line, and it… it just sounds different, is all. I can tell.”
DeSantos nodded slowly, his gaze taking in Bishop from head to toe. Sizing him up.
“Mr. Bishop,” Uzi said, “I can arrange for someone to look into it. Hoshi can do it. Do you want me to call her?”
Bishop nodded.
As Uzi pulled out his phone, Bishop turned his head to check over his shoulder. He swayed a bit, but DeSantos reached out to steady him.
“I’m okay,” Bishop said. He pulled his arm from DeSantos’s grip. “I haven’t been able to sleep. I’m a little light-headed is all.”
Uzi eyed Bishop with concern, then dialed Hoshi. “Is that all you had to tell me?” he asked as he pressed Send.
“No.” Bishop’s eyes danced around the park. “It’s about our AG.”
His smartphone beeped in rapid succession. Uzi ended the call, looked at the flashing red light, then brought an index finger up to his mouth. He pressed a button to silence the beeping, then held the device near Bishop’s body. “Number’s busy. I think we should do this tomorrow, anyway. Schedule a time when we can meet with Hoshi in person.” The flashing light became steady. Uzi nodded, then slipped the device into his pocket. “That okay with you, Mr. Bishop?” Uzi nodded animatedly, then again pressed an index finger to his lips.
Bishop’s eyes were wide. He clearly understood what was going on. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. Hopefully I can get some sleep tonight, then my head will be a little clearer.”
“Tomorrow night,” Uzi said as he helped remove Bishop’s jacket, “Nine o’clock. Same place. I’ll bring Hoshi with me.” He held the jacket by the collar and said, “Take care.” He carefully set the jacket on the ground and motioned for Bishop to follow him down the path.
When the three of them had walked thirty feet, Uzi removed his phone again and ran it over Bishop’s body. The red lights remained off.
Bishop whispered, “Listening devices?”
“Probably sewn into your jacket,” Uzi said.
“We don’t know that,” DeSantos said. He turned to Bishop. “Do you have any electronic devices in your pocket? An iPod, smartphone, GPS—”
“Santa, I’m sure. I programmed this myself. The only thing that would make it react like that is a device that puts out a very specific low-voltage wireless signature.”
DeSantos sighed deeply. “I still don’t buy it. There could be other explanations. But we’ll take the jacket with us, Mr. Bishop, have the lab analyze it, okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, sure. I appreciate it.”
“I bet,” DeSantos muttered.
Uzi gestured at Bishop with his chin. “You were saying. Winston Coulter.”
“Shh,” Bishop spat. “No names.
DeSantos elbowed Uzi. “What’s the matter with you? Directional microphones.” He faced Bishop. “Right?”
Bishop nodded. “Can’t be too careful with these people.”
DeSantos shook his head. “Okay, enough. I’ve had just about all the bullshit I can han—”
Uzi grabbed DeSantos’s right forearm. “Santa. Take it easy.” His voice was calm, but firm. “Chill out, let’s hear what he has to say. I think he’s on the level, and I think his… paranoia is legit. Go with me on this.”
DeSantos rolled his eyes, then shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his overcoat. “Go ahead. I’m listening. The AG….”
Bishop twisted his body and glanced back toward his car. “He’s in this thing as deep as the… the man we talked about last night.”
“The Director,” DeSantos said.
Bishop glared at him.
DeSantos shrugged both shoulders, keeping his hands buried in his pockets. “What. No names.”
Bishop pulled his eyes from DeSantos and settled again on Uzi. “The man’s also a member of the organization.”
“The organization.”
“Yeah,” DeSantos said. “The organization of paranoid sociopaths.” He grunted. “I tried, Uzi, but I can’t listen to any more of this.” He turned to walk away.
Uzi reached for his shoulder, but the subsonic whiz piercing the air stopped them both as they instinctively whirled to locate the direction of the signature noise.
Before Uzi found the source of the sound, Tad Bishop crumpled forward into his arms — a large bloody hole where his left eyeball used to be.
“JESUS!”
Like a defensive lineman, DeSantos wrapped his arms around Uzi’s waist and toppled the big man, who was supporting the weight of Tad Bishop’s dead hulk.