As Uzi headed for Marshall Shepard’s home — where he hoped to obtain answers to at least a few of his questions — he decided he had to make one major assumption: that the DVDs containing the encrypted files were passed from Shepard to Leila. That conclusion seemed logical.
When Uzi left the Hoover Building, his intention was to confront his boss, ask direct questions, and gauge the honesty of his answers. But as he turned onto his ASAC’s street, he realized that until he knew what was in the encrypted files, he didn’t want to create hard feelings with the man who had done so much for him over the years, someone he considered a close friend. If I’m wrong about all this, I don’t want to throw all that away.
Uzi parked a block from Shepard’s townhouse in Foggy Bottom and slumped down in his seat. He wished he had his night vision monocle — let alone his Glock — but he had gotten by with far less on missions in the heart of Damascus and Tehran.
Fifteen minutes passed without activity. He wasn’t even sure his surveillance was going to bear fruit, but the alternative — getting some much-needed sleep — was no longer an option.
Despite all that he and DeSantos had amassed, it seemed like a nest of disjointed information, fragmented pixels lacking the cohesion that could bring the picture into focus. Another week and he might have most of the answers. He needed at least another week.
I’ve got less than eight hours.
As the dashboard clock changed to 6:21, activity stirred near Shepard’s townhouse. The porch light snapped on, and in the dim throws of the bulb’s glow, Uzi recognized his boss’s lumbering gait. Shepard descended the five brick steps that led from his front door to the cement path that ended at the sidewalk. Shepard got into his car and hung a U-turn.
Uzi followed with his headlights off, keeping at least a block away. He hated being in a BuCar, as the standard issue Crown Victoria was like driving in a red tomato. It stood out to those in the know, particularly criminals — and federal agents.
But if Shepard had any inkling he was being followed, he never let on. He took a direct route, with minimal turns. Uzi calmed his thoughts, reined in his paranoia.
His sense of tranquility lasted barely a minute, however, as Shepard headed up 23rd Street and parked near Dupont Circle. Uzi parked, too, taking note that he was less than ten blocks from Leila’s apartment. He watched as his boss walked toward the large central fountain and took a seat on what probably qualified as the world’s longest park bench.
Shepard sat alone for ten minutes before being joined by a dark figure Uzi would recognize anywhere as Leila Harel. He knew that body. Perhaps too well.
He watched as Shepard handed her a thick manila envelope; following a moment of dialogue, Leila disappeared into the darkness, dissolving into the surroundings like a practiced spook. Shepard, deskbound and long removed from field work, lumbered back to his car.
His ASAC drove to Millie’s Coffee Shop, a greasy spoon in Georgetown that apparently catered to college students who needed an early place to get their off-campus caffeine fix before classes started. It was dark inside, with single-bulb original art deco lights hanging over each booth. The wood floors were varnished, but well worn in traffic areas to the point where a groove had been ground into the main aisle, with branching furrows leading to each table.
Shepard was nestled in a corner booth on the left side of the restaurant, the Post spread across the metal-rimmed Formica table with a plate of scrambled eggs and sausage by his right elbow. Uzi slid onto the seat beside him and peered over the top of the newspaper.
“Uzi. What—”
“What am I doing here? Well, let’s see. It’s been a hell of a night, highlighted by nearly getting blown into the heavens.”
Shepard eyed his friend silently before speaking. “Uzi, have you spoken with your shrink? I mean, this is a really traumatic thing to go through.”
“You know what, Shep? Nearly getting blasted to oblivion doesn’t really bother me. Someday it’ll hit me. It always does. But right now I’m pretty focused.”
“I know this case bothers you,” Shepard said. “Knox isn’t just breathing down your neck, he’s on my case, too. Today’s the big day, and we’ve still got shit—”
Uzi slammed his hand down on the table. The silverware jumped. All heads in the small restaurant turned. “Damnit, Shep, don’t fucking play games with me. I’m not in the mood.”
Shepard raised his fork and pointed it at Uzi. “Calm the hell down. And watch your mouth.” He glanced around the café. “What’s gotten into you?”
“Where were you fifteen minutes ago?”
Shepard looked away. “What the hell business is that of yours?”
“Wrong answer, Shep.” Uzi stared coldly at his friend.
“Anita,” Shepard called across the counter, where a large African-American woman with hair netting was bent over the cooktop. “I’ve gotta take a walk. Will you keep this warm for me?”
“Sure thing, shugah,” she sang. She slapped the edge of her metal spatula against the stove a couple of times, ridding it of a few stray pieces of cooked egg, then threw an evil eye at Uzi.
Shepard and Uzi got up from the booth and walked outside. The sky was a bit brighter in the east, but sunrise was still a way off. Vapor rose from their mouths in the morning chill.
Shepard walked a dozen feet, turned right down an alley, and put his big hands on his hips. “Okay. What the hell’s going on?”
“That’s what I want to know.” He stared at Shepard but his boss was not volunteering any information. “Why did you just meet with Leila Harel?”
“Were you tailing me?”
“I’m asking the questions here, Shep.”
“Fuck you, my friend. Who the fuck do you think you are? I’m still your superior, and friendship aside, you have no right to talk to me that way.”
Uzi held up a hand. He was pushing Shepard in the opposite direction. He closed his eyes and tried to think of what to say, where to begin. “You passed her an envelope. What was in it?”
Shepard looked away.
“Your fingerprints were on encrypted DVDs recovered from her apartment. Explain that.”
“Intelligence,” Shepard said quickly. “It’s a need-to-know basis—”
“I need to fucking know, Shep. I’m running a major investigation. If I ask you a question that might be related to that investigation, you have to answer it.”
“Is it related?”
The two of them locked stares.
Finally, Shepard blinked. “Okay, you want to know what’s going on? I’ll tell you. But this goes beyond any level of trust we’ve ever shared. This is beyond top secret, beyond top secret, you hear what I’m saying?” His voice was low, barely above a whisper.
“Yeah. You know you can trust me.”
Shepard put a hand behind his neck and squeezed. “Man, oh man. I knew this was a bad idea. I knew it.” He walked a few feet away, through a few puddles and past a pile of litter, then returned to Uzi. “What do you know about Leila?”
“I’m not sure. Yesterday I would’ve had a different answer. Today, I just don’t know.”
“And yesterday’s answer?”
“CIA. Counterintelligence. A member of M2TF.”
“And today?”
Uzi closed his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to say it.
“A terrorist with al-Humat,” Shepard said. “Is that what you’re thinking?”
Uzi’s eyes snapped open. “You knew?”
Shepard turned and started to walk down the alley. Uzi followed. “I’ve known for a while.”
“How could you not tell me? I mean, don’t you think that would be an important detail for me to have — not just as head of JTTF, but for the investigation?”