“This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him,” Jonathan said.
“Was first time in years. Since we arrive in America. He had orders for killing. I only assisted.”
“Who did his orders come from?”
“Should have asked him,” Pyotr said. It was his first jab back at his captors.
Jonathan shot a look to Horne. “Would have been nice to have a chance to. In fact—”
His earpiece popped to life. “Scorpion, Mother Hen.”
He pressed the transmit button on his vest. “Go ahead.”
“Two bits of news. First: Our recent houseguests have left. I have no idea where they went.”
“Idiots,” Boxers said to Jonathan. He was plugged into the same net and heard everything.
“I just received a message from Wolverine. She needs to see you ASAP. No details. And she said it has to be here.”
“Where’s here?”
“In the Cave.” While they spoke on encrypted radio channels, Jonathan was keenly aware that there was nothing that couldn’t be listened to or jammed by someone who knew what they were doing. The Cave meant the office. And it was an extraordinarily odd place to meet.
“That’s crossing the worlds a little too closely, don’t you think?” Boxers asked on the air.
“No argument from me,” Venice said. “I’m just reporting the request.”
“What’s her ETA?” Jonathan asked.
“You are to notify me when you’re an hour out, and then I will notify her.”
Jonathan looked to Boxers, gave his signature shrug. “I don’t like it,” Big Guy said off the air.
Jonathan pressed the transmit button. “Make the call. We’ll be there in thirty.”
“Stand up, Arc Flash,” Jonathan commanded.
The little man did as he was told. He might have been beaten, but he hadn’t been cowed. “More problems afoot?” he asked.
Jonathan took a step forward, and Horne responded with a concomitant step backward. “Listen to me, Torture Boy,” he said, leveling a finger at the man. “What’s done here is done, and by that I mean that you leave both of these men alone. I’ll get some of Wolverine’s people out here to take care of them. You just lock the door. Are we clear on this?”
Horne recovered his lost ground with a step forward. “I hear you, Scorpion, but never forget who I am, and where you are. I do my job, and you do yours, and if we both do them right, the world becomes a safer place. But don’t think for a moment that you scare me.”
“How about me?” Boxers said, stepping forward. “I figure I’ve got to make you at least a little nervous.”
He stood close enough that Horne had to crane his neck to see Big Guy’s face. He showed wisdom in not replying.
“Just don’t hurt them any more than you already have,” Jonathan said.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
It was as if Billy Zanger had investigative reporters in mind when he selected his home. Out here in Prince William County, Virginia, the primary industries were support services for the midgrade military officers who comprised the main demographic. Neighbors might be impressed with Zanger’s title of deputy press secretary, but they wouldn’t obsess over it. Awareness of national politics decreased exponentially with every mile outside the Beltway. In Prince William County, the chances of being seen and reported by a curious blogger were pretty slim.
Becky and David had been sitting in their rental car in the parking lot of the little townhouse cluster for over an hour, awaiting Zanger’s return from his late shift at the news desk in the West Wing.
“He should be getting home anytime now,” David said. “He was supposed to get off at midnight. Even if he stays to work late, he should be here soon.”
“How sure are you that he’s going to cooperate?” Becky asked from the driver’s seat. “What’s his incentive?”
“I told you. He either speaks with us, or we out him.”
“Would you really do that?”
David forced a laugh. “You bet I’d really do that. Journalistic integrity is important to me, but I’m more concerned about my ass.”
He felt the chill radiating from Becky, and as much as he wanted to ignore it, he couldn’t. “Look,” he said. “I’m sorry about all of this. You have every right to be pissed at me, and I have no business asking you to participate as deeply as you are. You did a good deed letting me into your place, and now, true to the saying, you’re not going unpunished.”
“That was a double negative,” she said without dropping a beat. “You’re better than that.”
She seemed to enjoy his confusion.
“I’m not pissed at you,” she said. “I’m not pissed at anybody.” She reached across the center console and gripped David’s arm. “What I am is scared. Shitlessly.”
“I get that,” David said. “And as adverbs go, ‘shitlessly’ is a pretty good one.”
“But really, David. This thing has the White House involved. That’s huge.”
“We don’t know that the White House is involved,” David said. “Correlation and causation are different things.”
“Oh, good,” Becky mocked with a smile. “Freshman logic. That’s what we need. Where I grew up, if it walked like a duck and quacked like a duck, we drew conclusions and lived with the margin of error.”
David watched her as she spoke. In the deflected silver light of the street lamp, he saw cheekbones that stayed hidden most of the time. When she smiled, her teeth actually flashed.
Becky pointed through the windshield. “That’s him,” she said. “Drives a Fusion, right?”
David followed where she was pointing. They knew he drove a black Ford Fusion, and in the darkness, the one they saw parking in front of Billy Zanger’s townhouse could just as easily have been brown or navy blue.
“Okay,” David said. “Let’s try not to get killed.”
They opened their doors in unison and stepped out into the frigid night. David noted that the dome light didn’t come on as the door opened, and he realized that Becky had already thought of that. Damned impressive.
When the door on the Fusion opened up ahead, that dome light did work, and its glare revealed exactly the person they were hoping to see. Billy Zanger was far too absorbed in whatever was playing through his head to notice the two approaching strangers.
Zanger climbed out of his car, slung his European man-bag over his shoulder, and pressed the button on his key fob to make the Fusion chirp as its locks set. He was in no hurry as he dragged himself across the sidewalk and up the three concrete steps that led to his front door.
The whole time, David and Becky closed the distance that separated them. The timing worked out perfectly, with them arriving at the steps the moment that Zanger turned the lock and opened the door.
“Hi, Billy,” David said, causing the other man to yelp and spin around.
“Who are you?”
“I’m a friend of Grayson Cantrell. Ring any bells?”
Zanger said, “Shit.”
“Clearly, you know him,” Becky said.
“What are you doing here?” Zanger said.
“Invite us in, Billy,” David said.
Zanger looked past David and craned his neck to scan the street in both directions. “You can’t do this,” he said. “You can’t come here. Not to my house. Suppose someone sees?”
“If they saw us, they’d think nothing. If they saw you looking like you’ve just been caught in a drug bust, they might start e-mailing each other.” David gave him a second to make sense of his words. “Now, let us in, please.”
His cheeks red, Zanger stepped through the door and then stepped aside to make room for his unwanted houseguests. “My family is sleeping,” he said.