“We weren’t sent after ‘subjects,” Special Agent. We were only activated to retrieve professional clandestine operatives. That’s not a game for groups. Besides, we applied a different theory of pursuit.”
“Which was?”
“A single hunter. One-on-one. That made it personal, which gave us a chance to provoke an emotional reaction.”
“Why?”
“Emotion distracts. The more emotion, the more distraction. Distraction leads to mistakes. Mistakes lead to capture. This is all news to you, isn’t it?”
She shrugged.
“I went through basic agent training. I’ve just never done it at the street level.”
“And you probably never will. You’re not tough enough.”
She felt herself coloring.
“That something you know, Mr. Kreiss?”
“Yes, it is. For instance, could you shoot someone?”
“Yes. Well, I think so. To save my life. Or another agent’s life.”
“Sure about that? Could you pull that trigger and blast another human’s heart out his back?”
She started to get angry.
“Well, the real answer to that is, I don’t know.
Probably won’t know until the time comes to do it, will I?”
He smiled then.
“Well, at least you’re not stupid. I think we’re done here.”
He looked at his watch again, which was when she remembered something during the discussion in Farnsworth’s office.
“The Washington people were pretty specific about a bombing conspiracy. But one of them, the woman, said something I didn’t understand. She jumped in Ransom’s shit because he failed to deliver a message. I asked, “What message?” but she wouldn’t say, and neither would Ransom.”
Kreiss looked away for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he said, finally.
“Like she said, Ransom didn’t deliver any message.”
He pushed his chair back. She couldn’t just let him walk away, but she could not figure out a way of prolonging the conversation. She also wanted to be able to contact him again if something developed.
“Wait,” she said. She fished in her purse and brought out her Bureau-issue pager.
“Would you take this?” she said, handing the device across the table.
“In case I need to reach you quickly. You know, in case we get news of Lynn.”
He cocked his head.
“You want me to carry your pager?”
“It’s not what you think,” she said quickly, too quickly.
“I mean, it’s not a tracking device or anything. It’s just a plain vanilla pager. Please?”
“Sure it is,” he said, but then he took it and got up.
“You have a good evening, Special Agent Carter. And remember to check out your passenger.”
He left a five-dollar bill on the table and walked out. She noticed that all those intelligent-looking men at the bar again moved aside to let him by, moving quickly enough that he didn’t have to slow down. Kind of like the Red Sea opening up for Moses, she thought. She took another sip of her Coke, grimaced, and left the bar. Great job, she thought. You coopted him very nicely. Had him eating out of the palm of your hand, didn’t you? You’re supposed to be setting up on him, and he has to tell you somebody’s put a bug on your car? And in compensation for seeing right through you, he’s really going to walk around with your pager on his belt.
Jesus, what had she been thinking?
She went out the front door and walked directly to her Bureau car. She thought about looking for the bug, then decided to take the vehicle directly back to the Roanoke office and let someone from the
surveillance squad take a look. It had better not have been Ransom or one of his people planting that thing, she thought, because if it had, this little game was over before it began. She started the car and then just sat there for a moment. Kreiss had touched a nerve when he asked her if she could shoot someone. She was pretty damn sure she could never do that. Even in tactical range training, when the bad guy silhouette popped up right in front other, she had hesitated. After the final qualifications, the chief instructor had given her a look that spoke volumes. It was probably still in her record. And here was Kreiss, reading her like an open book. She wondered if he was watching her now. She resisted the impulse to look up at the windows. Then she wondered how she was going to break the news to Farnsworth.
“Hold up a minute,” Browne McGarand said. It was another cool, clear night, with moonrise not due until around midnight. The arsenal rail gates gleamed dully a hundred yards ahead of them. Jared stopped and looked back at his grandfather, who was scanning the gates and the dark woods around them through a pair of binoculars.
“You see something’?” Jared whispered.
“Nope. Just looking to see if anything’s different.”
“That counter’ll tell the tale,” Jared said, peering into the nearby trees.
“Unless he got by your little trap and laid down one of his own. He’s been using the same gate as we have. Okay, let’s go.”
When Jared finally read the counter, he swore out loud. Browne looked at it and let out a long sigh.
“Zero it, “he ordered.
“And then what? Twenty-six hits means thirteen people been in and out of here. That has to mean cops.”
“Or one guy waving his hand twenty-six times across the beam,” Browne pointed out.
“If he tripped your deadfall, all this means is that he got by it.”
“Why not a buncha cops?”
“Because there would have been a mess outside. Grass smashed down, vehicle tracks, cigarette butts. Cops come in a crowd; they leave sign.
There was no sign out there. Let’s go see your trap.”
They found the pile of pipes where Kreiss had left it. Browne got down on all fours and searched the concrete of the street until he found the dried bloodstains where Kreiss had lain stunned after the initial fall.
“Here,” he said.
“This mess got him, but he must have ducked most of it.”
“That there’s a coupla hunnert pounds a steel,” Jared said, looking up at the steam pipe overpass.
“I know. I carried it all up there.”
Browne was standing back up again, looking up the street, and thinking.
“One guy, not thirteen,” he mused.
“One guy who doesn’t belong here, just like we don’t belong here. And for some reason, he hasn’t brought cops. Now who could that be? I wonder.”
“Hell,” Jared said.
“After this here, he might be back.”
“Yes, he might,” Browne said.
“Or he might be here now, watching us. Let’s go exploring tonight. I want a look at these rooftops, see if he’s been laying up, watching us.”
“What about the girl?” Jared said, lifting the sack of food and water.
“Later. Leave it here in the middle of the street so we don’t forget.
She’ll be out of water by now.”
“Rats’ll git it,” Jared said.
“Chemicals got all the rats twenty years ago,” Browne said.
“And all the other critters, too. Hasn’t been anything living in this area since the place closed down. Come on.”
The first thing Kreiss did was to release the dogs. He climbed up on the side of the pen, ignoring the lunging, barking beasts below, and then blew hard on a soundless dog whistle. The dogs shut up immediately and began to run around the pen to get away from the painful noise. Then he tripped the pen’s door latch and swung the door open, blowing the whistle hard as he did it. The dogs bolted into the woods and then came back to bark at him. He laid into the whistle again. This time, they yelped and took off into the darkness to do what they liked to do most—hunt. Within minutes, the sound of their baying was coming from over the next hill and diminishing as they went.