Sean and Shapiro stood outside the Lear's door, still talking. As Shapiro began walking toward the tent, Sean used her hand as a visor and scanned the landscape before climbing back up into the airplane.
When Shapiro saw Archer and the others, now a hundred yards distant, he asked, “What's happening?”
Winter set the bag containing the watch back on the table. “Found evidence a couple of missing boys might have been here. They're going to have a dog try and find them.”
“God, if the boys ran across those people…” Shapiro said, then broke off.
A sheriff's-department Explorer pulled off the road. The driver stopped, climbed out, and opened the back door. A German shepherd bounded out, straining the lead the driver was holding. After the animal sniffed the backpack, he tugged his handler toward the fence on the far side of the field. The officers and emergency personnel followed along like a lynch mob.
“Fred Archer is the case officer,” Shapiro said abruptly.
“That so?”
“He broke the Morrow spy ring three years back, foiled a terrorist plot to smuggle six tons of Semtex into San Francisco last year, and recovered sixty of the sixty-two million that was taken from the New York State retirement fund six months ago. That's why he's here, why he has command of the investigation. He's the director's golden boy.”
Winter didn't reply, just stared out at the activity.
“Mrs. Devlin's been through an ordeal.”
“She sure has,” Winter agreed.
“She seems sort of numbed out. I told her I wanted her to take a few days to unwind. Talk to a therapist-weigh her options. I want to make sure she isn't in shock. Beneath that facade, she's got to be a basket case.”
Winter found a pair of binoculars in the command tent and raised them to his eyes. The dog had led the crowd across the field. A uniformed deputy slipped under the fence, disappeared into a gully, and came out with a bicycle, which he propped against the fence. He went down again to bring up a second.
“Pair of bicycles,” Winter said.
Winter's body tensed with anticipation as he watched for any sign that the two boys had been located. Archer pointed back toward the spot where the dog had started tracking. Winter knew that the dog had retraced its steps from where the backpack had been located to the place where the boys entered the base. The handler would go back now and see if his dog could find and follow the scent in the direction the boys had traveled. Sure enough, the dog took off, leading his handler across the debris field and toward the derelict control tower. The dog stopped below it, sniffed around the riser, and started to bark frantically.
An FBI agent scrambled up on the rotted steps, balancing like a tightrope walker. Once on the deck, he pulled his gun out and moved around the building, out of Winter's view.
“What is it?” Shapiro asked.
Winter focused on the deck. There was movement as the agent came around the corner. And then, like apparitions materializing, two small figures walked unsteadily into view. “They're alive!” Winter murmured. “Thank God,” he said. “Finally, something.”
The boys stood there above an ocean of armed adults, blinking like owls, covered with black smut like coal miners.
Cheers mixed with the spatter of applause carried across the field. Winter thought of Rush, and the birthday he hoped he could still get home for.
43
Archer led the two boys back to the command tent, where emergency medical technicians cleaned them up, checking them over for injuries, treating their scratches, and finally pronouncing them sound.
The Cole County deputies, emergency workers, and firemen began to cluster, talking among themselves, some smoking cigarettes. Finch ordered them to disperse. In the debris field, stooped technicians remained on task, oblivious to anything beyond the tape barrier.
While an FBI agent lowered the canvas walls of the tent, Winter saw the sheriff approach Archer and whisper something in his ear. He heard Archer reply that absolutely no members of the press would be allowed on the base under any conditions, due to national security. The sheriff left in his cruiser. Then they went to the tent.
Director Shapiro stood behind Archer. Winter stood alone near the side wall, to Archer's left. Across the table from Archer, the two boys sat side by side.
A technician placed a cassette recorder on the table in front of the boys. Archer pressed the record button. He said, “FBI Supervising Case Agent Fred Archer conducting a field interview of two minor subjects found at Ward Field, Virginia.” He added the date and glanced down at a slip of paper. “The subjects being interviewed are Matthew Barnwell and George Williams, both twelve years of age and residents of Raiford, Virginia. The subjects are aware I am recording this interview.”
Archer folded his hands on the table and smiled at the boys. “Man,” he said expansively, “we sure are glad you two are all right. You gave us all quite a scare, I can tell you. The agent who found you said you fellows had a clubhouse all set up in the tower. You come here a lot?”
The heavier boy watched Archer. The other boy stared down at his lap. He hadn't looked up since the agents and marshals entered.
“Okay, so, George and Matt, which one of you boys is Matt?”
The plump boy held up his hand.
From behind the boys, Finch said, “Speak up and answer either yes or no when Agent Archer asks you a question for the recorder. Is that clear?”
Both boys nodded.
“Affirmative nods,” Finch announced, for the benefit of the tape. “Again, please answer the questions yes or no.”
“I just need to ask you a few questions,” Archer said. Over his insincere smile, his eyes were decidedly predatory. To Winter he looked like a union official at the negotiating table with a Louisville Slugger concealed in his lap in case his sugary words failed.
“Okay,” Matt said. “Yeah.”
“Last night there was a big explosion here.”
Matt showed Archer a look of surprised disbelief. “Huh?” George merely shrugged.
“You saw it?” Archer asked.
Matt shook his head. “Uh-uh.”
“Yes or no,” Finch insisted.
“Nah,” Matt said emphatically. “We weren't here.”
The scene took Winter back to his years as a teacher. He studied the boys carefully.
“I suspect you're not telling me the truth,” Archer said softly. “You're both blackened from the blast.”
“We were,” George said to his lap. “We…”
Winter clearly saw Matt kick George's ankle under the table.
“We were just walking in and it knocked us down. We were scared and we hid,” Matt explained. “We didn't want to get in trouble for being here.”
“Boys,” Archer said sternly. “Think about this very, very carefully before you answer. Before the explosion, did you see anything? Any people coming or going? Any vehicles leaving the area?”
“Nah.” Matt crossed his arms across his chest. “We didn't see nothing but that explosion, then police cars and fire trucks.”
George put his finger in his right ear and shook it, glaring at Matt. Winter knew Matt was lying. Why couldn't Archer see that, he thought.
“So you hid in the tower because?”
“We didn't want to get blamed for it,” Matt blurted out. “We didn't see nothing, did we, George?” Matt pressed the sole of his sneaker against George's ankle. George shook his head. Winter looked around and realized that he alone had a view of what was going on under the table.
“No,” George agreed after a few long seconds.
“Are you both absolutely sure?” Archer asked.
Now, Winter thought. This is where Archer starts poking and prodding.