Banner looked up at Donaldson as he casually dropped that last element in. It was like being told you had to climb Everest tomorrow. Oh, and by the way, you’ll be doing it blindfolded.
“The media doesn’t have this yet?”
Head shake from Edwards. “They know that a prisoner transport van was ambushed and that two marshals were killed. We’re holding back the rest as long as we can. That’s why we need Wardell back in custody before anybody knows he’s escaped.”
“Good luck with that,” Castle said. “They’re going to have some pretty good hints as soon as Wardell decides to brush up on his old hobby.”
“We think we have some latitude,” Edwards said. “Wardell’s psychotic, but he’s not an idiot. Effectively, he’s just been granted a stay of execution. He’ll want to keep a low profile, maybe try to head for Canada. He’s not going to start shooting random civilians again if he thinks he can get away clean.”
“Which will make it harder to catch him, not easier,” Banner pointed out.
Castle nodded agreement. “And he’s trained in evading capture, even if we knew where he was headed.”
“You caught him last time,” Edwards said.
Castle looked at him for an uncomfortable few seconds, then spoke slowly, as though explaining something to a slow four-year-old: “I didn’t. I was just there when we got lucky.”
Donaldson sat back from the table, signifying his desire to move the discussion on. “I’m placing Agent Castle in charge of the task force. Agent Banner, you’ll be secondary lead. Both of you will report directly to Assistant SAC Edwards or to me, no one else. I believe we have the best possible people to lead on this right here in this room.” As he finished speaking, Donaldson shot a glance at the fourth man, whom Banner had almost forgotten about. He’d somehow faded into the background as they’d been talking.
She looked at him now. Castle was looking, too. The man’s expression remained impassive. Their inquisitive stares seemed to be absorbed by him with as little impact as a scream into a soundproofed wall.
“And exactly who do we have in this room, sir?” Castle asked, not taking his eyes off the fourth man.
The man let the question linger in the air for a moment, then said, “My name’s Blake. I’m here to assist you.”
5
Nobody said anything for a moment. Four pairs of eyes settled on me, waiting for me to elaborate.
After it became clear I was leaving it at that, Agent Castle repeated what I’d said, slowly. “You’re here to assist us.”
I looked back at him. Every time, I thought. Every time it’s like this.
Edwards, the fat one, didn’t need the nod from his boss this time.
“As I tried to emphasize earlier, this manhunt is high priority. Top priority, in fact. The director has briefed the president, and they’re both very keen to see this wrapped up as quickly as possible.”
Castle looked back at him. “I bet they are. Especially a week before the midterms.”
Donaldson shot Castle a glance that told him not to push it. Edwards cleared his throat. “Bearing that in mind, we’re bringing in all the expertise we have available. We’ve been allocated the services of Mr. Blake here, who’s somewhat of a specialist in this particular area.”
I watched Edwards with interest as he spoke, wondering how a guy like this had risen to such a senior position in an organization that, throughout its history, had placed so much importance on appearance. The stereotypical FBI agent is sleek, clean-cut, snappily dressed: Fox Mulder in The X-Files, or Anthony LaPaglia in that other show. Banner, Castle, and Donaldson all fit the bill. To me, Edwards looked more like a used-car salesman.
Castle had opened his mouth to speak, but Banner, who had been watching his complexion darken, butted in first, her tone carefully diplomatic: “With all due respect, sir,” she began, addressing SAC Donaldson, “do you think this is a good idea?”
“Many hands make light work, Agent Banner. Isn’t that what they say?” Edwards interjected before his boss had had a chance to respond, and neither Donaldson nor Banner looked like they welcomed the gesture.
I watched Banner’s face as she arranged her thoughts. I decided she was probably trying to resist the easy comeback, the one about too many cooks. Instead, she said, “Everybody here knows the challenges of coordinating an effective task force, liaising with other agencies. Isn’t bringing in a private operator just going to complicate things further?”
“So he’s what,” Castle said, “a bounty hunter?”
“Mr. Blake is on board in an advisory capacity,” Edwards replied. “He’ll be outside of the chain of command.” From the look he shot Donaldson and the way his brow had furrowed since the discussion turned in this direction, I guessed that Edwards wasn’t 100 percent happy with this arrangement.
“I’m not a bounty hunter,” I said, addressing Castle. “I’m just somebody who’s good at finding people who don’t want to be found.”
Agent Banner was leaning toward me now. Her long, shiny dark hair was tied back in a ponytail, and the gray skirt suit should have looked stuffy, but somehow it flattered the curves of her body. Her dark, dark brown eyes were sizing me up.
You always want to make a good impression on a client; that’s just good business. I told myself that explained why I suddenly found myself wanting to get a passing grade.
“And in your… advisory capacity, Mr. Blake, what would you suggest is our best course of action?” Her tone was even, betraying none of Castle’s heavy skepticism. I didn’t doubt that the skepticism was there; she was just a little more polished in her approach.
I looked at my watch. It was approaching nine thirty, which meant that our quarry had been on the loose for just over six hours. A quarter of a day. Every time, I thought again. Every time I worked with government agencies, I encountered this problem. Territory. Professional pride. Perceived loss of authority. I wondered if the slight was particularly pronounced for an FBI agent, far more used to being on the other side of the equation: swooping in to take the big case out of the hands of some backwoods cop. Which, of course, had already happened here. But I doubted any of them would see the irony of that if I pointed it out.
“We’re wasting time,” I said. “So I’m going to lay everything out for you: I’m not here to take your case away. I’m not here to show you how to do your job. I’m not here to take the credit. I’m here to offer my skills and get paid in return. All right?”
Castle opened his mouth to say something, but Donaldson, obviously tiring of the delays, cut him off. “You’re leading the task force, Agent Castle. That hasn’t changed.” He shot Castle a lingering look that supplied the unspoken coda: but it could.
Castle sat back in his chair. He looked like he was mentally organizing his worry list and deciding that, for the moment, this new element wasn’t near enough to the top to dwell on any longer.
In the break in conversation that followed, my eyes were drawn to Wardell’s mug shot, lying where Edwards had dropped it on the table. Like the name, the face was reasonably familiar. Or rather, the likeness was familiar. I guessed it was the picture they must have used on the front pages and the nightly bulletins around the trial.
But was that really what had drawn my attention back to the picture? There was something about the eyes. Something from the past that I couldn’t quite put my finger on…
“Is there anything else we need to know at this time?” Banner asked Donaldson, snapping my attention back to the present.