Adam looked down on the assembled guests, saw them all looking up at him. He shook his head and turned away, stepped through the curtain and back into the darkness of the room.
'A camera. That's all it was.'
'Great trick, tough guy,' said Billie. 'What's next? Take out the groom?'
Behind him, from the other side of the curtain, he heard Tucker trying to calm the hysterical usher. He looked at Billie and grinned. She'd forgotten to keep her chin forward.
'Wimping bloody Californians,' muttered Adam as he walked past Billie and went down to wait for the others in the car park.
Nice one, Marcus. Welcome to the American Dream.
The ride back to the Mirimar Air Base was in equal silence to the one they had made to the wedding. This time Trimmler didn't ask Tucker to turn down the air conditioning.
The police had arrived at the hotel, but Tucker had taken control of the situation and explained they were there on agency business. The wedding had continued, albeit without the usher who had retired to his room in a state of shock, and Trimmler had left immediately after the ceremony.
'I will contact your superiors,' Trimmler barked when he climbed out of the car at the Mirimar Air Base. 'I will not be put in such an embarrassing position again.'
The trio watched him storm off to his temporary quarters before returning to Billie's apartment.
'You'd better stay here,' said Tucker, 'until someone tells me what to do with you.'
'House arrest, eh?' said Adam.
'Look, just cut out the humour. Okay. Damn it, you could've killed that guy.'
'But I didn't.'
'What's that mean?'
'Think about it,' answered Adam and he went to his bedroom.
'But I didn't.' Tucker mimicked Adam. 'The guy talks in riddles,' he slammed at Billie.
'He's just telling you he was always in control.'
'Some fucking control. Jeeze, what a mess. They'll love this at the Agency. Send Tucker out into the big wide world and he shoots up a wedding. That'll look great on my record sheet.'
'It could've been a rifle.'
'It wasn't.'
'But it could've been. And that's what you've got to tell Washington.'
Tucker considered her advice, it made sense. 'Okay. So we support him. But if he blows again…Damn it, he's not stable.'
'He's another breed. Not like us. He's a professional. Just did as he was trained. We're in his office, in his space. We're the amateurs, Phil. And that's a fact.'
Ch. 22
The Deputy Director of Administration read the faxed report that Tucker had personally sent the next morning. Next to him, the DDI, not a man known for detailed study of written matter, sat back in his chair and waited for his colleague to finish. He had already skimmed the report and sensed events were turning to his advantage.
Phil Tucker, was in on the meeting, linked through a conference phone linked to the local office in Southern California, placed at the end of the table. They sensed his nervousness as he waited for the ordeal to begin. Tucker knew someone was going to nail him to the cross.
'Not good,' said the DDA, finally looking up from the typed sheets in front of him.
'Damn right it's not good,' came in the DDI, his patience snapping as he moved in for the kill. 'Who the hell okayed his hardware?'
'I did,' replied the DDA calmly.
'That wasn't very clever, was it?'
'The British wanted their man armed. We had to agree to that.'
'We?'
'The Exec Director and myself.'
'Hell, I should'a been consulted.'
'Bring that up with the Exec Director.'
'Some professional. Shooting up a damn photographer.'
'Nobody fired a shot.'
'But everyone saw him. Jeeze, calling the damn British in.'
'Come on. We have to keep this thing under wraps. We still have a rogue computer out there.' The DDA turned to the intercom phone. 'Phil, have we got any further on that?'
'Not yet.' Tucker had already checked with the two programmers before calling on the conference line. 'There's a consensus that we should put it out to some private specialists. In Silicon Valley.'
'That's great. Bring in the whole world,' snapped the DDI.
'Why?' asked the DDA of Tucker.
'There're people out there we trust,' replied Tucker's metallic voice. 'Good programmers. Some of the best in the world. And they've done confidential work for us before. Government specialists. It won't get out.'
'Okay. But make sure they understand the confidentiality of this one. Otherwise they lose all government contracts. Make sure they understand that.'
'Yes, sir.'
'Set that in motion now. I'll contact you if there's any change.'
'What about Trimmler?'
'Continue as before. Just…uh..tell the Brit to make sure he keeps his hands in his pocket a bit longer before jerking off next time.'
'Yes, sir.' They heard Tucker click off the line.
'Clerks should be pushing pens. Not running field operations as important as this.' The DDI referred to Tucker.
'It's what we decided.'
'We?'
'The Exec Dir…'
'Why are you having these meetings without me there?'
'Don't ask me, ask the Exec.' The DDA knew his colleague wouldn't, nor was he prepared to admit that he waited early each morning for the Exec Director to get in so that he could give him the daily reports personally and ingratiate himself with his superior. It was a simple tactic, but effective as it convinced the other heads of departments that he had a special relationship with the Exec. It was a relationship the Exec also fostered; he had always been a firm believer in partnerships of tension between his subordinates. It helped keep them on their toes and protected his own position.
'Time to push the Brits out,' said the DDI. 'And put our own people in.'
'Can't do that.'
'For Christ's sake, he pulled a gun in public.'
'We'd look stupid. You can't ask for help in the first place, then send him packing because he was trying to protect Trimmler.'
'What about New Orleans?'
'They'll have to go. Including the Brit. Maybe when that's over, maybe then we'll have a clearer idea of what's going on. Maybe then we can send him home.'
'Shit. Nothing's going for us. Nothing.'
The DDA felt a glow of satisfaction. His colleague was right. Nothing was going right for him. But for the DDA, things were certainly looking rosier by the minute.
'Well,' he shrugged. 'We just need time. Things'll come right. They always do in the end.'
Ch. 23
Adam was sitting on the balcony minding his own business when he heard the doorbell ring.
'Billie, it's for you,' he heard Muscle call.
'Coming,' he heard her reply from the kitchen.
A minute later he heard her shouting, screaming obscenities, then slamming the front door.
'What the hell's going on?' he heard Muscle yell.
'That bastard!' she screamed. 'That bastard's served a writ on me. For a fucking divorce and no settlement.'
'What the hell else did you expect of the shit.'
She stormed out onto the balcony waving the legal sheaf in her hand and went to the balustrade, leant over to catch a view of the process server. Muscle came out after her.
Then she saw him.
'You shit,' she screamed over the railings at the bright yellow Bentley Mulsanne parked there, the driver's face grinning up at her. 'Too yellow to do your own dirty work.'