‘St. Peters called you and confirmed a seat in heaven for you?’ Bwana asked him sarcastically.
‘Better,’ Broker replied, the barb not even registering.
‘They got Floyd Wheat.
‘Dead,’ he added.
Chapter 43
‘Dead?’ Bear asked stupidly.
‘Yeah, you heard me right the first time. Cops found his body floating in the river, a hole in his head and a large part of his face missing, but enough to make him by his dentures and prints. Forzini told me they’d been keeping an eye on him, but he gave them the slip a couple of days back. Looks like he was summoned?’
‘You think…?’
‘Damn right I do, and thank God for that. One of us should, don’t ya think?’
Chloe rolled her eyes and took up the cudgel. ‘The gang did it? That would be confirming that he was their mole, wouldn’t it?’
‘That was sorta the point.’ Broker leant back expansively, crossed his hands over his middle, and closed his eyes, a contented man.
Bwana and Roger looked at each other, thinking of their next camping trip. Bear caught their glance and laughed. ‘Not so fast, guys. We still have unfinished business here. The family needs to be resettled, and then you guys can head for the hills. Broker, how’re Rolando and Isakson doing? Plumb forgot about them.’
‘Isakson’s discharged and is up and about. I need to see him and wrap this up. Rolando is making a good recovery, still in the hospital, though. He’ll be disappointed that this was over before he got back to the job.’
‘We never figured out why Wheat turned traitor, did we?’ Chloe mused.
Bear patted her arm. ‘Let Isakson do some of the heavy lifting. They asked us to find their mole; we did that—’
‘I’ve been thinking about that for some time,’ Broker cut in. ‘Traitors do their dirty work because of ideology, money, or because of coercion. I think we can rule out ideology in Wheat’s case. Going by all the records Isakson has, the psych evaluations, he was a believer in law, hated gangs. Coercion — he didn’t have anyone close to him to be coerced. Divorced, no kids, a mother, but he wasn’t close to her, no other siblings. I guess money was involved, but we haven’t been able to find any traces of money in his account. Of course, he could’ve been stacking wads of it in some hidey hole, in which case we’ll never know. Cash is a bitch to track.’
‘Or maybe he did it because he could. Got a kick out of it,’ Bwana said.
Broker shrugged. ‘That’s the most difficult spy to unearth. The one who spies just because it gives him a trip. In any case, this is Isakson’s shit to clean now.’
He rose and grumped at them, ‘While you all enjoy the sun, I’ve got to bed things down with Pieter and Derek. We’ll take over the family now and move back to my apartment.’
‘What if Wheat wasn’t acting alone?’ Chloe called out.
‘Isakson’s problem. We were tasked with finding one mole; we gave them the bastard. If the whole danged FBI is infested, we can’t do much,’ Broker said over his shoulder.
Dupont Circle was throbbing with traffic and tourists, bright sun bathing the wide, clean streets. Broker grimaced. They must have cleaned up just because I was coming. It was hard, very hard to accept, but grudgingly he had to admit the city was cleaner than NYC. ‘Of course, it’s the capital; it would have to be clean,’ he muttered to himself, drawing a curious look from a passerby. In New York, he would’ve shown the finger; over here, he smiled forcedly.
General Klouse was waiting for him, lounging outside the café, his security detail hanging around nervously, not comfortable with the National Security Advisor’s presence in an open location. Broker grinned at their discomfort, recognizing a fellow maverick in the General.
He’d been to meet Director Murphy, who’d been relieved that their problem had been resolved, but also grimly determined to ensure his agency remained clean. He’d offered Broker a very senior position in the agency, to work with his intelligence people, an offer Broker had politely declined. He’d said he was too much of a nonconformist to fit into a rigid structure, smiling to take the sting out of his words. The Director had nodded in acceptance, expecting just such a response.
‘No luck with the drones, sir,’ Broker told him once he’d updated the General. The General would’ve been briefed by Director Murphy, but Broker felt obligated to bring him up to speed, since it was the National Security Advisor that had started the ball rolling.
‘Chatter has gone silent for some time, in any case.’ The NSA gave him his thousand-yard stare and smiled grimly at his companion. ‘This isn’t a business where we can relax, is it?’
Broker kept quiet, knowing no answer was required.
‘I have told Clare we might need your help from time to time. Will that be a problem?’
‘No, sir. If Clare is good, we’re good too.’ He paused. ‘I don’t work alone. I’ve a team.’
‘Yeah, I heard about them. They the ones who tore up New York, right?’ The General laughed for the first time. ‘Commissioner Murphy was impressed… other than a few damaged vehicles and some angry media, you guys succeeded in cutting a gang in half.’
‘Our advantage is we work in the shadows; we have fewer constraints,’ Broker said modestly.
‘You’ve made up with Isakson? He’s an upcoming star, and a lot of eyes are on him.’
Broker didn’t hide his distaste. ‘I’m seeing him later today; he’s in town. I’m sure he’s a good agent, sir, but it’s unlikely we’ll be on each other’s Christmas card lists. We’re too different. Director Murphy now… he’s as good as family.’
Broker made his way back to the J. Edgar Hoover Building and held himself back from jaywalking, reminding himself that this was a different town. They did things differently here. The ugly structure gladdened him; they didn’t have such monstrosities in his city.
Isakson’s warm smile belied his hollow and gaunt appearance, the shape of the dressings beneath his crisp white shirt visible.
‘How does it feel coming back from the dead, Deputy Director?’ Broker greeted him.
Isakson smiled wryly. ‘I was in no danger of dying… Deputy Commissioner Rolando — now he’s a fighter. I hear he’s doing well. Been to see him?’
Rolando had been Broker’s first stop once Wheat’s body had been found. The cop had gripped his hand firmly and whispered, ‘Looks like it was all worth it, Joe. The Commissioner was telling me all I had to do was lie here longer and you guys would clean up the city.’
Broker squeezed his hand, remembering a time in Mogadishu when Rolando and he, both attached to the Rangers, were jammed behind an abandoned car, exchanging fire with insurgents. It was during that tour that Zeb had saved his life. Rolando and Zeb were the only two who knew his real name.
Broker looked around Isakson’s bare office, similar to the one in New York except for another print of the conquest of Mount Everest, this time Edmund Hillary atop it. ‘You’ve got this at home too? You into climbing?’
‘It’s the conquest that interests me. Besides, that date and year have a significance for me.’ He didn’t elaborate. ‘Wheat — the Director and Commissioner briefed me about your findings; we’ll now rip his life apart and see what drove him to this. We owe you.’ He gripped Broker’s hand again.
‘Mrs. Rocka and the kids?’ he asked.
‘They’re back at my apartment. My guys are with them. How’re things progressing with rebuilding their new lives?’
‘I’ll meet them and brief them in person on how this works, and then the Marshals will step in and take over,’ he replied. Witness Protection was run by the US Marshals Service, and the FBI had no role to play in building new lives. ‘You’ll let them know I’ll be coming?’