“Why not make the photo public? Say he’s a person of interest? Have you seen this man? If he’s here, like you say, back from there, someone might recognize him.”
Utley shook his head and his lips tightened. I could see what he’d look like when he reached age sixty. “The FBI won’t do it. They’ve listed hundreds of people as persons of interest. Their tip lines are overflowing. They’re getting three thousand calls and e-mails a day. ‘It’s my neighbor.’ ‘It’s the guy from the 7-Eleven.’ ‘It’s the Pakistani student in the dorm.’ So if there’s no hard reason to add more names, they don’t. Besides,” he said, in a lower voice, glancing at Izabel, in for a penny, in for a pound, “Americans are involved in defense at the camp, so it’s touchy. If these shots got out, they’d be worth ten thousand new jihad recruits. Congressional hearings. Who failed? Who screwed up? Careers down the drain.”
He was right about the secrecy. I’d done things myself, things you get medals for, but the kind of medals that — after they are pinned on you — are removed, boxed up, and locked away in a safe. We want our heroes to relieve us of moral choices. They take credit. We get to feel good.
Utley started to say something else but caught himself. It was the first time he’d done that. So he has secrets, too. He said, subject changing, “I should never have walked out of that bar. I should have just finished my burger.”
“Thanks for your time,” I said, standing, extending my hand to shake, letting him know he was to leave now.
Utley looked startled, Eddie surprised, as he had not caught Utley’s lie. But as far as I was concerned, Utley was here to share, and if he was going to conceal things I had no use for him. Eddie thought I was treating the man harshly. But Izabel Santo smiled at the corner of her mouth.
“Up until this minute you played it straight,” I told Utley. “I appreciate that. Whatever else you’re sitting on, I’m sure you have a good reason. Good luck.”
“We can talk about other things.”
“No, sir. I don’t believe we can.”
Utley blew out air. He saw that our meeting was over unless he revealed what he did not want to say. But he did not stand up. He wants to tell us. He looked at the floor, thinking, and it was Eddie who picked up on what Utley wanted us to do.
Eddie asked him, softly, “Something else happened in that camp that we need to know?”
Utley did not respond at first. Then, slowly, a faint head shake. It was okay to tell us what had not happened. This was an old D.C. game, and I knew how to play it. I never told you this. This didn’t come from me. Technically, I never told you a thing.
I guessed, “You left out something the man said. Something important.”
Utley rose and went to the window. He looked down at Broadway. He said, “People are starting to walk around out there again. It’s funny how fast things can go back to normal.”
So he’ll shake his head when we’re wrong, and talk about bullshit when we’re right. Just like he probably does with journalists, to confirm or deny a story.
“The man ID’d the group he works for,” Eddie guessed.
Utley shook his head, just a bit.
“The FBI has a lead you’re not telling us,” said Izabel, getting into the spirit of things.
No.
“The administration is doing something else that you’re not revealing,” I tried.
Utley kept staring down at Broadway. He remarked, “Are the sandwiches in that deli across the street good?”
Silence. So the White House has some other strategy. But what?
“Navy Seals raid?”
No.
“Rangers? Secret mission?”
No.
“Well, it can’t be negotiations,” I said.
Kyle Utley turned away from the window and gathered up the sweater he’d left by the chair, and all the photos. I reached out and took from his hand the close-up of the blond man’s face. The rage so profound that an eight-by-ten space could not contain it.
But Kyle had not shaken his head. Negotiations?
“I need that photo back please, Colonel Rush.”
“You showed it to us, so why not give it?”
“It’s not for distribution.”
“Agreed.”
“Do you know what happens to me if they find out I gave this to you?”
“The same thing that will happen if they find out what you told us. It’s not like your career is going anywhere anyway just now.”
Wordlessly, we both turned to Eddie, who nodded. Then we regarded Izabel, who hesitated, frowned, and nodded, too, in agreement. The photo — this meeting — stays secret.
“Keep it,” Utley said. “Technically, I’m not even supposed to have these photos. I had to work to get them.”
“I still do not understand something,” said Izabel. “You told us you have no idea who threatened you. So how can anyone be negotiating with them?”
Utley headed for the door. He’d taken this as far as he could.
I said to his back, reasoning out loud, “We’re threatened with an attack, unless we give them something. And then we’re ‘negotiating.’ So this must mean…”
I cut myself off as I saw it. The cold sensation started in my chest and spread outward into my throat.
“We’re giving them what they demanded?”
Kyle Utley sagged. And turned. This time the head shake was almost imperceptible. It was like he was fighting off five generations of secret-keeping DNA, and the best he could manage, if he used all his willpower, was a two-millimeter movement of his skull. Why couldn’t the guy just say it?
“They are close to giving in,” Izabel guessed.
Kyle Utley blew out air. “I think so. They’re panicked. I think if there is one more attack, they’ll give them what they want.”
I heard his light footfalls fading on the creaky floors of the old building. I heard the ding of the elevator arriving, and the ding of the doors closing again. Eddie was standing now, Izabel Santo frowning.
“Now what do we do, Joe?”
I eyed the jihadist’s photo. I had no idea if it was relevant. I named a general I knew at the Pentagon, a top analyst at the CIA, a crackerjack woman tech genius I’d worked with at Defense Intelligence, a facial software guru in the bowels of Customs Enforcement. Each of them would have access to different lists, names, codes, and priorities. Each owed me a favor. All were, in my opinion, long-term reliable. And despite recent rules designed to coordinate the efforts of intelligence agencies, only a fool would rely on a single route to find something out.
“You know damn well what I’m going to do,” I said.
“We promised not to share it,” said Eddie.
“And he said Washington is about to give in. Dos, we’re an autonomous unit. The President himself ordered us involved. Utley said no one in D.C. takes him seriously. If we don’t consider avenues that others ignore, who will?”
“And Utley?”
“I like him.” Meaning, I hope he survives this all. But I hoped the nation got through it, more than any one of us.
Eddie said, “Something bad is coming and I know it. No one’s taken claim for this. No one’s been caught. There’s no way they just sank into the woodwork. I keep remembering that laboratory. Every day I’m thinking, When will it come?”
Izabel said, “Let us get to work.”