Tom didn’t know and did not want to find out.
He needed to get around the damn thing, but he did not trust the soggy median strip to hold up the car. He slowed, tapping the spongy brakes, risking the road edge. A figure stood in the rain ahead, waving at him to stop. It looked like a boy. Tom needed to get around the kid without forcing the car into the ditchlike median strip. He didn’t want to run the skinny kid over but saw he had no choice. There was no other way around. He hit the accelerator, but the wheels spun the car sideways. He was sliding into the ditch. Then the wheels caught at about the same instant that there was a violent smacking sound on his window.
A man loomed there. A man with a gun, shouting at him, to stop. Right now. NOW!!
There was no way to speed up, to get away.
Tom took his foot off the accelerator, heard thunder, heard his own breathing, heard the stupid ad for a comedy show on the radio, heard the kid open the back door as the man opened the front one. The gun was now two feet away, pointed at Tom’s face.
“You were going to goddamned drive away and leave my family here.”
“That’s not true.”
“Shut up. Get out. Get out now and help Wayne carry his mom into the backseat, you hear me?”
The man was at the breaking point. He must be from the car that had collided with the overturned truck. The boy would be his son. The injured woman would be his wife. They’d been standing here waiting for help, and Tom had tried to drive past them. Tom had no illusions. This man was on the verge of firing.
“Sure, sir. Sure. Let me help your boy there.”
Tom. Good Samaritan Tom.
“I ought to shoot you, mister,” the man said.
“I’m sorry, sir. I really am. I didn’t see you.”
“Don’t give me that!”
“She’s hurt. Let me help. Let me get her into the backseat, sir. She needs medical attention.”
“You’re damn right she does. You’re taking us to the hospital, in New Albany.”
Back where I just came from, Tom thought, dragging the semiconscious woman through the storm by the arms. Tiny thing. Cotton dress. One shoe off. Blood on the chest. She wore a hijab, a soaked head scarf, so she is a Muslim. An American Muslim. What a joke.
“Just get us to the hospital” the man said. “And keep this car steady. And pray that my finger doesn’t squeeze down, because I know you are the asshole who was ready to drive right by my wife and boy.”
TWENTY-FIVE
The FBI contingent rushed in as the press conference was ending. Ray Havlicek — still in Chicago — must have called his New York office when he heard what I was doing. Stop Rush right now!
Eddie quipped as I left the podium that Ray had not moved this fast on anything, ever, so I should be proud. I’d finished answering the last question, so it was too late for Ray to stop the alert from getting out. The reporters — sensing conflict — looked like hungry animals, watching prey. The lead agent, a tall blond man, led the police commissioner into a back hallway as his staffers spread out like security guards at a rock concert.
Their faces were expressionless, but their posture and coordination screamed of disapproval. This was a polite raid.
“Hey, Dr. Rush, I see that the Bureau and NYPD are getting along just great,” quipped the wiseass NBC reporter, Vicki Ponte, grinning, in the front row.
Temperatures in the room had been turned down to discourage mosquitoes. The usual New York — crowd odors of sweat, perfume, or cologne had been replaced by DEET or Avon Skin So Soft. Insecticides floated through office and prison ventilation systems throughout the city, and the effect had accelerated the draining away of repellent supply elsewhere across the country. If the terrorists hit another city, casualties will be astronomical, I thought.
The NBC reporter sidled up to me. “Anything you want to share, Colonel, before they shut you down?” She gave me her card. “Coordinated investigations? Give me a break!”
I sensed the worst when I reached the police commissioner, still huddled with the lead agent, nodding in agreement, steadily and unhappily. The agent turned to me, disgust on his face, cell phone extended. “Mr. Havlicek wants to talk to you, sir.”
Ray’s voice was dead, flat, enraged. “You couldn’t wait even a few hours, could you, Joe?”
“I’m not sure we have a few hours to wait, Ray.”
“You’re out,” Ray snapped. “Hand in your credentials. Clear out of Columbia. Go home to the woods and take Eddie with you.”
“I’m working in New York, Ray. I’ll stay in New York.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find that your new friends feel otherwise,” Ray said. “They’d prefer to keep their federal aid. Because it all disappears: roads, schools, cops, too… if you stick around in any capacity. Also, on a personal note, you should be ashamed. You had Aya sleep at the FBI? Work around the clock? Christ, she’s sixteen.”
“That was her idea. You ever try to stop Aya?”
“Pshaw! You don’t pay attention to the President. Or to me. But a teenager leads you by the nose? Give me a break.”
“If you did your job, I wouldn’t have to.”
“You think this is personal,” Ray said. “You’re wrong. There’s no denying you made a big contribution. You found Brazil. You ID’d Fargo. I’m not blind to it. But there are other considerations. Tell you what,” Ray said, and for a moment I thought he was reconsidering. “You want to stick around? Then help out on the tip line. It’s important? You diverted detectives for it? Great. You and Eddie work the phones. Tip line! Joe Rush here!”
When I said nothing Ray made a mocking sound. “Oh? NOT so important anymore? I didn’t think so. Let other people do the shit work. It’s all bright lights for Joe. And if you want to tell everyone I didn’t back you up in Brazil, be my guest. Also, Izabel Santo is going home, on the nine P.M. Varig flight out of Kennedy.”
I swallowed my pride and said, “Aya loves being an intern. Don’t take it out on Aya because of me.”
“Oh, I’ll keep her on. Just not you.” Ray sighed. “Besides, if I hindered her getting into college, her mother would kill me.”
“You’re covering up something.”
“Go back to the woods. I’ll say you’ve gotten sick. You’re taking time off. You’ll stay a hero, Joe. See? Don’t worry. I know what’s really important to you.”
He clicked off. The police commissioner was a good man, and he looked mortified, furious. He’d conferred with the Mayor while I was being chewed out by Ray. “I feel lousy about this, Joe. You have our gratitude. You saved lives. You’ll always have a friend at the NYPD, and in my home. But for the moment, you won’t be working with us. Anything else you need? Ever? Please let me know.”
TWENTY-SIX
“You’re out? I won’t work with Ray!” Aya Vekey snapped at me over the phone. “I hate him!”
I was in Izabel Santo’s apartment, sitting on the bed, watching her pack for her trip home. Men in their underwear look clumsy and half dressed to me, but half-dressed women seem provocative. Eddie was at Columbia, cleaning out our office. Jamal had shaken my hand, thanked me, and been reassigned. “You did good work, sir,” he said.
“Aya, you’re only hurting yourself if you quit. You love this work. The internship will help you get into college.”
“I’ll get in just fine, Joe!”
“You need to get used to having Ray around. He’s marrying your mother whether you like it or not.”
“Don’t tell me what I have to do. No one tells you!”
When I sighed she softened. “Is it my fault this happened? Because I slept at the office? I started it?”