Otto and Adkins exchanged a glance, and Otto touched a finger to the send box in the header of what looked like an e-mail message. “Just did it.”
“Did what?”
“We wrote an e-mail detailing everything we just told you, and sent it to every name from Remington’s flash drive and Whittaker’s laptop.”
“Don’t you think they’ll fight back?”
“With what?” Otto asked. “We have the proof, and Mac got it for us.”
“Now we wait,” Adkins said.
PART
FIVE
Thirty-six Hours Later
SEVENTY-SEVEN
At the Central Detention Facility, known as the D.C. jail, McGarvey sat on his cot, his back against the dirty concrete wall. His clothing had been taken from him when he’d been admitted thirty-six hours ago, and he was dressed now in jeans, a light blue denim shirt, and black shoes, no laces.
He was in a special holding cell away from the general population used for prisoners on suicide watch, prisoners who were in danger from the other inmates, and occasionally a special case like McGarveys ordered held by the Bureau or the U.S. Marshal Service.
So far no one had come to talk to him, and the jailer who delivered his meals had said nothing, merely sliding the metal plate, tin cup of Kool-Aid, and the spoon through the slot in the metal door, and returning in twenty minutes to retrieve the dirty dishes.
The single light set behind a grille in the ceiling never went out, and there was no window.
Everything hinged on Otto, as operations in the past so often had, but he hoped that Dick Adkins and Pete had managed to make it to safety and keep their heads down until the dust settled.
There were going to be repercussions, and it was almost certain that Foster would fight back using whatever connections were left in place and still loyal to the cause. But it was anyone’s guess how it would turn out.
During the first night, and all yesterday, he’d had plenty of time to think about Katy and Liz and Todd, and what his life was going to be without them. But he’d come to no conclusions. Too soon, he supposed. And he was numb, a feeling he’d never really known to this depth. It was as if a very large part of his body and his mind had been cut out and disposed of. No ceremony. No time to prepare. No time to mount some sort of defense or counterattack. They were there in his life, and then they were gone.
He’d also thought about the day Katy had given him the ultimatum, her or the CIA, and he’d been so stupid that he’d walked out the door and had taken up an existence in Switzerland. But even that separation, that distance had never been final in his mind. There’d always been at least a glimmer of hope, a possibility for reconciliation that was missing now. And he was still angry. Almost shaking with anger.
The door locking mechanism was thrown back, the door swung open, and Ansel was there, holding what looked like a clear plastic dry cleaner’s bag over his shoulder, his thumb hooked in the curve of the hanger.
McGarvey sat up. “Where’s your partner?”
“He didn’t show up for work this morning,” Ansel said.
“No one knows where he is?”
Ansel’s eyes narrowed. “That’s right,” he said. “Anyway, all charges against you have been dropped, but there’ll be a coroner’s hearing. A lot of dead bodies scattered around that need answering for.” He came in, laid the bag at the foot of the cot, and stepped back out of the cell as if he were wary of getting too close. “Your clothes have been cleaned and pressed. Soon as you’re dressed I’ll get you out of here.”
“What about my shoes?”
“With your other things up front.”
McGarvey got up and began changing out of the prison garb. “Anything else been going on around town overnight? Disappearances? Resignations? Suicides?”
“You knew all along that something like this was going to happen, didn’t you?”
“Not at first. But the deeper I got into the mess the more likely I thought Foster and his people would fold if they were given a nudge. Like a house of cards.”
“Well, Foster’s car was run off the road early this morning and he was shot to death. No witnesses.”
“Anyone with him?”
“No. He was driving. As it is we’ll probably never find the killer. It was professional.”
“It’ll turn out to be an Administrative Solutions shooter. They’ve got a grudge.”