“Uninformative?” Burns said. “I don’t like communicating over the phone.”
“NSA isn’t supposed to spy on Americans’ phone calls, and certainly not on American intelligence agents.”
“But still, one can never be too safe.” He sat back, lifted his bad leg up, and crossed it over the other. “I won’t waste your time, but I believe I owed you a heads-up.” He paused and then added quietly, “Agents Reiger and Hope are dead.”
Beth sat forward, her stare piercing. “What the hell happened?”
“Ambush, apparently. They were beaten—looks like torture, actually—and then their throats were slashed.”
“Where did it happen?”
“We’re not sure. The preliminary indicates they were not killed where they were found. Lack of blood and such.” He tapped her desk with his index finger. “They were found in a Dumpster in South Alexandria.”
“A Dumpster? Same as Jamie Meldon.”
“Precisely, but not the same method of murder. Knife versus bullet.”
“You said torture?”
“Bones broken, sternum cracked. Yes, torture.”
“It could be Naylor’s cronies. His butt is sitting in jail waiting for trial on domestic terrorism charges.”
“I’m fully aware of Roman Naylor’s atrocities.”
“The point is, I told Reiger and Hope that we should have been in on this. We could have worked with them and maybe nailed those assholes.”
“It wasn’t my call, Beth. Hell, it’s not even my case. I was sent here because we’d previously arranged for Reiger and Hope to fill you in, at least in a limited way. In fact, Director Donnelly insisted on my coming to tell you. I guess he felt obligated in a way. I didn’t really know the two men, but they were still agents of this government. And we’re going to do everything in our power to get the bastards who did this.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“We’re working with the FBI, but I’m going to see if there’s a role you can play.”
“I’ll be ready and willing to do whatever I can, Jarvis.”
“I know, and believe me, I won’t forget it.”
He rose to leave. “Beth, a personal question?”
“Yes?”
“Is it true that your sister was arrested?”
She eyed him impassively. “How did you hear about that?”
“Beth, please. If we can’t keep track of what’s going on in our own backyard what chance do we have with the Iranians and North Koreans?”
“It was a misunderstanding. She was never charged. She said that some people in a car were, uh, shooting at her.”
“Shooting at her. Where was she?”
“In D.C. Trinidad.”
“Trinidad? When?”
“Middle of the night.”
“Okay,” Burns said slowly, shaking his head in amazement. “People shoot at each other with some frequency there, particularly at that time of night.”
“She should’ve known better.”
“But what in the world was she down there for?”
“She went back to the place where she was kidnapped. She said she just wanted to see it.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
Beth sighed. “I think she has it in her head that if she finds who set her up, she can have her record expunged and can rejoin the force. That’s all she wants, Jarvis. To be a cop again.”
“Well, I wish her every success with that of course, but it is, well, it is—”
“A long shot? Yeah, she knows.”
“And the Tolliver case?”
“What about it?”
“There was a false fire alarm there the other night. At the law firm.”
Beth looked puzzled. “I didn’t think you worried about things like that.”
“Normally, I wouldn’t. But we have data triggers, Beth. For example, a surge in hospital admissions with folks complaining of symptoms that resemble anthrax exposure coupled with suspicious air quality feed from our sensors in the Metro. So a murder in a Georgetown law firm followed by a false alarm at the same building soon thereafter that wasted a great deal of emergency resources gives me some concern. Flight lessons in Florida where beginner pilots didn’t want to learn how to take off and land? In hindsight perfectly clear, but before 9/11 it seemed trivial, insignificant. Thus I can’t afford to take anything, no matter how small, for granted. So the law firm activity could have been a diversion of some kind.”