spoke up. “But it’s not guys with turbans we’re killing here. It’s Americans. It’s different. We’ve already killed three of them and we want new orders.”
“Where is it written that Americans can’t be terrorists?” asked Burns pointedly. “Are you telling me that Timothy McVeigh wasn’t a terrorist? I don’t give a damn if he’s wearing a turban or looks like my son. I don’t give a shit if he’s from Iraq or Indiana. If his goal is to harm Americans it’s my job to stop him. And I will do so with every means at my disposal.”
“All I’m saying is after this is over Karl and I need the get-out-of-jail-free piece of paper. So if you want it done, we need docs for each one with their names spelled out. We’re not taking the fall for this. No Abu Ghraib low-level-grunts-run-amuck bullshit. Top down. We all go down. That’s just how it’s going to be or your sterilized weapons remain in the holster. That’s just how it’s going to be,” he said again firmly.
“You are being compensated at four times your original salaries. You both will be wealthy by the time this is over.”
“The paper or it doesn’t get done. Period!”
Burns pursed his lips. “All right. You’ll have it as soon as possible by secure courier.” He returned to his computer screen.
“How many people in this building know about the op?”
“Counting you, me, and your partner there?”
“Yeah.”
“Three.”
The tail car on Hope and Reiger had radioed in the results of their surveillance. Beth Perry was there within ten minutes. She slid out of her car and into the backseat of theirs. She was dressed not in stars and bars but in jeans and her FBI Academy hoodie. She trained her binoculars on the building.
“You’re absolutely sure they went in there?”
“Chief, it’s pretty damn hard to miss.”
What she was looking at through her optics was the biggest office building in the world, with a footprint like no other, five-sided, in fact. She slumped back.
What the hell is the connection to the Pentagon?
CHAPTER 70
YEAH, I remember Ms. Tolliver. Used to come in here all the time.”
Mace and Roy were seated at a table at Simpsons. The man speaking to them was a waiter. They’d made inquiries, and by luck this same fellow had waited on Diane Tolliver on Friday night.
“She wasn’t alone, right?” asked Mace.
“No, a guy was with her. Damn shame what happened to her.”
“Can you describe the guy?” asked Roy.
The waiter turned to him. “You think he had something to do with her death?”
“Haven’t ruled out anything yet.”
“Are you with the cops?”
“Private eyes,” said Mace. “Hired by her family. Have the cops been by yet?”
The man nodded. “Yep.”
“So you were going to describe this guy?” prompted Mace.
“White guy. Around fifty, salt-and-pepper hair, cut short and thinning. Not as tall as you,” he said, indicating Roy. “About five-ten. Dressed in a suit.”
“Glasses? Beard?”
“No.”
Mace showed him Watkins’s DMV photo.
He shook his head. “Wasn’t that guy.”
“You didn’t get a name?” she asked.
“No, Ms. Tolliver paid the bill.”
“See him with her before?”
“Nope.”
“How were their appetites?”
“Real good. Ms. Tolliver had the filet mignon, mashed potatoes, and a side of veggies. Coffee but no dessert. The guy had the salmon with a salad and a cup of clam chowder beforehand.”
“Wine, cocktails?”
“She had a glass of the house merlot. He had two glasses of char-donnay.”
“Good memory.”
“Not really. When the police came, I went back and looked at the ticket.”
“You remember the times Tolliver and the guy came in and left?” asked Roy.
“In about seven-thirty, left over two hours later. I remember looking at the clock when they sat down because my cousin said he was going to stop by around quarter till and have a drink at the bar, and I knew it was getting close to that time.”
“And you’re pretty sure on when they left?”
“It was Friday night, but we’ve only got fifteen tables and traffic was slow. In fact, there were only two other tables occupied, so I did notice. And the bill has a time and date stamp when it comes out of the computer. They didn’t hang out after she paid the bill. Bussed their table myself.”
“Did either of them appear nervous or anything?” asked Mace.
“Well, they didn’t come in together. She was here first and then he came in. They sat at that table over there.” He pointed to an eating space in a small niche. “Pretty private because of