your father’s in prison for bank robbery. But you can tell them you’re estranged from both your parents, and none of that will matter. Your record is clean, you have a professional degree and a responsible job.” A second finger went up. “We need to be prepared for either Metro or the FBI identifying Justice Cummings as the man who left his blood on the scene. The FBI will jump on it with both feet if they find out he’s CIA, a federal employee who was being chased by parties unknown, and is now missing.” She leaned forward, splayed her palms on the table in front of her. “If they do, Artemis will see to it they get nowhere near finding out what he was working on. That we can’t allow. No way will they find out we are already negotiating a price with the Russians about your smart wall, Craig, and that Cummings is missing because he stumbled across it. Obviously, if I’m wrong, if Artemis is wrong, it could be the end.”
Athena paused. “So, we all need to go to work as usual, continue as if nothing has happened. This will still turn out all right. Artemis has her end covered. We’ll continue to look for Justice Cummings.
“There is something else you should know. Agent Sherlock’s husband is Agent Dillon Savich. Yes, I see you’ve heard of him as well as his famous wife. He’s very high-profile and he’s smart. We cannot underestimate him. You can count on his being interested because his wife was involved in the accident. We have to be careful he gets nothing.
“People, there’s no turning back now, for any of us. We need to have everything in place by Monday.”
When Athena was alone again, she walked to the window and looked out over the rolling Virginia hills, dotted with houses and thick copses of maple and oak. She took several deep breaths. It would be all right. She was not going to let this man Cummings destroy what she’d planned so meticulously. She’d waited too long, and she’d worked too hard. It would be all right.
8
* * *
WASHINGTON MEMORIAL HOSPITAL
WEDNESDAY AFTERNOON
“I came as soon as I could,” said Dr. Emanuel Hicks as he walked into Sherlock’s private room on the third floor, her new home after being released from the ICU. He was a renowned psychiatrist and hypnotist, and an Elvis impersonator in his spare time. Luckily for the FBI, he was very happy to be in his tenth year at Quantico. He was tall and skinny as a parking meter, had to wear a pillow strapped to his belly when he was Elvis.
“I appreciate your coming,” Savich said, and shook his hand.
“I’m very sorry about all this, Savich.” Dr. Hicks looked at Sherlock, sound asleep and breathing easily. He took in the small bandage on her head, her pallor, her stillness. She looked peaceful, but he knew the Sherlock he liked and admired was locked away. As for Savich, Dr. Hicks knew how hard it had to be for him to keep it together. Were it his own wife, Mary, lying there with no clue who he was, who she was, he would be scared spitless. But Savich needed him as a professional now, not as a longtime friend. He said in a practiced, calm voice, “Since I have privileges here, I was able to look at her chart before I came in. You know there are excellent neurologists and psychiatrists on staff here at Washington Memorial.”
“I don’t know any of them,” Savich said simply. “I know and trust you. She’s been asleep about an hour now since they gave her a sedative to keep her still in the MRI.” He paused, then, “As I told you, Dr. Hicks, she doesn’t know who I am, who Sean is, who she is. I hope I handled it right. We talked and I saw glimpses of her, but she doesn’t remember anything.” He stared toward her, wanting to touch her, to kiss her, to tell her to come back to him. He felt impotent and hated it. “I’m a stranger to her. The doctors didn’t find that out, I did.”
Dr. Hicks laid his hand lightly on Savich’s shoulder. “I grant you they could have done a more thorough neurological exam a few hours earlier, but they were more concerned with her physical injuries, with making sure her life wasn’t in danger. It was good you were with her when she realized she didn’t remember,