Redemption House, and that’s why we’re removing every trace of our work. If she isn’t around to accuse us, and nothing is here to be found, we might still get out of this whole-hide. We can’t let her get back to them, she’d identify us all. I’ll arrange a fatal car accident. There will be questions, sure, but if it’s done right, there will be no proof. We can all go quietly back to our lives.”
There was dead silence, then Cricket said, “They will know it wasn’t a real accident.”
Nikki said, “Even if they can’t prove it, they’ll never stop if they think we killed one of their agents in a staged accident. And they will, you know it.”
Farriger looked around the group, her eyes resting a moment on Jasmine Palumbo, responsible for the biggest screwup. She hated amateurs. “Yes, of course they’ll suspect, but I’ll see to it there is no compelling proof. Listen to me, all of you. If we’re very lucky, they may never find this place. In any case, I’ve managed to buy us perhaps twelve hours. We can’t waste more time on these senseless debates. We’ve got to empty this house and get out of here.”
Nikki took a step toward her. “No, Claire, there will be no more killing. If only you’d asked me about Ellie, I could have told you she could talk her way out of anything. Here’s what we’ll do. We’ll clean out the house, and they’ll have no way of knowing why we were here. If we stick together, we’ll get through this. When they find the agent, maybe she’ll be wandering around, still confused from the drug you gave her. Let her say whatever she wants, there’ll be no proof.”
Farriger wanted to draw her service weapon and shoot all of them. Instead, she drew in a deep breath. “I don’t care what you believe about Corbitt, but if the FBI agent simply shows up, confused or not, the FBI will not stop, do you understand? They. Will. Not. Stop. We have no choice.”
She saw a moment of indecision on Cricket’s face, saw Jasmine shake her head. She said to Nikki, “If we don’t kill her, your father wins, you’ll have proved him right—you’re a girl, inferior, a failure. And your brother? Can you imagine how happy he’ll be when you’re hauled off in your orange suit to federal prison?
“Listen, Nikki, when you told me about Dr. Cook’s invention, we both knew it was our big chance. I could wipe the CIA muck off my shoes and we could both live the lives we wanted. You were so excited, anything to pay back the father you hate and your prick of a brother. Let me point out you were the one who led that FBI agent here to the house, like Jasmine blundered and hit Agent Sherlock’s car. Your fault, not mine, all the mistakes, the missteps. I’m the one who can save you, the only one. You’ve got to let me do what we have to do to keep us safe.”
“No, Claire,” Nikki said, “you will not kill anyone else. We all talked about this, we’re all agreed.”
Farriger was sick of all of them. More blah, blah. She stopped listening. She moved to stand next to a wall with shelves holding dozens of old leather books from before the Civil War. She splayed her hands in front of her. “Very well, trust me, the agent will be freed.”
Dr. Craig Cook pointed a finger at her. “Trust you? You gave her over to that bulked-up trained ape of yours, Armstrong, after you drugged her. We all know you called him a few minutes ago. You told him to kill her, didn’t you? It’s easy for you, like pinching out a candle.”
“Dr. Cook, get ahold of yourself.” Farriger walked slowly toward him and he flinched, she saw it. Good, the little worm was afraid of her. And so he should be. She stopped, clapped her hands together. “We must stop with these senseless accusations. We have to get to work.”
Nikki said, “Make the call to Armstrong. In front of us. Now.”
73
* * *
Savich, Sherlock, and Ruth crouched over as they moved quickly away from the long driveway to skirt the big colonial house. Savich nodded to Sherlock and she slipped around the side of the house to look through the front window. She backed up, whispered, “They’re packing up, moving fast. A man and a woman just walked out of the living