was killing anyone, and they weren’t being chased or hunted.
And then he opened his eyes, looked around, and told himself the truth.
In truth, he doubted there would ever come a day when all this would end and they would live in peace. He’d die on the job, and she would, too, and that would be that.
Brewer’s curt voice startled him. “Transferring you.”
He tried to catch her. “Transferring me where?”
But she clicked off before responding. He took a sip of water, but this time he only had to wait a few seconds to be connected.
Matt Hanley’s voice boomed over the phone; he sounded especially stressed. “Violator, that image. That is real time?”
“Negative. Forty-five minutes ago.”
“Are they still in the same location?”
“Unknown. I didn’t want to get made. I’ve got a tracker on Dittenhofer’s surveillance victor so I can pick her back up when I need to.”
Court could hear Hanley breathing into the phone.
Court said, “Standing by for orders, boss.”
The DDO spoke in a low, grave voice now, almost threatening. “Listen very carefully. I give you a lot of latitude in a lot of ways, but I need you to do exactly what I tell you to do right now. No back talk, no lone singleton-with-a-conscience bullshit, no trying to outthink me on this one. Do what I fucking say. You got it?”
It was a weird ask of Hanley, Court thought, because Hanley knew Court was always going to do things his way. Still, he said, “Sure, Matt.”
“I need you to break off coverage of Dittenhofer, of Spangler, and of anyone else with Shrike Group. No coverage of anyone. Just back . . . the fuck . . . away . . . from the op right now.”
Whoa, Court thought. “Shit, boss. Who the hell is this guy?”
As surprised as Court already was, Hanley stunned him with his next comment. “I’m on the way as soon as I can get a Gulfstream tasked to me. Expect me there by dawn. You, in the meantime, cease all surveillance operations. Get back to your safe house, and sit there until we speak again.”
Court was already sitting in his safe house, but now wasn’t the time to quibble. “Yes, sir. Understood.” Court was his own man, but there were notes of both terror and menace in the normally controlled voice of Matthew Hanley that he found unmistakable and deeply troubling.
He hung up the phone, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now. Zoya was gone. His mission had been pulled right out from under him. Checking his watch, he saw that Dr. Kaya wouldn’t be off work for another six hours, so there was no sense in going to her for his infusion now.
Court Gentry was a man wholly unaccustomed to free time.
He stood up from the sofa, deciding to walk down to the street to find some food and a beer.
* * *
• • •
One hour later Matt Hanley sat in the back of an armored Chevy Tahoe, one of three in a convoy that raced along the Potomac River, on its way east towards Reagan National Airport. The traffic was typically heavy for a morning drive in the D.C. area, but the big black vehicles had government plates, flashing lights on the grille, sirens, and drivers who’d driven much rougher roads than the George Washington Memorial Parkway, so the deputy director for operations knew he’d get to his aircraft in good time and in one piece.
While the motorcade raced down the shoulder at forty miles an hour, Hanley fielded calls, desperately trying to organize his workspace so that he could take an impromptu intercontinental trip. It was chaos, and in the twenty minutes they’d been on the road he’d spoken with the director of the Special Activities Center, the White House, his chief of staff twice, and Suzanne Brewer three times.
He’d just hung up with the Pentagon when his line beeped again. “Yeah?”
This time, it was his secretary. “Sir, I have a call for you. He didn’t give a name, but it’s a number from your approved list.”
“Send it over, Estelle, and call the director. Tell him I should be back by Friday at the latest.”
“Yes, sir.”
The motorcade was waved through an open gate to the DCA tarmac, then headed at speed towards a white Gulfstream G400. Hanley looked out the window and saw two big Chevy Yukons parked closer to the aircraft, and a group of men pulling gear from the back.
Finally, the call came through, and Hanley heard a