mouth was watering.
“You want a beer?” Clutesi asked.
Howard shook his head. “No, thanks. Maybe a Coke.”
Clutesi paid the bill. “It’s on me,” he said, “just in case you don’t like it.”
They carried the trays over to a vacant table. There were no seats. “Makes for a faster turnover,” said Clutesi, seeing Howard look around for a chair. “Besides, they taste better standing up.”
Howard took a bite of his crab-cake sandwich and raised his eyebrows as he chewed.
“Good, huh?” asked Clutesi.
“Fantastic,” agreed Howard. “Oh shit,” he added, recognising the figure walking towards him. “What the hell is she doing here?”
“Huh?” said Clutesi, his mouth full of crab cake.
“Kelly Armstrong, young, thrusting would-be superstar and a real pain in the butt.” Kelly walked up to the table, smiling. “Kelly, this is a pleasant surprise,” he said through gritted teeth. “How did you know where to find me?”
“The FBI office said that you were with a Don Clutesi and that if you weren’t at the hospital with the suspect he’d probably be eating at Faidley’s.”
“They know me so well,” said Clutesi sheepishly.
“So you’d be Don Clutesi?” said Kelly, offering her hand. Clutesi shook it warmly.
“And you’ll be Kelly Armstrong,” he said. “Cole has told me lots of good things about you.”
“Oh really?” said Kelly, raising an eyebrow and leaving him in no doubt that she didn’t believe him. Howard offered Kelly lunch, but she shook her head, saying that she’d already eaten. “Cole, why didn’t you tell me about the television broadcast yesterday?”
Howard shrugged. “You were chasing up the alternative targets,” he said.
“It would have been nice if you’d kept me fully briefed.”
“I thought Jake Sheldon had already done that.”
Kelly’s eyes flashed and she looked as if she was going to snap at him, but with a visible effort she regained her composure. From her handbag she took several sheets of paper, neatly folded, which she handed to him. “These are what I’ve come up with after talking to the State Department and the Secret Service. I’ve put all the East Coast possibilities on a separate sheet and there’s a full itinerary for the VIPs at the ballpark. Did you get anything from the suspect in Shock-trauma?”
“Damien O’Brien? He’s not a suspect,” said Howard.
Kelly’s forehead creased into a frown. “I don’t follow you.”
Howard took a large bite of his sandwich, so Clutesi filled her in on what O’Brien had told them.
“Does he know what they’re planning?” she asked.
“If he does, he’s not telling us,” said Clutesi.
“But we’re assuming it’s an East Coast hit?” she said. Howard nodded. “What about the snipers? Do we know where they are?”
“Not yet,” admitted Clutesi. “We got an address but it was on fire and they were long gone by the time we got there. All we found was O’Brien and a couple of corpses.” Two black teenagers in leather jackets and jeans looked round with their mouths open and Clutesi realised he’d been shouting above the noise. He lowered his voice. “We were close, though. Damn close.”
“What’s your plan now?” Kelly asked Howard.
He shrugged. “We’re going to have another talk with Mr O’Brien. You?”
“I thought I’d talk to the local police, check over their security arrangements. Will you be going back to Washington?”
“I’m not sure,” said Howard. “Depends on what else we get from O’Brien.”
“Do you need my help here?”
“No, we can handle it,” said Howard. He smiled. “Keep up the good work.”
She looked as if she was going to say something else, but instead she just nodded, said goodbye to Clutesi, and walked away. Both men watched her go, as did several other diners. “She’s hot,” said Clutesi.
“She’s a bitch,” said Howard. “A poisonous, ambitious, nasty bitch.”
“Turned you down, huh?”
Howard glared at Clutesi. “Don’t even joke about it,” he said.
Clutesi grinned and looked at the door which was closing behind her. “Thing of it is, she looks familiar. Like I’ve seen her somewhere before.”
“Yeah? In Phoenix, maybe?”
“Never been to Phoenix,” said Clutesi thoughtfully. “But I’m sure I’ve seen her somewhere.” He shrugged. “It’ll come to me eventually.”
The two men ate, chatting about Clutesi’s days in the Baltimore office, keeping the conversation general because the tables were crowded. Later, as they walked back to the Shock-trauma Unit, Clutesi raised the subject of O’Brien again. “You want me to check with the British?” he asked.
“About O’Brien? Or the MI5 agents?”
“Both. The shit is really going to hit the fan, that’s for sure. They’re not supposed to be here without clearing their operation with us first.”
“Is it possible they did clear it?”
“Doubtful. Hank O’Donnell could confirm that for sure. But it wouldn’t be the first time that they’ve operated here without our okay. You know how it works, both the Bureau and the CIA send people to the UK without letting the British know what we’re up to. It depends on how much we trust our opposite numbers, and how sensitive the operation is.”
Howard nodded thoughtfully. “Can you call up Frank and see if he’s gotten anywhere with O’Brien’s fingerprints — the girl’s too? And then call up our Baltimore field office and get them to pull in Patrick Farrell.”
“Sure,” said Clutesi. They reached the hospital and Clutesi took his cellular telephone from his pocket. Howard did the same and the two men found a quiet corridor before dialling.
As Clutesi called up the New York Counter-Terrorism Division, Howard rang through to the White House office where Ed Mulholland was directing operations. Helen answered on the third ring, her voice pleasant and professional, though Howard knew she couldn’t have had much sleep. He’d called from the burning house on Chesapeake Bay at ten o’clock the previous night and she’d been on duty then. She put him through to Mulholland, who also seemed to be firing on all cylinders. Howard quickly explained about O’Brien, and the information he’d given him. Mulholland listened without interruption. “Sound kosher?” he asked when Howard had finished his briefing.
“I think so,” said Howard. “We’ve faxed his prints to New York, Frank Sullivan’s running a check.”
“So what do you think, Cole? Do you think they’ll call it off now?”
Howard hesitated. “I’m not sure,” he said. “If it was me, I’d lie low for a few months and then try again. But these are terrorists, they’re used to taking risks. In fact, the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that they’re going to go ahead regardless. From what O’Brien has told me, Hennessy seems to be on some sort of personal crusade.”
“Do we have a fix on where the hit is going to be?”
“No, and we’re no nearer finding out when, either. Though I get the feeling it’s going to be soon. According to the President’s itinerary, he’s going to be in the Baltimore-Washington area for the next three days.”
“Yeah,” agreed Mulholland. “I spoke to Bob Sanger last night and he agrees with you. He’s swamping the area with Secret Service agents and tightening up the presidential guard.”
Howard snorted. “I thought security was already as tight as it could be,” he said.
“Yeah, well I think he’s more worried about covering his arse than anything else,” said Mulholland.
“Ed, wouldn’t it be much easier to withdraw The Man from view until this has been resolved?”
“Bob’s already been to see the President, and his views haven’t changed. The President insists that he can’t be held hostage in the White House by an assassin. He’s allowing the extra security, but he’s not prepared to cancel a single appearance. That goes for the Prime Minister. We’ve been in touch with his security people, and the PM has made it clear that he is not willing to cancel any engagements either. He says they don’t bow to IRA threats in the UK and they’re not prepared to do so here.”
