known to have Stingers and the brass probably figured soldiers were easier to replace than choppers. Mary went in anyway. She saved the team, but the bad guys brought her down with a Stinger. Her copilot was killed. Mary survived the crash but… well, you saw. She should have gotten the Medal of Honor.”
“What medal
“None. ‘Lieutenant Stilwell is dishonorably discharged for willful disobeyance of orders from a superior officer and wanton disregard for the safety of her copilot, her actions resulting in destruction of Army assets and the death of said copilot,’ is how the court-martial finding read, if I recall right.”
Agent Whittle blinked, looked out the window. “I’m sorry to hear that. You get a feeling sometimes. I lost a son in Iraq.”
The words stung. At least Mary was alive. “I’m sorry, Agent Whittle. I have a soft spot in my heart for soldiers. My father was career Army.” She reached forward and touched his arm, realizing that her eyes had teared up.
“Thank you.” He continued to look out the window. Hallie hadn’t added all her history with Mary, how they had been best friends at Georgetown University and she had gone on to graduate school at Hopkins while Mary abandoned plans for medical school and joined the Army instead. Mary had been chasing her Big Sister the Doctor’s achievements all her life, and going to med school would have been just another step in her shadow. But flying an Apache—
Agent Fortier set on the table what looked like an oversized BlackBerry, unfolded two side panels, pressed a button. One soft tone, then a cone of rose-colored light blossomed, and Don Barnard was there on her table. His head and chest, anyway.
The hologram spoke: “Hello, Hallie! Can you see me okay?”
It took her a moment to respond. “I… can see you fine, Don.” The image was unbelievably real. Every hair of his big white mustache was clearly visible, his bushy eyebrows and sharp blue eyes and his weekend sailor’s sunburn.
“I can see you, too. Amazing, isn’t it?”
“This is
“It’s me. I just couldn’t get away right now.”
She smiled at the sight of him for another moment, then decided it was time to drive the conversation forward.
“What’s going on, Don?”
His smile faded. “We have a problem, Hallie, and time is of the essence. I—
She actually laughed. “My help? Come on, they ran me out of there on a rail.”
“You know how I felt about that. It was a rotten deal.”
“I know that you were the only one in my corner.”
“And I would be there again. Look, Hallie, can you come up here?”
“You mean, like
“Yes.”
“In a day or two, I guess. I work for a friend, Don. She’ll need some—”
“Can’t wait, Hallie. We need you now. Someone will speak to Mary.”
“How did you know—Never mind. But you won’t tell me why?”
“
“Was I supposed to take that seriously?”
“Indeed.”
“This has nothing to do with the other business?”
“No. Nothing. My word on that.”
“Okay.” Hallie believed him, but wanted to be clear. “Those bastards can piss in their hats for all I care.”
“I think we agree on that.”
“I’ll come. What happens now?”
“Agents Fortier and Whittle will take it from here. Thank you, Hallie. We’ll speak soon.”
His image dissolved.
“Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked Whittle, who was drinking the last of his lemonade and looking better.
Her hospitality had softened their official crust. He smiled and shook his head. “For this mission we’re just high-end errand boys, Dr. Leland.”
“Do I have time to pack?”
“They’ll have things for you on the other end.”
“Jesus. Well, then I’m ready when you are, gentlemen.”
They walked out. She locked the door and followed the agents to their black Expedition with tinted windows, where Whittle held a rear door for her. They had left the engine running to keep the air-conditioning on. She got in and it was like sitting down in a meat locker. When he saw that she was settled, he said, “Thank you, Dr. Leland,” before gently closing the door.
This, she had to admit, was more like it.
SIX
“HALLIE!”
Donald Barnard, MD, PhD, had started at tight end for the University of Virginia in 1968 and ’69. He was now twenty pounds heavier and decades older, but still solid. He hauled around his desk like a bear rolling out of its den, big hand extended, looking happy and relieved and exhausted all at once. Hallie brushed his proffered hand aside and gave him a long, hard hug, then held him at arm’s length. She frowned.
“You look tired, Don.” It was just after seven in the evening. She knew he started his workdays at six-thirty A.M.
“That makes two of us.” He stepped back. “You remember Lew Casey? Lew was Delta Lab supervisor when you were here.”
It was only then that she noticed the two men who had been standing off to one side in Barnard’s large office while he and Hallie said hello. Dr. Lewis Casey was a short man in his fifties with milky skin, a blizzard of freckles, and hair like curls of rusty wire.
“I remember him very well. It’s good to see you again, Doctor.”
“And I remember
She looked at Barnard. “You never told me that.”
“Lew was not the only one, I can assure you.” Barnard appeared, very briefly, sheepish.
“Thank you, Dr. Casey. I’m honored to hear you say that.” Despite herself, Hallie was pleased.
“Lew does fine. And I’ll call you Hallie, if that’s all right with you?”
“Of course.”
Barnard turned to the third man, who, Hallie could tell with a second’s glance, was no scientist. Too neat, too polished, too perfect. Could have stepped out of a Brooks Brothers catalog. He was slim and tan, wearing a tailored, three-piece suit of fine brown wool and what looked to be handmade English shoes. His razor-cut brown hair lay tight against his scalp and he sported a meticulously trimmed mustache.
