“Yeah.” A little shock there, with the name recognition. “And you are…?”
“Matt Foster. We’ve met before.”
Kealey froze, a quiver of fear running through his chest. What was Foster doing with Naomi’s phone? He glanced at Crane. She looked back at him inquiringly, but he didn’t have time to bring her into this. “Uh… yeah, I remember you.”
“I thought you might. We met in Alexandria.”
“That’s right,” Kealey said. His mind was racing. “Where are you?”
“Just out and about.” There was a smile in the other man’s voice, but there was nothing pleasant about it. “Checking leads, following up, you know. The usual.”
“Right, well… Is Naomi there?”
There was a long silence. “I’m afraid she’s indisposed at the moment.”
Kealey closed his eyes. Indisposed? What did that mean? Surely not what it sounded like. Surely not that.
He couldn’t have killed her; there was no reason to do so. Unless Naomi had somehow figured it out first and confronted him, and Kealey didn’t see how that would be possible. But this wasn’t getting him anywhere. He had to get off the phone and think it through. “Will you tell her I need to talk to her?”
“Sure.” Foster’s tone was a little too pleasant. “Can I have a quick word with Samantha?”
For a second, Kealey thought the other man was trying to trick him into giving something away. Then he remembered that he was using Crane’s phone, and the number would have come up on Foster’s screen.
He looked at Crane. Her face had lost all of its color, and her eyes were wide and glazed over. The rage was gone, at least for the moment, but she looked utterly drained. He knew he couldn’t put her on the line; she was still reeling from Foster’s betrayal on two fronts. Judging from the show of emotion he’d just witnessed, she would give it away in a second.
“She’s also indisposed,” Kealey said, “but if you want, I can-”
“Tell me something, Ryan. Since you’re using her phone, I assume you’ve had a talk with her. Did you happen to talk to Hakim Rudaki as well?”
Kealey was gripping the phone so hard he thought it would break, but he forced himself to stay calm. “Agent Foster, I don’t know what-”
“Sure you do,” the other man said amiably. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, but I’m afraid that leaves us with a little problem. Have you called the Bureau yet?”
Kealey struggled to keep his voice even. It was clear they were done with the false pleasantries. “No.”
“Good. If you want your friend to live, you won’t try to track us down, and you won’t call the FO. Because if you do, and my fellow agents show up to gun me down, the last act of my life will be to cut her pretty little throat. Do I make myself clear?”
“You fuck,” Kealey rasped. “If you touch her, I swear to God, I’ll-”
“You’ll do nothing,” Foster said, his voice turning hard. “That isn’t too much to ask, is it? Just do nothing for the next hour. Unless you want Naomi back in pieces, that is.”
“Foster, you-” Kealey stopped and looked at the phone. The other man had already cut the connection. “Fuck!”
“What?” Crane asked. She’d already collected and reloaded her weapon, and was slipping it back into her holster. “What happened?”
“It’s your partner. He’s got Naomi.”
Crane shook her head slowly; she was still trying to get her mind around what she had just learned. This was just too much to handle. “How is that even possible?”
“I don’t know, but he said if we call the FO, he’ll kill her.” Kealey leaned against the wall and closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of Rudaki’s low moans in the next room. He felt numb. Finally, he opened his eyes and started for the stairs. Crane followed, and as they bounded to the ground floor, he spoke to her over his shoulder. “I have to get in touch with Langley. They’ll give us an address for this Nazeri guy, and I’ll just…” He shook his head, unsure of how it had come to this. “I’ll just have to go in alone.”
“Not a chance,” Crane said. Her voice was imbued with sudden determination. They hit the bottom of the stairs and moved for the door. Special Agent Mackie was still lying where Kealey had dragged him earlier. Behind him, he heard Crane ask, “Is he going to be okay?”
“He’ll be fine,” Kealey said. They reached the Accord. Kealey thought it said a lot about the neighborhood that no one had come to investigate the shot he’d fired into Rudaki’s leg, but there were sirens on the horizon as he unlocked the door and looked over the roof at Samantha Crane.
“I don’t think you should be part of this,” he said. “I have a habit of wrecking people’s careers, including my own.”
“At this point, that’s the last thing I’m worried about.” She hesitated. “He may have your friend, Ryan, but he betrayed my trust, and he betrayed the Bureau. I can’t let that go. I’m coming with you, and that’s final.”
He nodded; he couldn’t argue with anything she’d said. “Fine. Let’s go.”
On the corner of Thirty-fourth and Eighth, Special Agent Matt Foster disconnected the call, aware that he’d cut Kealey off in mid-sentence. He stared out the windshield for a few seconds, wondering how it had come to this. All he’d wanted to do was keep Kharmai busy until the bomb reached its target, but somehow, Kealey had managed to find Crane and Rudaki. His arrangement with Will Vanderveen had made him an extraordinarily wealthy man, but even in his wildest dreams, he’d never thought he would need the money so soon. With this development, he had no choice; he’d have to leave the country immediately.
He cursed under his breath. He was completely unprepared. At the very least, he would need a false passport, but getting one would take time, time he didn’t have. In a matter of hours, he would become one of the most wanted men in the world. Given the situation, there was only one option left to him.
Foster lifted the phone and punched in a number.
“Yes?”
“It’s me,” Foster said, struggling to keep his voice level and calm. He didn’t know the other man well — they had only met in person a few times — but he suspected that Vanderveen would not react favorably to panic. “I have a passenger, and we have a small problem.” He put emphasis on the “I” and the “we.” “Open the door. I’m heading your way.”
“Not possible,” Vanderveen said instantly. “This wasn’t part of the plan, Foster.”
“I realize that, but it can’t be helped. Listen, it’s the Kharmai woman, the one you missed in Berlin. She might prove useful.”
There was a long pause. “What happened? Why do you need to bring her here?”
Foster swore under his breath. He didn’t want to relay the bad news over the phone, but he didn’t have a choice. He explained quickly.
“Did you talk to him?”
“Kealey? Yes. I told him to keep the field office out of it, or I’d kill the woman.”
“He’ll come anyway. How far is the safe house from West Thirty-seventh?”
“Twenty minutes or so, but it’s the middle of the day, and the roads are busy as hell. Besides, he’ll need to call Langley to pin Nazeri down. We probably have about half an hour.”
“And where are you?”
“A few streets down. I can be there in a couple of minutes.”
“Where’s the woman now?”
Foster looked out the passenger-side window. Naomi Kharmai was just walking out of the Starbucks on the corner, holding a cup in each hand, nodding at the man who’d held the door for her. “She’s walking back to the car.”
Another long pause. “Okay, bring her in. The door will be up, and I’ll be waiting. We’ll figure it out when you get here.”
The phone went dead. Foster slipped it into his pocket as Kharmai placed the cups on the roof and opened the door. He thanked her as she handed one in, then took her seat with the other. Once the door was closed, he pulled back into traffic.
Naomi took a sip of her tea and flinched as the hot liquid touched her lips. “Ouch… too soon.” She looked around for a cup holder. Not finding one, she held the container gingerly on her knee and turned to face him. “Matt,
