“I don’t know. We can’t use any of the agency safe houses. I’ll figure something out, though.”
Lucy did as she was asked without question, disappearing into her bedroom to pack up her few belongings. When she reappeared, pale but looking determined, Bryan thought his heart would break for her. He’d almost lost her. If Vargov had gotten his hands on her, Bryan was a hundred percent sure he’d have killed her.
He probably knew she’d stolen data. He had no way of knowing she’d already analyzed the data and implicated him, though he must suspect it.
“We’re taking Stash’s car,” he said. “I told Stash you were upset and I was taking you away for a couple of days, and that my car was in the shop.” Stash, always the loyal friend, hadn’t even questioned Bryan’s story. He’d give Bryan the shirt off his back if Bryan asked.
Minutes later they were on the road in Stash’s Peugeot. Rush hour was in full flower, and the stop-and-go traffic was making Bryan crazy. It was impossible to tell whether anyone was following under these circumstances.
“How did they find me?” Lucy asked.
“You haven’t called anyone, have you? E-mailed?”
“No, I promise, I haven’t contacted anyone. I would tell you if I had. What about that picture from the restaurant?” she asked.
“I monitored all the tabloids, any paper that might publish bad celebrity photos. Nothing.”
“What about Web sites? There are a number of fan sites where amateur photos are welcome. I’m ashamed to admit I used to cruise them all the time.”
“Hell, I never even thought of that. But what are the chances that some terrorist would be cruising celebrity fan sites?”
“You’d be surprised. Millions of people search for Britney on the Web every day.
Just picture it. Some underling has the tedious job of surveilling my town house in Arlington, waiting for me to come home. He’s bored, he’s cruising the Web on his cell phone looking for dirty pictures, and there I am.”
Bryan agreed that was how it could have happened. “If I ever see that little punk with the camera, I’m going to rip out his esophagus.”
“That seems to be a favorite fantasy of yours.”
“Oh, that’s nowhere near my favorite.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “I know I’ve said it before, Lucy, but you absolutely amaze me. You held it together really well, protecting my cover even when you’d barely escaped with your life.”
“You’ve kept your superhero identity a secret from your family for a long time.
Who am I to ruin it?”
“It’s gotten a lot harder, keeping it a secret,” he said. “But every time I think about telling them, I imagine my mother’s reaction. Or Gram’s. They would completely freak out, and I’d have to quit. I’m not ready to quit.”
“When you find work you love, I imagine it’s hard to give it up.”
“You imagine?”
“I haven’t found mine yet. Clearly it’s not auditing pension funds or managing a rock group’s money.”
“You’d be good at restaurant management,” he said impulsively.
“Oh, I don’t know anything about that,” she said with a laugh. “I’ve never even been a waitress.”
He didn’t argue with her. But he was starting to entertain this fantasy of Lucy working at Une Nuit. She’d be there for him whenever he returned from a mission.
Someone he could talk to about his work-at least in general terms. Someone who understood that his work was important and who wouldn’t begrudge him the traveling.
But that was a selfish fantasy. He couldn’t expect Lucy just to sit at home waiting patiently for him to return, never knowing where he was or what he was doing or whether he was in danger. All of the reasons he’d had for staying unattached still applied.
Once they got away from the city, it was easier for Bryan to determine that no one was following them. He did some basic evasive driving, taking exits at the last minute, pulling U-turns, zig-zagging through residential streets. But no one was tailing them. He stopped to buy gas, casually sweeping the car for tracking devices while the tank filled. Of course he didn’t find any; his unseen enemy would have had to anticipate Bryan borrowing Stash’s car. But at this point, there was no such thing as paranoia. The bad guys could figure out at any time what car Bryan was driving; by then he wanted to be well away from New York City.
He could take Lucy to a hotel, but hotels required credit cards, of which he had dozens in different names-none of them safe to use. And any hotel that operated on a cash-only basis wasn’t some place he wanted Lucy to stay.
Bryan’s satellite phone rang. His nerves already on edge, he jumped at the sound of it. He’d always been told that his location could not be traced using this phone, but he suddenly didn’t trust anything he’d ever been told by anyone.
“You aren’t going to get that?” Lucy asked.
“No.” The Caller ID screen was blank-not a good sign.
“So we’re totally on our own?”
Bryan didn’t know how to answer that. He had the might of the United States Government behind him. But he had to use a certain chain of command, and if he trusted the wrong link in the chain, they were likely both dead.
He decided, though, that he had to trust someone. And if he had to pick only one person, it would be the man currently calling himself Siberia-the man who’d trained him when he’d first moved over to Homeland Security, the man who’d been his mentor. Siberia was not a particularly likable man-his nickname wasn’t random. He was cold. But he was smart and capable, and right now, he was the only choice Bryan had.
He dialed the number. “Casanova?” the familiar voice answered on the other end of the line.
“Did you try to call me just now?”
“No. Why?”
“There’ve been some new developments.” He explained to his superior about the photograph, likely published on the Internet, and the kidnapping attempt. “I have to take her someplace safe. But the safe houses that are available aren’t safe from our own people-and unfortunately I’m more sure than ever that’s where the threat lies.”
Siberia was silent for a long time, so long that Bryan feared they’d lost their connection. Finally he spoke again. “There is a place, a new safe house that’s just come available. No one in the agency knows of it but me.”
“Where is it?”
“In the Catskills. Very isolated. Put Lucy there. Then you and I will put an end to this thing. I have some new intelligence. I believe I know now who our turncoat is. And I know how to catch her and Vargov. But it will require us working together.”
Her. So Siberia believed the traitor was Orchid. He didn’t know what to say.
He’d always thought Orchid was solid. She was middle-aged, plain, unremarkable-all the things that made for a forgettable person, which was good for an agent.
“I think someone got to her with romance,” Siberia said. “She probably never had a lot of boyfriends. Women are vulnerable that way.”
Privately Bryan didn’t think women were any more vulnerable than men, whose brains started to misfire the moment a beautiful women entered the room. But he didn’t want to argue about it. Presumably Siberia had more to go on than Orchid’s gender.
He had a hard time believing Orchid would fall prey to some Romeo terrorist sympathizer. But by the nature of their work, he didn’t know her that well, so he couldn’t say for sure.
“So where is this little safe house in the woods?” He didn’t like it, but he felt he had no choice. He would have to leave Lucy alone, unprotected. But if they could end this thing once and for all, Lucy would finally be safe. And maybe his stomach, which had been twisted in knots for days, could return to normal.
Siberia gave him directions to the cabin in the Catskills, which he memorized.
One of his strengths as an agent was his perfect recall. He seldom had to write anything down.
He told Lucy the plan. She didn’t seem easy with it, either, but she didn’t object. She probably thought he knew best. He wished he thought that was true.
“It’ll take two or three hours to get there,” he said. He wanted to avoid the toll roads, because often there
