more worthy than Kowalski would have guessed. Hell, his stomach still trembled a bit. But Mr. Vincent would be out for another twenty minutes or so. And by that time, Kowalski would be a bitter memory.
Second: the mysterious John “Jack” Eisley Another one of Kelly White’s intended victims, no doubt. Was he infected? Who knew. Better to assume he was until he had instructions from his handler. Kowalski hoped this wasn’t another decapitation job. The gym bag was only so big, and he doubted poor Ed would like sharing his personal space with a stranger. Especially some dope in a black T-shirt and khakis who’d driven away with his pretty little blonde.
Which brought Kowalski to the woman of the hour. The blonde herself. Back at the airport, she’d seemed like just another blonde-from-the-bottle blonde. Crackin’ bust, pretty eyes, not much upstairs. He still couldn’t think of the actress she reminded him of. But it was somebody he’d seen recently.
Up close, though, Kowalski could see that her eyes were fierce. Hunter’s eyes. Oh yes, he thought, She’s seen some things. It would be unkind to call them beady; they were simply focused to a high level of attention. The way she was looking at him now, even though she was clearly beyond exhaustion.
Kowalski dialed the number for his handler, all the while keeping Kelly in his sights. She was secured to the chair with her own handcuffs. The keys were in her bag. “Pleasure Chest, eh?” he’d said, but she’d just stared at him. His handler answered.
“Okay, now you can be impressed.”
“She’s alive?”
“And pissed.”
“That doesn’t matter. Take her by car and drive towards D.C. When you reach Silver Spring, call for directions.”
“That will put me near you by four-thirty or so. Up for an early breakfast? Nothing fancy. Some coffee and eggs. Wait. I just had breakfast an hour ago. Maybe we could order some lunch-type food. A hamburger and potato salad.”
“Listen, because this is important. You need to keep her within ten feet of you at all times, but do not allow her to get too close. Also, avoid any fluid contact—kissing, biting, maybe even scratching. And she’ll probably try.”
“Come on, N—” he began, then caught himself. He’d almost said her name. “What is this, sorority initiation night?”
“Just follow my instructions.”
“This is such bullshit. This is you and me, remember?”
“There is no you and me. There’s you and your employers. Follow my instructions.”
“Your instructions suck.”
Kowalski thumbed the cell off and realized how childish he’d sounded. Whatever. Maybe he’d get more answers out of Ms. White. She was looking more awake by the second. Probing him with her pretty, green, beady eyes.
“What?” he asked.
“Yeah, you’re him. I was wondering how long it would take you to show up.”
“You knew I was coming for you.”
“Hoping for it. For almost a week now. I’m surprised it took him this long.”
“Who?”
Kelly snorted air.
This was what Kowalski hated the most about his job. Sometimes, he felt like the ultimate insider, the man with his finger on the pulse. History’s triggerman, no footnote necessary. Other times, he felt like an anonymous guy in some felt-lined cubicle, pushing staples into pieces of paper typed in a foreign language. They could be documents vital to national security. Or they could be invoices for turkey clubs.
This felt like one of those turkey club moments. Complete with toothpick and olive.
“Fine, you’re not going to tell me, doesn’t matter.”
“How long have you been working for him?”
“Ever since I quit flippin’ burgers at Wendy’s. I couldn’t take it anymore. All of those square patties. They freaked me out.”
Kowalski walked behind her, sizing up the situation. No biting, no scratching, avoid fluid contact. Easy thing to do, if she were unconscious.
“You’re just like him. Oh so funny. Is that part of the training they give boys like you? A little stand-up to lighten the mood before killing somebody?”
He liked her. She was quick.
“Okay, look, the easy thing would be to knock you out. Tie you up, nothing kinky, stick you in the backseat under a blanket, and off we go. That’s probably not something you want to happen. Am I right?”
“The tying up part sounded fun.”
“Of course. But then I’d have to find a way to drag your unconscious body out of the hotel, and at… what? Two-thirty in the morning? That’s a pain in the ass. So here’s my idea: We walk out together, holding hands. We get into a car.”
“What kind of car?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t stolen it yet.”
“Nice.”
“We get into a car, and I take you to where you need to be.”
“What if I resist?”
“Then I tie you up, like, really tight.”
“Still sounds like fun.”
No matter what, Kowalski was going to knock her out, tie her up, and dump her in the backseat. But it would be easier to walk out of here together, find a car, and take care out of business outside the hotel. It was early in the morning, but sooner or later, somebody downstairs would be calling for this security guy here. They might already have. Kowalski had taken the batteries out of Mr. Vincent’s walkie-talkie, as well as the cell phone clipped to his belt. The batteries went into the tank of the toilet.
Kowalski looked at Kelly’s hand. They were mannish hands— strong wrists, slightly stubby fingers. Working- class hands.
He studied the middle finger of her left hand in particular.
“Let’s get ready to go.”
2:30 a.m.
The call was placed, buried, then reburied beneath a sea of thousands of other phone calls being made across the United States at any given second. It was hidden, even from DHS. She knew better than to make it from her office, an anonymous flat two-story stuccoed box with emergency staircases made of concrete. The building had been around since the 1950s; kids in the neighborhood grew up without even wondering what went on in there. She went down the street, into an apartment building, and then downstairs to a laundry room in the basement. A pay phone she knew about. She used a prepaid calling card.
God, if anyone else in CI-6 knew what she’d been doing for the past six weeks …
“We have her.”
“I’m getting on a plane now. Where am I going?”
“D.C.”
“Where is she right now?” “On her way.”
“Not in a fucking plane … don’t tell me she’s in a plane.” “I said, We have her. She’ll be here in a matter of hours.” “Yeah yeah.”
“After all this, I get attitude? Do you know how much—” “I know how much, dear.” “I wonder.” Silence.
“Where are you?”
“Close enough to be there in a few hours.” “Then I’ll see you soon.”
