“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Not at all. But the reason I bring it up is that one time your father mentioned how he saw something strong in you. He said it was something he didn’t see in your sister. You had this strength, this … this fortitude that he said he didn’t even think he had himself.”
I decide to get off 295, take the exit to D Street SW.
“To be quite honest, I don’t give a shit what my father once said about me. I’m sorry I have to curse like that—I know it shows lack of self-control—but fuck him. He turned out to be an enemy.”
“He’s a conflicted man, I won’t argue that. He is a man who has made his own bed and now he has to lie in it. I feel responsible, in a way. Perhaps if I had trained him better, or if I had looked deep into his heart and soul, maybe I could have foreseen him going the other way.”
“Do you know why he did it?”
“I can only speculate.”
“And?”
“And nothing. Speculation is merely what it is. It won’t benefit either of us to continue in that train of thought.”
I continue down D Street, turn up North Carolina Avenue toward Seward Square.
“But he turned, didn’t he? He became … evil. He became a monster.”
Atticus clears his throat. “Do you see that as his fault?”
“What?”
“Your father did everything he could to keep this country safe. He was asked to do a great deal and he came through, every time. That’s why he was held in such high regard.”
I stop at the traffic light, watch cars pass back and forth on Pennsylvania Avenue.
“Are you defending him?”
“No. But to paraphrase Nietzsche, whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster.”
“Yeah, and if you gaze long enough into the abyss, the abyss will gaze back into you.”
“Why, Holly”—Atticus sounding pleased—“you are full of surprises, aren’t you?”
I don’t get a chance to answer him, because right then the cell phone rings.
Sixty-Four
“Hello, Holly.”
“Zane.”
“How are you doing this fine evening?”
In my ear, Atticus says, “I need thirty more seconds for a trace.”
“I’ve been waiting for you to call.” I’ve finished the first cigarette and light up a second, taking a long drag. “I have what you want.”
“Are you smoking?”
“What does it matter to you?”
“I always told you those things were bad for you.”
Atticus: “Fifteen more seconds.”
“Look, I have it. I have the flash drive.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
“And how do I know you really have it? How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
The light turns green. I pull forward, driving slowly.
“I guess you’re just going to have to trust me.”
“Trust,” Zane says, a chuckle in his voice. “I guess that was never our strong suit, huh?”
Atticus: “I got him. He’s north of you, right near Union Station.”
I press my foot down on the gas. Speaking calmly, I ask, “How are the kids?”
“Very good.”
“I want to talk to them.”
“I’m sure you do. First, how do I know you have the flash drive?”
I take a left onto 8th Street.
“I have it, Zane. You know I do.”
A pause. Then, “Yes, I suppose I do. Like I said before, you’re the wild card. You always come through in a pinch.”
I take a left onto East Capitol Street.
“Besides,” Zane says, “I’ve been keeping up with the news. I know some bad shit went down on 495 about an hour ago. I’m assuming that was you?”
Speeding past trees, buildings, parked cars. Pausing at red lights long enough to ensure I don’t hit anyone and then driving through.
“Let me talk to the children.”
“You know, I had a bet placed with your old man. I really didn’t think you’d come through. I mean, I knew you’d try and everything, but … shit, they must have had that thing locked up tight, huh?”
In my ear, Atticus says, “He’s moving west on E Street. I’m accessing satellite imaging now. Should have a visual momentarily.”
Pushing the Taurus harder, swerving around slower-moving vehicles, wishing to God I don’t encounter any cops, I say, “Let me talk to the children.”
“Hold on, Holly. Listen, I’m trying to tell you something here. Because like I said, I didn’t think you’d come through. But your old man? He said it wouldn’t be a problem for you. Said it’d be no problem at all. Isn’t that something?”
Turning right onto 2nd Street, heading north, I take the corner a little too hard and feel the back fishtailing.
“Zane, please. Let me. Talk to. The children.”
“Okay, okay. Hold on.”
A pause that lasts a couple seconds, feels like it lasts a couple hours.
“Hullo?” says a timid, tired, terrified voice.
Flying up 2nd Street, my fingers tight around the steering wheel, I say, “David, are you all right?”
“Holly?” The voice waking up, gaining strength. “Holly, is that you?”
Before I can answer him the phone is taken away and it’s Zane’s voice I now hear, Zane asking, “Good enough?”
“We now have visual,” Atticus says. “A black utility van, still on E Street and currently passing over 6th Street.”
“Casey,” I nearly shout. “I want to hear Casey’s voice, too.”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Wake her up.”
I have to stop for the light on Constitution Avenue; I don’t have a choice. Too much traffic is passing back and forth, including a police cruiser, and I’m stuck there waiting for the light to change, the cell phone to my ear, my heart racing, my body shaking, doing everything in my power not to scream so loud it will shatter every window in a hundred-yard radius.
The sound of shuffling, then another tired voice, barely even audible, Casey sounding like she’s talking in her sleep.
“Casey!” I shout. “Casey, wake up!”
“Wh-Wh-What?”
“Casey, can you hear me? Are you okay?”
“H-H-Holly?”
The light changes and I gun the engine, taking a left down Constitution Avenue, Atticus saying in my ear, “They’re now heading south on 9th Street,” and me saying, “Casey, it’s all right, baby, everything will be okay,” and then Zane taking the phone away, clearing his throat.
“Now that
