She offered a pleasant smile, but it was fleeting. Gradually, her mouth appeared sad and resigned, as if she and I were both circling the edge of a whirlpool generated by fate, and not here of our own choosing.
“Where’d you come from, Jennifer?” I asked.
She leaned her head to the side and shrugged demurely. “Hi, Bryce. I wasn’t sure you’d make it.”
Glancing toward the raised drawbridge behind my shoulders that barred any escape, I replied, “I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have.”
“But you came.”
“You said we’re in danger.”
She traced a half circle in the dirt road with the toe of her black stiletto shoe. “That’s true. We are in danger.”
“Just not for the same reasons.”
She studied me with unsure, melancholy eyes, but did not respond. I could not reach my car or run without getting near her. No doubt I could overpower her if I rushed forward, but Jennifer’s hands remained behind her back, likely concealing something deadly.
Although the railing was not high above the water, jumping off the side would get me nowhere. Marsh grasses and cattails grew densely out of deep brown mud along the stagnant river. I would not get five yards in that briny muck. On the banks, a blue heron stabbed its thin orange beak into the water as it hunted frogs and minnows, oblivious to the two people facing each other on the entrance ramp of the bridge.
Jennifer said, “The road is the only way in or out. Look, I like you, Bryce. I just want to talk. Okay?”
I stepped to the side, not wanting to approach Jennifer directly, at least while she was still conversing. She mirrored my movement with a tiny sidestep like a scorpion stalking its prey and ready to strike.
Momentary shock crossed her face as I reached into my suit jacket, but she relaxed when I held up only a phone. I had given my cell number to Sheriff Tompkins and FBI Agent Wolanski so they could track me, but they were probably just arriving at the Visitor Center from a different route, unaware that I was trapped on the drawbridge. The screen of my phone said that I had no service.
“Strange thing,” Jennifer said. “Just a few miles outside of Bridgeford, and no cell service here. No towers in this nature preserve, so you can’t call anyone.”
“You must have checked that out ahead of time.”
“You don’t need to call anyone,” Jennifer said softly. “I mean it. I just want to talk. I need to understand all this.”
I tapped the screen to refresh it, for all the good that did. No bars, so I tucked the dead phone back into my jacket. My plan of having Tompkins and Wolanski back me up had failed. I would have to get out of this situation on my own, if possible. Four minutes and the bridge would lower automatically. Four minutes and I might have a chance of darting across the span. If practicing law had taught me anything, it was to talk my way out of tight spots. The drawbridge had already been up for a minute or so. Three minutes to go.
I crossed my arms. “All right, then, Jennifer. Let’s talk.”
“When did you first know the Remora Shadow didn’t exist?” she asked.
“When Oscar Yoshida testified in court about half an hour ago. Up until then, I thought it was real. I’m kicking myself for taking this long to put it all together. The clues were all there.”
“What clues?” she asked.
“Well, Oscar Yoshida said in court that he’s a former FBI agent with a background in computer security. Another FBI agent visited my office. I think he’s Yoshida’s old partner. They graduated Quantico together and both worked counterintelligence in Washington. Spy hunters. Yoshida left the FBI to work at Benton Dynamics, and there he discovered a covert operative named Richard Kostas.”
Jennifer looked concerned but attentive. A turkey vulture landed on the gnarled branch of a dead oak tree behind her. I had to keep talking for a few more minutes.
“Here’s my theory. Kostas stole confidential files from Benton and used dead-drops to deliver them to an undercover spy. Dead-drops meant they never had to meet each other face to face. Kostas probably didn’t even know his handler’s identity. Now, Yoshida could have nailed Kostas right away. A good score, but that old FBI training kicked in. The real target became his spy ring. The FBI set a trap.”
“The Remora Shadow,” Jennifer said almost absentmindedly as she appeared to be piecing together the strands of the story.
“Exactly. The Remora Shadow. Richard Kostas sold out his company and his country. Money, I suppose. The FBI will sort that out in time. I think counterintelligence agents came up with a brilliant scheme. They made up fake plans for an underwater drone no one could detect. A stealth drone that could attach to nuclear subs, identify their locations, and render them targets. It would eliminate the best deterrent ever created, nuclear missile subs. The most dangerous weapons in the world. Every country with submarine fleet had to respond to the new threat.”
Jennifer squinted with suspicion. “How can you be so sure of all this, Bryce?”
I had to keep stalling for just a little while longer.
“Well, wait,” I said. “There’s more to my theory. The FBI had to leak out word of the drone. Yoshida downloaded plans at Benton Dynamics to make it seem authentic. Clandestinely, the FBI passed on the fake information to Project Transparrior, the whistleblower website. The world now knew about the Remora Shadow. Every foreign navy and spy agency needed the plans to neutralize the threat. They’d send in their best deep-cover officers to steal the technology.”
Jennifer’s eyes narrowed, but at least she still stood in front of my car without moving forward. Both of her hands remained behind her
