“I’m not a traitor.”
“That’s good to know. Now prove it.”
“I don’t have proof. Not yet.”
Their fingers slipped near their respective triggers. They each took two steps forward. It was simultaneous but not choreographed. They were now squarely in their Glocks’ kill zones.
Robie frowned. “You’re going to have to do better than that. I’ve got a dead number two and another agency grunt on a slab. Under normal circumstances, that would be enough, so this is taking me out of my comfort zone. So talk to me. Now.”
The sirens sounded almost on top of them.
“Gelder and Jacobs were the traitors.”
“How?”
“They killed somebody. Somebody that meant a lot to me.”
“Why?” asked Robie.
“Because he was going to expose their plot.”
“Which was?”
The sirens were deafening now. It seemed like every cop in Arkansas had been called in.
“I don’t have time to explain now.”
“I’m not sure you have a choice, Jessica.”
“What does it matter? You have your orders, Will.”
“I don’t always follow them. Just like you.”
“You almost always follow them.”
“You sent me the texts. You said everything you did has a reason. I just had to open the lock. So tell me what you meant! But there are no guarantees, Jessica. None. Not even if your explanation makes sense. That’s just the way it has to be.”
They were no longer looking at each other. Their gazes were on each other’s hands. Hands with guns were what killed, while eyes were just points of deception; it was a lesson learned too late for the fool who stopped looking at the fingers.
“How do I know I can trust you?” she said. “Sending you texts is one thing. But it troubles me greatly that you were able to find me and this place so fast.” She glanced up at him, daring to take her gaze off his gun hand. “It makes me think you had help. Agency help. So it comes back down to, how do I know I can trust you?”
“You can’t know that, not for sure. Just like I don’t know if I can trust you.”
“I’m not sure that gets us anywhere, Will.”
He saw her gun hand tighten just a bit.
“It doesn’t have to go down like this, Jessica.”
“You’d think, wouldn’t you? But it probably will go down just like this.”
“Roy West was an analyst who got canned. What’s so important about him?” There was more urgency in Robie’s voice, because the sirens were growing so close that he was afraid they would have to engage in a gun battle with the cops just to escape. “And talk fast.”
She said, “He’s a bad guy but a good writer.”
“What exactly did he write? The document?”
“The apocalypse,” she replied.
They could now hear the screech of tires in addition to the sirens.
“The apocalypse? Explain that.”
“Not enough time, Will. You’ll just have to trust me.”
“That’s asking a lot. Too much.”
“I didn’t ask for your help.”
“Then why the texts?”
She started to say something but then stopped. “I guess I didn’t want you to think I’d gone bad.” She paused, but only for a second. “I’m sorry, Will.”
Before he could answer Reel fired. Not at Robie, but at one of the militiamen, who wasn’t quite dead yet and was set to shoot at them. He dropped back to the ground for good with one of her rounds in his head.
When Reel turned back Robie had his pistol aimed at her head, with both hands wrapped around the Glock’s butt. His finger hovered over the trigger. She had no chance now. Her pistol dangled uselessly at her side.
The sirens were screaming in their ears now.
“Close your eyes, Jessica.”
“I’d prefer to keep them open.”
“I said close your eyes. I won’t ask again.”
Reel slowly closed her eyes. She braced herself for the impact of the round. Robie would only need one shot. She could count on him for that. Her death would be instant. But she still wondered how it would feel.
Seconds went by but there was no shot.
She finally opened her eyes.
Will Robie was gone.
CHAPTER
43
REEL JUMPED INTO HER TRUCK, gunned the engine, and made her way back to the main road on a route that took her away from the sirens and screeches.
She finally hit firm asphalt, slammed down the gas pedal, and the Ford hurtled down the road. She was twenty miles away and could no longer see the smoke plume above the tree line before she slowed the vehicle to under eighty.
She pulled off the road, disassembled her weapons, stowed them away in her bag, and drove back toward the airport. Along the way she slipped into a car wash and got most of the dirt off the Ford, although there were some scratches and dents that hadn’t been there before. She drove on and reached the airport.
When she turned the rental back in the attendant didn’t even look at the vehicle. He noted her gas and mileage and printed out her receipt.
“Fast trip,” he said.
“Yeah.”
“Hope you enjoyed your time here. We’re known for our slower pace and peace and quiet.”
“Better rethink that,” said Reel as she walked toward the bus that would take her to the terminal.
She changed back into her old woman’s disguise in the restroom and boarded the next flight east.
When they were wheels up and the sun was burning down into the horizon, Reel put her seat back, closed her eyes, and thought about what she had learned.
Someone with top-top-secret clearance, at least three levels above Roy West, had read that white paper.
That was two years ago. The level and clearances could have changed. In fact, they most certainly had changed. The person would be higher-placed now. That was both instructive and problematic.
Had it been Gelder? Two years ago he would have been easily at least three levels above someone like Roy West, if not more.
But that was assuming West had told her the truth. She had no way to verify that there even was someone with the code name Roger the Dodger.
But she knew the white paper existed. She knew the plan set forth in that paper was being executed. She knew some of the people who were trying to execute it.
She had killed two of them and tried to kill a third.
But I don’t know all of them.
And if she didn’t know all of them there was no way she could truly stop it.
She looked out the window.
An hour later, as they flew east, it was dark. And in that vast blackness all Reel could see was hopelessness.