Farriger didn’t sit down again. She stood tall, looking down at the three of them, impatience shimmering off her. “Of course you know his background, Mr. Maitland, it’s public knowledge. What is your point?”
Savich said, “We know he was running from someone he saw outside the Blaze Café off Elder Street. He ran into Agent Sherlock’s car, probably broke his nose, since his blood was all over the windshield, as well as possibly incurring other injuries, and went flying off the other side. He kept running. Who could he have been running from, Ms. Farriger?”
She gave an impatient shrug. “It seems highly possible to us this was a personal matter. I’m sure you’ve checked his finances—”
“As have you,” Mr. Maitland said. “We hope he contacted his wife, but as I said, we’re still in the process of locating her. Have you?”
“I believe Cummings and his wife are estranged, separated perhaps. That’s all we know.”
Savich saw it, even though she was fast, a microexpression, then her face smoothed out in an instant. She’d been in the CIA for twenty-three years, she’d been in the field, taken courses in how to dissemble. But she’d slipped. Why was she trying to push his personal life on them?
Mr. Maitland said, “We tried to contact Cummings’s group chief, Alan Besserman, but we’re unable to reach him. Is he here today?”
“I would assume he’s at his desk.”
Sherlock said, “Perhaps you can ask your Mr. Armstrong to check for us.”
Farriger gave her a stony look, picked up her phone, punched a button, and gave instructions.
Mr. Maitland said, “I assume Mr. Besserman can tell us at least something about what Cummings was working on?”
She smiled, a sharp raptor’s smile, showing lots of very nicely capped teeth. “As I said, you are not entitled to that information, Mr. Maitland. You doubtless admired the Kryptos sculpture—it’s Greek, of course, for ‘hidden.’ It was chosen to remind us we collect secrets here. If we divulged what we do, what we learn, what we suspect, even to the FBI, without a truly pressing reason, it would compromise our mission, and national security with it. Now, I have a question for you. Why doesn’t the FBI believe we are capable of investigating the disappearance of one of our own analysts?”
Mr. Maitland smiled. “We believe someone was out to kill him, or to take him. We believe he knows he’s in danger and that’s why he hasn’t contacted anyone. Perhaps the people who were chasing after him found him and are holding him. Not for ransom, there isn’t enough money in his family to tempt a kidnapper, so why else?
“We can’t ignore he works for the CIA, gathers information about Russia, their politics, their intentions. Perhaps he found out something so important he tried to capitalize on it. I suspect you share that same concern, Ms. Farriger, whether you’re willing to discuss it with us or not. Someone tried to take him in broad daylight, off the street. Why not wait until night, when he was home and in bed? It seems reckless, or desperate.”
Farriger nodded. “Which supports my point—this was not the work of professionals. And a foreign agency taking a CIA employee on U.S. soil? The blowback would be so severe, it’s never happened. As I said, I believe his disappearance is more likely to be some kind of personal matter.”
She gave him a hint of a tolerant smile. “Is there anything else, gentlemen? Agent Sherlock?”
Farriger’s phone buzzed. She picked it up, listened a moment, said, “Thank you, Lance.
“Sorry, but Mr. Besserman isn’t available for you today.”
“Does that mean he isn’t here? Is he at home?”
Farriger only smiled at Maitland.
Sherlock gave Farriger her patented sunny smile and yet again, Savich saw his Sherlock clear as day. She said, “We have already found the remains of Mr. Cummings’s cell phone in Alexandria, Ms. Farriger.”
Savich marveled at the fluency of that lie.
Farriger’s reaction was immediate, her voice sharp, too sharp. “Can you do anything with it?”
Sherlock nodded. “I’m sure we can, our best people are working on it. We’re hopeful we’ll be able to get his cell history. We can help you find Mr. Cummings. We can resolve this situation together.”
Farriger looked at the pale, pretty face of a woman she had to admit she admired. “I understand you have amnesia, Agent Sherlock. That must be very difficult for you. I realize you’re surprised I know, but then, of course, it’s my job to know—” She broke off, smiled again. “I realize you want to help, but you must understand I consider Justice Cummings my own responsibility. Naturally we’re aware that as an analyst, his job is a sensitive one. With that in mind, we have to be concerned he might have been compromised.” She looked at all three of them and walked around her desk, clearly dismissing them. “I will deal with it. If you can manage to access anything on his cell phone, call me. Thank you for coming. Agent Sherlock, I hope you regain your memory very soon. As I said, it—it must be difficult.” She walked to the door and opened it, said nothing more.
Mr. Maitland slowly rose. “Ms. Farriger, there is one other thing, well, two other things, actually. The woman who struck Agent Sherlock’s car works as a security engineer at the Bexholt Group. Strangely, the body of a murdered woman was discovered this morning. She is—was—also an employee of the Bexholt Group. You must find that odd, if not downright suspicious. Have you worked with Bexholt?”
Of course he knew they had. She said easily, “Certainly. They’re a respected communications firm dealing mostly in the private sector, but there are occasional government contracts as well, including projects with the CIA. Why are you telling me this?”
Maitland shrugged. “Thought it might be of interest to you.”
Farriger waited silently until they’d filed out of her office.
Lance came in to see her standing at her large window, staring out at the hills. “It rained very hard last night,” she said, not turning.
“Yes, it did,” Lance said. He knew this mood, she was thinking, barely aware he was even there, and that meant the problem with Justice Cummings had escalated.
He walked up behind her, laid his hand lightly on her arm. “Is there anything I can do?”
She did turn now. “You have already helped immeasurably, Lance.” She nodded toward the door. “See that I’m not disturbed.”
Once her office door was closed, she picked up her cell phone and punched speed dial.
“Athena?”