Rome said, “Sounds like the two of them were trained outside of England, probably a terrorist camp in Syria or Iran, maybe Lebanon, lots of choices. Their being on the young side fits the bill. You said Bahar Zain had two young siblings. Now, he was the one who actually placed the packets of C-4 in St. Paul’s, right?”
Elizabeth took another sip of water. “Yes. Mr. Eiserly told me he was a longtime disciple of Samir’s and a devout jihadist. He worshipped Samir, did whatever Samir told him to do, thought of him as his brother-in-arms, as it were. As to Bahar Zain’s siblings, there are no birth records in England, and their mother, Almira Zain, who lives near Covent Garden, wouldn’t talk to MI5 officers.
“That last night, the man with the knife seemed to be in a wild, ungoverned rage, a crazed excitement, nearly out of control. We all thought they might have been Bahar Zain’s brothers, but MI5 couldn’t find them.”
“But I don’t even understand how Zain’s brothers could believe I betrayed their brother. I didn’t even meet their brother, didn’t even know his name until after St. Paul’s. The only terrorist I knew was Samir Basara, and as I’ve learned, he was basically a murderer for hire.”
“Zain’s siblings or someone else close to Basara could believe Basara told you too much in his pillow talk, maybe not enough to know exactly when and where, but enough to lead to Bahar Zain’s capture or Basara’s death.”
She blanked all expression from her face and said in a clipped, cold voice, “Samir never talked about his business with me. Ever.”
Rome nodded. “But no one else would know that, would they? All right, do you have anything else to tell me?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “No, I’ve told you everything I can think of. Wait. This might not be important, but I told Deputy Director Eiserly one of the two men in the Aston Martin was wearing an unusual ring—I only caught a glimpse of it. It looked heavy, silver, and I saw some kind of stone set in the crown. Maybe if we find him he’ll be wearing that ring.”
Rome typed this in on his tablet, then raised his head. “What did Hurley Janklov teach you in three months?”
“Defensive driving, how to analyze dangerous situations and decide the best course of action in a millisecond, how to fight, and how to shoot.” She gave him a cold smile. “And most important? To accept nothing but a win.”
Rome stood, slipped the tablet back into his pocket. “That’s quite a list. I’ll want more specifics so I can judge for myself the level of your skills in all these areas.”
“Hurley said I could outshoot him, well, nearly, and that I was a brick.”
That drew him up for a moment. “A brick?”
“That’s right. A brick. Mr. Maitland said it’s his highest compliment.”
“A brick, yeah, that sure sounds like a compliment.” Rome shook his head and motioned for her to follow him. He walked her back to Sherlock, who looked from him to Elizabeth and saw Elizabeth looked stiff, her face set. She was angry and trying not to show it. What had happened?
Should she kick Rome now or wait and see if the two of them would work it out between them? Dillon had told her Rome wasn’t happy about this assignment. Maybe she could just whisper in his ear to suck it up. At least she could remind him to do what Dillon had already asked. She said, “Rome, it’s time for you to get Elizabeth to relax now. Let her be a tourist and decompress. Show her some sights before you come to dinner tonight. Dillon has been speaking with John Eiserly,talking him out of the information he has. He might have all of it by tonight.”
Rome said, “You’re saying I should don my special agent’s tourist director’s hat? And get paid for it?”
Well, that was snarky.
Chapter Seventeen
As they walked toward the elevators down the impossibly wide empty hallways of the Hoover Building, Elizabeth knew this big man, with his perfunctory smile that didn’t begin to reach his hard eyes, didn’t want to be with her. And why would he? She’d been thrown at him with no warning. Of course he’d rather be hunting criminals than babysitting a Brit he didn’t know who’d been stupid enough to sleep with an assassin.
They stepped onto an elevator filled with agents and staff. Rome saw everyone was looking at Elizabeth. He didn’t introduce her. One of the agents asked him about Ballou’s safe deposit key, but Rome said he wasn’t involved any longer.
The agent didn’t let it go. “You think there’s a treasure map in Agent Ballou’s safe-deposit box? I heard it’s somewhere in Virginia. I’m thinking he and his cohorts wrapped a steel chain around an iron chest or something, sank it in a river.”
Rome said without pause, “Yeah, that might be right, Gates. I did hear there was dried slime on the key.”
An agent grinned at Rome on his way out. “Right. Slime. Thanks for the entertainment.”
Elizabeth said, “Quite a tale Gates spun. I especially liked your slime. Do you think anyone bought it? And what, may I ask, did they buy, exactly? A magic key? What’s it for? Was this about a case you were working on before Agent Savich assigned you to me?”
“Not really. I was working on the murder of three retired physicians in Tennessee. But you are my work now. Sherlock thinks you need a break from all the questions, all the accumulated stress, so I’m going to show you my favorite place in Washington.”
Roman took her to the Franklin D. Roosevelt Memorial. An SUV with three wilted children hanging out the windows to catch a breeze drove out of a parking slot and Rome took the spot fast. He waited until she was out of the car before he said, “This is the famous Cherry Tree Walk. It runs all along the Tidal Basin. Over there is the National Mall.”
“But where’s the monument?”
“It’s not really a single monument, it’s a memorial and all outdoors. Come along. There are four rooms that really aren’t rooms at all, they’re enclosures, and each represents one of Roosevelt’s presidential terms.” They wove through tourists reading quotes, looking at displays, and snapping photos of each other in front of the waterfalls. In the third room the waterfall was much larger and much louder. Elizabeth stood still, staring up at the sculpture of FDR in his well-disguised wheelchair, his terrier, Fala, beside him.
Rome said, “Fala performed tricks on demand, even had his own comic strip. My folks brought me here when I was a kid and I’ll never forget Dad telling me the waterfalls sometimes froze in the winter.” He fanned himself. “But not now.”
