Morales’s voice was sympathetic. “Where do you think Mr. Navarro might go if he and Sasha left France?”
“You mean if he’s guilty and knows he has to run and hide?”
Briggs said, “Of course that’s what she means.”
Rebel kept himself in check. He said calmly, “I can’t see Sasha content to be isolated on some South Seas atoll. I’d say wherever they’d decide to go together would be more cosmopolitan. Beyond that I can’t say. You saw his texts and mine.” Rebel splayed his hands in front of him. “As much as you don’t want to hear this, Agents, that’s all I have for you.”
Morales rose and smoothed out her black jacket, forcing Briggs to follow suit. “If he contacts you again, you’re obligedto let us know, Mr. Navarro. You have to think about yourself, and, of course, about Tash.”
Rebel said nothing more until he opened the front door and ushered them out. “Why not consider for a moment that my brother is telling the truth, Agents, that someone else did this, like Carla Cartwright? My brother never was a techno whiz, he hired people for that. Have you interviewed them? Have you interviewed Cartwright as—vigorously—as you did me?”
“Vigorously—now there’s a stupid writer’s word.” Briggs grunted a laugh. “We know how to do our jobs, you can count on that.” He looked Rebel up and down. “We’ll be seeing you again, count on it.” He strode after Morales down the flagstone steps.
“I’ll look forward to that pleasure,” Rebel said. “Do let me know what you think of Uncle Willie’s BBQ Palace.”
Briggs turned back, pointed a big thick finger with a heavy college ring on it. “Don’t even consider running. If you try it, I will make it my mission to find you and haul your butt back here.”
Morales looked pained. She smiled up at Rebel. “I know this situation will be hard for you, and for Tash. He’s lucky to have you. He seems like a sweet little boy, very bright.”
Rebel said, “You have no idea.”
Chapter Twenty
Savich house
Georgetown
Wednesday evening
Savich’s cell phone belted out Post Malone’s “Sunflower,” his song fromSpider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse, as he was handing a covered basket of garlic bread to Roman. He listened, said only, “Well done. Keep me posted. Don’t do anything that crazy, Coop, or I’ll assign you to clean the bathrooms at the Washington field office.” He punched off and said to the table at large, “Cooper’s located the Brewster County murder suspects in Texas. He was ready to go in after them before the local police arrived.”
Sherlock grinned. “That threat should be enough to hold him in check, but knowing Coop, he needed to hear it from you, the idiot.” She added with a smile to Elizabeth, “Special Agent Cooper McKnight’s the idiot, not Dillon. Coop’s really smart but a bit of a cowboy. We’re counting on Rome being better behaved.”
“He’s behaved quite acceptably so far, Sherlock,” Elizabeth said.
Savich said, “Rome told me he took you to the Roosevelt memorial. What did you think?”
“It was completely unexpected the way the four outdoorareas were fashioned. Spectacular, in fact. I loved the waterfalls. It was very moving.”
“She told me her grandfather was in Churchill’s government and traveled with him,” Rome said. “So it was a good choice.”
Elizabeth nodded. She pictured her single carry-on sitting unpacked on the bed in the upstairs guest bedroom, a charming room with front-facing windows and a painting of a landscape by Savich’s grandmother Sarah Eliot adorning one cream-colored wall. She’d seen her first Sarah Eliot painting when she was ten years old, at a gallery in London. “Rome thought you’d be quite interested to chat with me about him.” She smiled from Savich to Sherlock. “Let me thank both of you again for welcoming me into your home. You’re both very kind.”
“You’re welcome,” Savich said. “Now to business. I’m sure you’d both like to know what John Eiserly had to say when he heard you were with us. He was relieved and a bit upset when you sent him your two-sentence note telling him you’d left and that he wouldn’t know where you were any longer, with a thank-you to Officer Bewley. Then he laughed, said he’d decided you were probably right to run, and he wasn’t worried about you any longer after he tracked you here to the United States. He was impressed to hear you’d spent three months with a trainer retired from Quantico. He sent us all the details of their investigation since you’ve been gone, three months of it. I made copies for both of you to look over.”
She didn’t want to believe her perfect escape, known only to her parents, had ended up being common knowledge—well, MI5 knowledge. She felt stupid. “Carlos—no, he wouldn’t have said a word, and besides, I didn’t tell him anything specific.”
Savich said, “John spoke to your brother, who was both high and worried about you. John convinced him you could still be in danger and that he needed to cooperate if he wanted to stay out of jail. Your brother folded, admitted you’d hooked up with his drug dealer, Carlos, and Carlos had arranged yourdoctored passport. As for Carlos, he knew when to fold to avoid arrest—he gave up the name on the passport, Margaret Courter.
“Despite your disguise that day at the airport, the cameras caught you when you momentarily put back on your dark sunglasses coming out of the women’s restroom. He tracked down the car you hired at Dulles and used the onboard GPS to track you to Hurley. He decided to leave you alone there, keep an eye on you from afar.”
Elizabeth very deliberately placed her fork next to her eggplant parmesan. She snapped her fingers. “That fast and I was so pleased with myself. Of course there are cameras everywhere in London, so I was really well disguised—red wig, colored contacts, sunglasses. I flew coach. I thought I was disappearing off the face of the earth. Coming out of the women’s room—only a moment of not paying attention and I really screwed up, as you Yanks say. And Tommy—I said so little to him, but it didn’t matter. All I managed to do was prove I’m incompetent.” She picked up a slice of garlic toast and crunched down. When she swallowed, she looked at their faces, sighed. “I thought I was being so careful. I’d be a wanker of a crook.”
Rome lightly punched her arm. “Truth be told, Palmer, most people would. Don’t beat yourself up.”
Savich said, “Rome’s right. You actually did quite well, given the situation. Your decision to leave may have saved your life.”
Her hand fisted around her fork. She remembered the knife sticking obscenely out of Benny’s chest and sitting in the surgery waiting room with the officers from MI5, John Eiserly and Sir James Hanson, promising the Lord good works if he survived.
