He shot her a grin. “Nothing a shot of whiskey couldn’t handle. How’d you sleep? Any nightmares?”
“Not a one, but I’ll tell you, Rome, I fell asleep in your Range Rover driving full-tilt toward their SUV front and center in my brain. It was so bloody real, but then I was out like the proverbial log until Sean let Astro lick my face, but not to get up and feed them—they both wanted to snuggle for a while. And that was nice, even though Astro kept licking my face. Any nightmares for you? Or are you too macho?”
Rome said, “Nah, no nightmares. I slept okay, thanks to that finger of whiskey I drank down before I went to bed.” He put on his blinker, smoothly passed a Tesla. “Here’s an update on the two guys out to do bad things to us last evening: I checked anhour ago and none of the local ERs, clinics, physician’s offices, or pharmacies have reported a man paying them a visit with a gunshot wound. The SUV is still missing. As for the guy’s rifle that went flying out the window, it was an SR-47. We’ll know soon about fingerprints and DNA.”
“Do you think the man I shot could be dead?”
“It’s possible. If not, it’s likely his partner patched him up. He could have been wounded himself.”
She chewed this over, looked around the interior of Rome’s rented Rubicon, patted the dashboard. “This one looks tough.” She gave him a smug look. “It’s named after the trail in California, right?”
“Yes, that’s right. I figured the weight and the power wouldn’t hurt. How’d you know about the Rubicon name?”
“Hurley was talking about it. He was considering buying one. How did you get it so fast?”
He only smiled. “I know the dispatcher. She took care of me last night. As for my Range Rover, it’s in the shop. And yes, I know the owner. He can replace the radiator right away, no problem, but the body work, that’ll take a while. Savich told me he’ll put in the paperwork to the powers that be at the Bureau.”
Elizabeth shook her head. “Well, that’s the same everywhere, isn’t it?”
She saw he was checking his rearview mirror. He looked distracted, as if something else was on his mind. When he stopped for a red light near the Hoover Building she said, “There’s something you’re not telling me, isn’t there? You and Dillon and Sherlock—you’re planning something. Come on, Rome, spit it out or I might have to hurt you.”
“Maybe. Just wait, Palmer, all will be revealed.”
Once they had parked in the Hoover garage, Rome went down on his haunches and ran his fingers under the front left fender. He was whistling Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer.”
“What are you doing?”
“I noticed I was being followed again when I drove home in the Rubicon last night, even though they had to see you weren’t with me, and I wondered why. I left the car in my driveway last night to see if they might plant something. And there it was this morning, a tracker—ah, look at this bad boy.” He held up a small black disc, about two inches in diameter. “Now they know exactly where we are.”
“And that’s what you want?”
“Yep. We’re hoping to use it against them.”
“But—”
“Patience, Palmer, patience.”
She came down beside him. “It doesn’t look like the tracker Hurley showed me. This one’s bigger and more obvious.”
“The ones out of CIA tech services are no bigger than a thumbnail, and just as thin. I bet Hurley will get his hands on one in a year or so.”
“So they came and put a tracker on your car, but they didn’t break into your house and try to kill you?”
“They don’t want me, Elizabeth, they want you. What they did last night, attacking an FBI agent on American soil, surprised all of us. They must want you very badly. They’re worried we’ll respond by hiding you away where no one can find you.” He tossed the tracker from one hand to the other.
“Come on, Rome. What are you guys planning?”
He nodded to himself. “All right. We figure we can use this thing against them, Elizabeth, if you’re willing to take the risk. We can keep their tracker attached to the car, and we’re hoping they’ll come after you again.”
Elizabeth looked over at three agents exiting their cars and headed for the elevators. She waited until they were out of hearing. “I already told everyone who’d listen I was perfectly ready to be bait, to be the tethered goat. Let them track us, letthem take another chance at me. I assume the next time you guys will have me covered.”
“Yes, of course.” Rome studied her face a moment. “You’re sure? You’re that confident we can keep you safe?”
“I’m sure.”
“Okay, then.” Rome went down on his haunches again and stuck the magnetic GPS tracker back under the fender. He rose, wiped his hands off on his pants. “Let’s get upstairs and talk through this.”
The CAU was already buzzing when Rome and Elizabeth walked in. There was a knot of agents talking to a man and a woman she’d never seen before. They looked ready for war in jeans and light jackets, Heckler & Koch MP5s draped over their shoulders, Glock 19s and six-inch commando knives clipped at their waists, tough black boots on their feet. Rome said to Elizabeth, “These two are from the Washington field office SWAT team. Agent Bea Lyons, and the hulk here is Agent Royce King, call him Buzz. They’re both tough as nails, experienced veterans, even though they’re both eating Shirley’s sugar cookies.”
