“Number one? You mean there’s another?”
“You bet there is,” she says with a smile. “But you’ll never see it—unless you get lucky.”
I smile back. I’m not sure if she’s flirting or just joking. I realize that I would very much like to get lucky with Anna Rizzo.
“That was some of the best barbecue I’ve ever had,” she says, patting her stomach. “Nicely done, John.”
“Don’t thank me, thank Nana Mama. It’s her recipe.”
“Nana Mama? Who’s that?”
“She’s my friend Alex Cross’s grandmother. Mine too, in a way.”
“How so?” asks Rizzo.
“I met Alex when I was about the same age as our guys here,” I say, waving my beer in the direction of the kids running around. “He’d just moved to DC to live with his grandmother. Alex’s mom had died, and mine was caught up in drugs. Neither of our dads was in the picture by then. I was basically fending for myself. Alex and I quickly became best friends, and Nana Mama took me under her wing. She saved my life.”
“Sounds like a great lady,” says Rizzo.
“She is. And she’s still helping me out. Willow’s been staying with her since the first bomb went off. But I think I’ll let my girl sleep in her own bed tonight.”
The kids make another loop around the picnic table, wide-eyed and giggling. Rizzo waits for them to run off again, then pats the folders. “I got more info from Langley.”
“About the C-4?”
She nods. “There’s only one manufacturer of C-4 in the United States, the Holston Army Ammunition Plant in Tennessee. The taggants I located in the residue from all three bombings came from a shipment sent several years ago to a unit in the Afghan National Army. When the government collapsed, this shipment apparently headed north with what was left of the ANA.”
“Makes sense,” I tell her. “Perkins and Walsh think Phillips was in contact with those ANA remnants when he was doing cross-border incursions to rescue allies.”
“Any hard evidence that that’s where he secured the C-4?” she asks.
“Of course not. With CIA, it’s all smoke and mirrors.”
“I thought it was cloak-and-dagger,” says Rizzo, smiling. Then she gets serious again. “C-4 isn’t something you just toss into a rucksack and bring home like some battlefield souvenir. There are detection devices everywhere—on civilian and military aircraft, at border crossings, customs stations. And the CIA wants us to believe that Phillips had the desire, know-how, and technical means to smuggle C-4 from Afghanistan? And not just a sample—enough to blow up two city streets and an office building? I’m starting to wonder if the spooks are feeding us specific intel,” says Rizzo, “while they keep tabs on our side of the investigation.”
“You think we’re being watched?” I ask. “I mean us, personally?”
“I have no doubt about it. They want to keep ahead of what we’re doing so they can feed us information and details that support their narrative.”
“Which might or might not be the truth.”
Rizzo slides closer to me and lowers her voice: “From now on, let’s limit electronic communication between the two of us. No emails. No details on the phone. Face-to-face conversations as much as possible.”
I nod. “You keep working the technical side. I’ll keep working the people.”
Willow runs up to me. “Hey, Daddy?”
“Hey, Willow. Having fun?”
“Somuch fun! Can Juan and Tina come over to play again?”
I look at Rizzo. “If their mom says it’s okay.”
Rizzo’s hip is almost touching mine on the bench. I feel her hand slide over under the table and give my thigh a quick squeeze.
“I think we can work that out,” she says.
CHAPTER 81
