Taylor looked at him. “Sounds like you’re ready to roll over and go home.”
“I’m disengaging. There’s a difference. There might be a connection between the Syrian bomb-makers and Qasim, and there might be a connection between Colonel Qasim and Odin. But there might not be. It’s a weak foundation on which to build a case, and we don’t have the time or theauthority to shore it up. As far as Schröder is concerned, he has his killers—the Syrians—and if ballistics comes back with a match, then he’ll also have his murder weapon in the form of an HK MP5 rifle specially modified to fire the caliber of bullet that killed Harry Vance. And, of course, there’s the eyeball in the freezer. And by now Schröder might also have a motive. If we want to help in the short time we have left, we should probably be focused more on what Harry Vance and Mark Jenkins were doing this past year in their counterterrorism work, and less on what the Stasi was doing thirty-odd years ago.”
Taylor thought about that. “Are you playing devil’s advocate? Or do you actually believe that?”
Good question. Brodie wasn’t sure himself. But this case was getting more complicated by the hour, and maybe it was okay if he and Taylor were relieved of their duties here. The only thing he was sure of was the answer to the question: Career booster or career buster? If they got out now, it was a wash.
But then he thought about Harry, who by all accounts was a good man and a great agent, and apparently a good father. Anna loved him and mourned his death. Maybe his wife did too. So—petty FBI bureaucrats and Army brass aside—what was Scott Brodie’s moral duty to this man and this case?
Before he could answer Taylor’s question, his phone rang. It was Dombroski. He held up the phone and said to Taylor, “Time’s up.”
She didn’t respond.
Brodie picked up. “Guten Tag, Colonel.”
“Hello, Mr. Brodie. Where are you now?”
“In a bar. With Ms. Taylor.”
“Okay… How is everything going?”
“I think you’re about to tell me.”
Dombroski was silent for a moment. Then he said, “In light of the bombing this morning, and the evidence found at the scene which clearly suggests that Mr. Vance’s murder was an act of terrorism, and that Mark Jenkins was the next intended victim, General Hackett has instructed Colonel Trask to dispatch a team from the Fifth MP’s counterterrorism division to take over CID’s role in this investigation, effective as of nineA.M.tomorrow.”
“Also, I don’t play well with others.”
“No, you don’t. And you went beyond—”
“Above and beyond. That used to count for something.”
“Look… Scott, this is looking pretty open-and-shut. Let the Fifth MP roll it up and take the credit. We can use your and Ms. Taylor’s skills better elsewhere.”
“Yes, sir.”
Silence, then Dombroski said, “You are being uncharacteristically compliant, Scott. This makes me nervous.”
“Let’s just say that five months in the wilderness has lowered my expectations.”
Dombroski thought for a moment. “This is the Fifth MP’s show. You were outside talent and General Hackett has decided he now wants insiders. Plus, you pissed off the FBI, which I knew you would.” He paused a moment, then added, “By the way, I spoke to my Iraq Intel guys. Tariq Qasim ran a unit in the Sunni Awakening.”
“We got ahold of his FBI record, which corroborates that.”
“He killed a whole lot of al Qaeda in Ramadi.”
“Good for him. Though I don’t think it balances out his sins.”
Dombroski asked, “You think he’s still in Berlin?”
“I think he’s in Hell.”
Dombroski didn’t reply.
“How far down the rabbit hole do you want to go, Colonel?”
Dombroski thought for a moment. “Put it all in your report, which I expect on my desk by end of day Friday.”
“Yes, sir.”
