Collateral Damage (Stone Barrington 25)

“Oh, I’m handling it,” Holly replied ruefully. “It didn’t take me long to rationalize the whole thing.”

“That’s good self-protection.”

“Maybe, but you know what I keep thinking? Somehow, during my meager childhood religious experience, I formed the view that when my life ended I would have to face God and … well, not confess the bad things I had done, because He would already know. I would just have to face Him knowing that He knows. That’s pretty scary stuff, because at that point I wouldn’t know where I was going to end up for all eternity.”

“Scary stuff for a little girl,” Stone agreed. “God will also know why you did what you did, and maybe he’ll confirm your judgment, instead of drop-kicking you into hell.”

“What an image! God coming down from his skybox and booting me between the goalposts, right into the flaming end zone seats!” She tossed off the rest of her drink and poured herself another. “Do you ever feel guilty about anything?” she asked.

Stone sighed. “When Arrington died, one of my first thoughts was the irrational feeling that I was somehow responsible.”

“But you didn’t do anything… .”

“I know, I know. I repeatedly worked my way back through the weeks before her death, and the worst I could come up with was that, if she hadn’t married me, she wouldn’t have died.”

“As you say, irrational. I mean, she would have eventually dumped the guy, even if you weren’t around, wouldn’t she?”

Stone brightened. “Funny, I didn’t think of that. Yes, she would have, surely.”

“And then he probably would have done what he did anyway.”

“That’s an awful thought, but it makes me feel slightly less guilty.”

“Well, your average shrink would probably tell you that a lot of people irrationally feel guilt when they lose somebody.”

“Your average shrink? Have you ever talked to one of those?”

“Oh, I’ve talked to somebody like that once or twice a year since I’ve been with the Agency. The brass is always on the lookout for somebody who is about to bring an assault weapon to work. I mean, it’s a lot more pressure than working at the post office, isn’t it?”

“I can only guess.”

“You know who I think never has a moment’s guilt or a second thought about anything?”

“Who? Kate Lee?”

“Oh, no, Kate has a very active conscience—she’s a Democrat, after all. No, I was talking about Felicity Devonshire.”

“Well, Felicity is a pretty cool customer.”

“When we were all in L.A. I had a chance to talk to her for the first time, and she was very warm and helpful. We were working out scenarios together.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Yes, it is, and yet the whole time, I was wondering if she had her own agenda, which did not resemble mine in any way.”

“Felicity is, in her way, impenetrable,” Stone said.

“I hope that was unintentional humor,” Holly said, laughing.

Stone laughed, too. “Well, all right, not entirely impenetrable.”

“We talked on the phone today, and what she said was exactly what I wanted to hear, and yet, immediately after I hung up, I had the awful feeling that she had just lied to me.”

Stone nodded. “I think Felicity would prefer to tell you the truth. I also think that if it were in her interests, or those of her service or government, she would not hesitate to lie to you or anyone else.”

“Maybe that’s part and parcel of what we both do,” Holly said. “I suppose I’ve got to learn to do that.”

Jasmine Shazaz sat on a bagged life raft in the rear of an old, unmarked American Huey helicopter and gazed out the open door at the terrain, lit by a rising sun. Her ears popped as the machine kept up with the elevation. They had been flying for a little over two hours. She turned to the Pakistani ISI agent on the bench next to her, leaned closer, and shouted, “Why would you have a life raft aboard a helicopter in a region with no water?”