The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

“I have a feeling Ms. Finder might do some of the tearing, too, once she gets her hands on him again,” Mike said. “I know I’m not at all sad to see the last of him.”

They got into the back of a black SUV. Special Agent Dover, their driver, said, “Seat belts, folks. I’ve got to get you to the Hoover Building in ten minutes.”

As Dover ducked and dodged through the insane traffic, Nicholas said to Mike, “Sounds to me like you’d like to join Ms. Finder.”

“You bet. That jerk said I was uptight.” She turned to face him. “I am not uptight. I’m not, am I, Nicholas? I’m the furthest thing from uptight I can think of, right? I mean, I know how to party, I know how to let my hair down and hang out. Shut your mouth. If you laugh at me, I’m going to belt you.”

He swallowed the laugh. “No, Agent Caine, uptight isn’t ever something I’d ever say about you.”

“Yeah, and what would you say about me?”

“Hmmm, how about fast off the mark without a lot of thought—”

“Me, fast off the mark? What about you and Craig Swanson? You couldn’t wait to pound him. You didn’t even give it a second’s thought, did you?”

“You wanted to jump him, too. I was simply closer.”

Well, now, that was the truth. “Stop trying to make me laugh.”

Three horns honked off to their right, and Dover raised his middle finger. “Out-of-towners,” he said, and sped through a yellow light, whipping to the left to avoid a taxi.

Nicholas slid against her. He didn’t move, closed his eyes for a moment.

Mike was looking out the window. “Everything’s ready to burst into summer. Cherry blossoms are long gone.”

Nicholas moved back to his side of the SUV. “I wonder what’s happening to the power grid in Richmond.”

“No word from Savich—that’s got to be good news. Maybe it was a false alarm.”

“Like that ever happens,” Nicholas said.

Agent Dover pulled up outside the Hoover Building. “Go in this entrance. Nine minutes on the dot. Have fun with Savich, but be careful he doesn’t take you to the gym and tie your legs around your necks.” He gave them a small salute, and they went into the cavernous marble lobby to see Savich waiting for them.

“Nicholas, Mike. Great to see you. Come on, we’ll get you signed in and official, then we can go

upstairs and get started. Nothing definitive from Richmond yet. False alarm? We could get lucky, I suppose.”

Mike hadn’t spent much time with Savich herself, but she knew he was very worried. About the power grid in Richmond, sure, but something more.

They signed in, clipped visitor badges to their jackets, went through the metal detectors, then the elevator to the third floor.

Nicholas had been here before, during his training at Quantico, when Savich had needed some English background on a case. Mike hadn’t ever visited the CAU, but it immediately felt like home. Every agent in the large room stared after them, knowing something was up, something major, alert and ready to move, the lot of them, just like New York. She nodded to a couple of agents she’d worked with on other assignments. And she wondered how many of these agents had worked with the agents murdered in Bayonne at Mr. Hodges’s house.

She saw Sherlock through the huge glass window in Savich’s office. She was reading something on a tablet, her curly red hair veiling her profile. Sherlock rose and hugged both Mike and Nicholas. “It’s so good to see you two. I’m very sorry, all of us are, about the agents we lost in Bayonne.”

Savich said, “Sit down, both of you. We hope that our meeting with Mr. Grace will make us believe the CIA is finally ready to fess up, unburden their souls, and tell us everything they know about COE. But don’t count on it.”

Sherlock turned to face them. “Before we get down to business, you’re both coming to dinner tonight. And glory be, it’s lasagna night, Dillon’s specialty. Since we have plenty of room, you’ll also stay at the Savich Hotel, limitless hot water and towels aplenty.

“When I told Sean he would see you, Nicholas, he was yelling how he was going to take you down to your underwear with his new Captain Mook video game.”

“You got him the strip version of the Captain Mook game?”

Sherlock laughed. “That’s his newest slang. He wanted to say boxers, but Dillon assured him that underwear was cooler.”

Mike said, “Does the hotel also provide Cheerios?”

“Sean’s favorite,” Savich said. “Okay, then, you’re staying.”