The End Game (A Brit in the FBI 3)

The vice president was actually thanking them, live, on Mike’s own cell phone? Her heart speeded up. What an amazing feeling. “You’re welcome, ma’am,” and that sounded stupid, but she couldn’t think of anything else to say.

“Do you have any further word on the whereabouts of Zahir Damari?”

“I’m sorry, no, ma’am.”

“We have Homeland on the lookout for him. About half my advisers and half the CIA believe Damari will pack it up since it would be suicide for him to try and attack me now, with the entire world watching. However, I plan to be on the side of the other half who tell me he simply never gives up, not in his DNA. You can bet all my staff are on alert until he’s caught. Which assessment do you agree with, Agent Caine?”

“I come down with the side that says let’s take extreme care. Damari is the type of killer who has backups for his backups. Yes, he’s out there, somewhere, and he’s got a plan.”

“Thank you. Now, actually, I’m also calling you two to tell you the president would like to thank you himself for saving his life. He, and I, of course, would like you to join us at Camp David this evening. We’re having a small dinner, cocktails prior. It will be casual, only staff, a few people from the Hill. The president was planning on being at Camp David this weekend to, ah, recover from the peace talks. We’ve simply moved his schedule around to get him there a day early. Given what we know about Spenser and his group breaking into the POTUS scheduling, the prevailing wisdom says if we change our plans, there’s no way Zahir Damari can surprise us.”

Mike said, “But, ma’am, I didn’t think the president and vice president were allowed to be at Camp David at the same time.”

Callan laughed. “Well, what the public doesn’t know won’t hurt them. Tony Scarlatti, you remember him, my head of security? He felt it would be smart to keep me on a different schedule, too. Since it’s not protocol, we think it will be the safest place for me to be. Secret Service will pick you up—some of Tony’s guys—and we’ll chopper you in. Trust me, you don’t want to spend the afternoon hours driving up there, not in our traffic. This is much more efficient. You’re at the Hoover Building?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you so much for the invitation and the transportation.”

“The car will be there in thirty minutes. And Agent Caine? Thank you again. What you and Agent Drummond managed to do today, it will not go unrewarded.”

Could she mean a tax break? No, probably not.

Nicholas was watching her, an eyebrow raised. Mike slipped her cell into the back pocket of her jeans. “Well, that was the vice president.”

“Yes, I gathered. Why are you grinning like a loon?”

“I was just thinking about my taxes. Hey, you want to go to a party?”

76

BISHOP TO B3 CHECK

Catoctin Mountains

Over the past twenty-four hours, Zahir learned that Secret Service agents gossiped like hens. They spoke freely of myriad operational movements, schedules, and the people involved. Unwittingly they gave him an excellent understanding of everything going on in Washington. And he heard talk about himself. These guys evidently weren’t afraid of him, but it seemed everybody else was. He smiled. Just wait, boys, just you wait.

He learned that Matthew Spenser had been shot to death trying to kill Vanessa Graves. Andy Tate was dead, probably killed by Matthew, Ian McGuire was dead, and Vanessa was still alive. He had to admire her surviving not only a gunshot to the chest, but falling off that building. Except she was a CIA undercover agent and that rather pissed him off. Maybe as soon as he was done here, he’d head south to the hospital and get rid of her.

And the president’s plane hadn’t gone down in the Atlantic when Matthew had pressed the trigger. They wouldn’t shut up about a Brit FBI agent who’d managed computer magic, and saved the plane.

A failure, but when it came down to it, Zahir wasn’t all that disappointed.

Sorry, Matthew, you did try.

He had Plan B ready to put in motion. The only question he’d had, the only worry, was answered only minutes before. Both of them would be here. Both of them.

He had to move up the schedule based on the flurry of activity he’d heard, but he couldn’t be more pleased.

Zah

ir locked the bathroom door, an unnecessary security measure, but he hadn’t reached this ripe old age being stupid, and reached into the bag.

After nearly an hour of painstaking detail and concentration, he was done. He smiled at the face in the mirror. He looked again at the photograph, and nodded. Perfection.

He was ready.

He sat on the couch in the small cabin, and waited for the party to begin.

77