Nemesis (FBI Thriller 19)

She paused, shook her head. “Whatever those people’s motivation, they are not wise enough to represent God on earth. In my experience, many of them are violent psychopaths and self-serving egotists. I believe such individuals are behind these attacks.” Are you out there, listening?

Director Comey finished it. “Thank you all for coming. We will keep you informed. If you have further questions, please submit them to my office.” He stepped off the dais, ignored the loud tide of shouted questions. He paused to shake a few hands as he walked back into 26 Federal Plaza, surrounded by aides and all the agents. He looked back over his shoulder at Sherlock. “You just about invited the Strategist to come after you out there, Agent Sherlock.”

Sherlock never broke stride. I surely hope so. “Someone had to say it.”

MULBERRY STREET, LITTLE ITALY

NEW YORK CITY

Saturday night

Cal hadn’t realized he was so hungry until he took his first bite of spaghetti Bolognese and his taste buds sang hallelujah. Kelly laughed. “Hey, is that a spiritual moment you’re having, Cal? With your spaghetti?”

“I gotta say it’s better than my aunt Millie’s,” he said as he took another bite. “And I use her recipe. Eat, Sherlock. I don’t want to deliver a beanpole back to Savich.”

Sherlock was picking at her chicken parmigiana, hungry but too wound up to eat much. “I’ve got to get myself calmed down. It’s been an extraordinary day.”

Kelly took a bite of her caprese. “What better place to decompress than right here? I’ve been coming to this place so long, the owner put me on his Christmas card list. Yes, I’m Italian, in case you were wondering.”

Cal, who’d thought Kelly was as wound up as Sherlock, said easily, in a tone to invite confidences, “And here I thought Giusti was a famous Irish name.”

“Har, har.” Kelly tossed her napkin at him. He caught it midair, handed it back to her.

“Where in Italy do you hail from?” Sherlock asked her.

“Mind you, I’m not descended from the Napoli Giustis—they’re a tough bunch, to put it nicely. My family comes from the Dolomite Giustis, most of us born not ten miles from the Swiss border. Great skiers, most of us. As you might guess, both sets of Giustis claim to go all the way back to Romulus and Remus.”

At Cal’s grin, she went on. “My great-grandparents immigrated to New York in the forties. You really should taste my mama’s pizza—she makes the best pie, learned at my grandmother’s knee.”

Cal swallowed another bite of spaghetti, shared a silent moment with his taste buds. “I don’t ever say no to pizza. I’ve found it goes great with my favorite Irish stew, from O’Flynn’s in Foggy Bottom. I have a dog named after O’Flynn, a big Irish setter, my dog, that is. Sherlock, turn off your brain and eat your parmigiana. Kelly’s now stuffing the caprese down her gullet. Both of you, we scored a big win today rescuing the Conklins. We deserve to celebrate.”

Sherlock dutifully took a bite. “It’s delicious.” She shook her head sadly. “But no one’s parmigiana beats Dillon’s. Yes, you’re both invited.”

Kelly whistled. “That big tough dude makes parmigiana? Sherlock, don’t let that man escape.”

Cal said, “If he ever tried, I picture cement shoes and a deep body of water.”

They both laughed, as he hoped they would. Cal raised his glass of Chianti. “Here’s to your favorite restaurant, Kelly. And to our win today.”

As they drank it down, Sherlock’s cell phone sang out P. Franklin’s “Ancient Wisdom.” “It’s Dillon.” She rose immediately. “You guys go ahead.”

They watched her walk past the beautiful mahogany bar with its dozens of liquor bottles lined up in front of its mirror, all of them glowing softly in the dim golden light of the main dining room. Cal watched her stop beyond the arched doorway to the restrooms. He scanned the restaurant again. No one seemed to be paying her any attention.

Kelly said, “I haven’t spent so much time on the phone with someone since I was in college.”

“That’s because you aren’t jointed at the hip like Savich and Sherlock. I think this is the first time they haven’t worked a case together. It’s tough on both of them, each worrying about the other. He reads her so well I don’t see how she’s going to keep her nearly getting shot from him. She’ll try, though. None of us want him to come roaring up here.”

“What would he do?”