Riptide

Adam said very quietly, “The governor was shot, just like the guy threatened to do, and then the aide to Governor Bledsoe turned out to be the one who told the cops that Becca was an obsessed liar. He was murdered. Did you know that, Tellie? Did you know that the guy who killed him ran him down in a car he’d stolen in Ithaca, after he’d murdered the owner? Did you know that the cops have impounded that car with its dark-tinted windows so no one would be able to identify him when he ran down Dick McCallum? Hey, do you and your fed techs realize that you can go crawl all over it right now?”

“Yeah, okay, we know all that.”

“Then why are you pretending it didn’t happen?”

“We’re not pretending it didn’t happen,” Hawley said, his hands fisted, anger creeping up over his shirt collar to redden his neck. “But there’s no damned reason for him to have picked Ms. Matlock out of the blue, that he targeted someone as unlikely as she is. It only makes sense that she must know something, that she must be aware of his identity, have some idea who he is and why he’s doing this. This is big, bad stuff, Adam, and she’s slap-dab in the middle of it. I hear there’s all sorts of doings in the CIA, but I can’t find out what’s going on. I’ve heard that it involves this case, but no one will tell me anything, even my bosses. Let me tell you that it burns my ass to be kept on the outside. Now back off, Adam, or I’ll burn your ass before they get mine.”

Thomas stepped up. “I wanted to avoid this but now I don’t see a choice. I believe it’s time for official talks. You people haven’t been let in on what’s going on here, and it’s time.”

Thomas raised his hand when all of the men would speak at once. “No more hotdogging, Adam. Mr. Hawley, if you like, you and Mr. Cobb here can come to Washington. We’re going to be meeting with the director of the FBI and the director of the CIA, that is, if I can manage to get the two of them in the same room without bloodshed. I’ll have to pick a meeting place where neither of them will get his nose out of joint.”

Hawley gaped at him. “Both the CIA and the FBI? But why? I don’t understand, Mr. Matlock.”

“You will,” Thomas said. “Now, go make arrangements to come to Washington, if your bosses want you to stay involved.”

“We’re New York FBI, Mr. Matlock,” said Tellie Hawley. “Of course we’ll stay involved. We’re the primary players. I’ve heard that there’s some really, really deep shit going down and Cobb and I want to be part of it.”

“Just call the director’s office in a while and find out when and where.”

After the FBI guys had left, champing at the bit to find out what was going down, Thomas closed the hospital door and turned to Becca. “No way will they be allowed to come to Washington, but at least we got rid of them for a while. Now it’s time to play with both the big boys, not just Gaylan Woodhouse. I’m hoping he’ll see reason and get Bushman at the FBI to work on it. Everyone needs to know what’s going on now.”

“First thing,” Adam said, “is for Savich to find that apartment Krimakov rented. Then we send our own people over to Crete and take the place apart.”

“Agreed,” Thomas said. “Let’s do it. Now, Becca, Tommy the Pipe, Chuck, and Dave will all be here to protect you until we get back.”

“No,” Becca said, coming up on her elbows. “I’m coming with you.”

“You can barely walk,” Adam said. “Lie back and calm down. No way our people will let him get near you again.”

“No more orders, Adam. Now, sir, there’s no way you’re going to face this alone.” Becca calmly pulled the IV lines from her arms. She pushed back the hospital sheets and swung her legs over the side of the bed. “Give me another drink of water, ask Sherlock to buy me some clothes, and we’re out of here. An hour. That’s all I need.”

“I think,” Thomas said slowly, stroking his long fingers over his chin, “that there is perhaps a bit too much of me in you.”

Becca grinned at him. “That’s what Mom told me, many times.”

“Then I’d best clear your leaving town with our local cops,” Thomas said, and wanted to pat her cheek, but didn’t because she wasn’t a little girl anymore and she barely knew him. The thought of that made him clear his throat.

Washington, D.C.

The Eagle Has Landed

There weren’t any leaks. None of them could believe it. Their short flight to Washington, then the drive to Georgetown to a small restaurant called The Eagle Has Landed didn’t raise any curious eyebrows. There wasn’t a single TV van in front of the restaurant, not a single reporter from the Washington Post.