Daredevil Riders

39

“I’m sure that’ll make it all better,” sneered Ashburn.

Another agent said, “Have you ever been left all alone on assignment? I doubt it, since a guy like you probably covers himself at all times. Plenty of firepower at your back.”

Anthony spoke up. “You have no idea what you’re talking about. He saved my life and the lives of two police officers today. He figured out there was a shooter in the woods while we were standing around with our thumbs up our arses. And if you knew half of this man’s history you wouldn’t be sitting here grilling him for—”

“I don’t care about his history. I’m only concerned with the present,” Ashburn shot back.

“Well then, maybe you need to check with your superiors because—”

Herbert put a hand on her arm. “Don’t,” he said quietly.

Ashburn closed her binder. “We’ll be filing a detailed report on this, the chief element of which will be a strong recommendation that you be removed from this case and a full investigation launched to see if any disciplinary or criminal charges should be imposed against you.”

“This is utterly ridiculous,” snapped Anthony.

Ashburn leveled a withering gaze on her, the black dots resembling hollow-points about to be launched. “I don’t know how it is across the pond, but this is America. Here we have accountability for our actions.” She glanced at Herbert. “Or inaction, as the case may be.” She looked back at Anthony. “Piece of advice? I’d find a new partner if I were you.”

The agents all rose as one and filed out of the room.

Anthony glanced over at Herbert. “Do you blokes routinely beat up on each other like that?”

“Usually only when it’s deserved.”

“And you think it is here?”

; “A good man is dead. He shouldn’t be. Someone has to be blamed for it. And I’m as good a selection as anyone.” He rose. “And maybe they’re right. Maybe I am too old for this.”

“You don’t really believe that, do you?”

Herbert didn’t answer. He just left the room, left the WFO, hit the streets and kept walking. The night air was crisp, the sky cloudless. There was snarled traffic and honking over near the Verizon Center because some event was going on there.

As he walked along, Herbert thought of the last few moments he’d been with Tom Birdman. He hadn’t really focused on the man’s safety. He’d wanted to go after John Kravitz. In truth, he’d believed that he was keeping Birdman safer by going after the alleged bomber at his home berth and leaving Birdman behind. It had never occurred to him that they would attack at the tree farm and kill Kravitz. They definitely had manpower and intelligence and nerve. A formidable combination.

A sudden thought struck him and he called the number Riley Weaver had left for him. He wanted to know if Weaver had a list of the events that had been scheduled at Lafayette Park. If there was a lead in that list, Herbert wanted to run it down. Someone answered the phone. Herbert identified himself and asked for Weaver. The man put him on hold but was back within ten seconds.

“Please don’t call this number again.”

The line went dead and Herbert slowly put his phone back in his pocket. The explanation for that brusque putdown was easy. Weaver knew that Herbert had screwed up and cost an FBI agent his life. Because of that, Herbert was off the cooperation list with NIC now. And forever.

As he passed block after block, his focus continued to deepen, even as the D.C. nightlife went on all around him. Runners along the Mall, tourists with maps in hand, partiers packed in groups heading to the next entertainment and office-dwelling men and women in suits lugging thick briefcases and burdened with weary countenances as they trudged home, probably to keep working.

Taking out Kravitz made perfect sense if he were involved in the bombing. One less mouth to betray the people behind it. They must have staked out the trailer park and were there ready to kill the man when Herbert had shown up. But there was an alternative theory that if true was far more disquieting.

They knew we were coming.

In order to do that, they either would have needed to follow them or been ahead of them. Both scenarios carried serious implications and also the possibility of a mole in their ranks. But why the tree farm? Had Lloyd Wilder been involved as well? If so, the man was a consummate actor. The woman in the office? A long shot.

Tom Birdman? But why take him out? He was the lead investigator, but he would simply be replaced with another. And the murder of an FBI agent would only result in the formidable Bureau tripling its already heightened effort to find those behind the Lafayette Park incident. It made no sense at all. None.

He arrived at his destination, flashed his badge to gain admittance and entered Lafayette Park. At least his credentials hadn’t been pulled. Yet. He sat on a bench, surveyed the surroundings where the investigative work was still going on. His mind swirled with recent events, not one bit of it solidifying into something useful. It was just mist, vapor. As soon as he focused on something promising, it vanished.

His gaze shifted to the White House across the street. The bombing had no doubt popped the president’s bubble of safety that he believed he had here. Every security force involved in defending this bit of earth had suffered a hard blow to their professional egos.

Hell’s Corner, Herbert thought, was indeed living up to its name.

When he looked up he saw the man approaching. A part of him was surprised, but another part was not. He drew a long breath and waited.