Backfire
Page 63
His baby roared to life. Calm down, calm down. So what if you give the witch half a million dollars a year? You can afford it. But it was his hard-earned money, and she would spend it on those vacations she was always taking by herself, with the boys, with her frigging friends. Never with him after the first five years. All right, so he was usually busy; he had to support his family, didn’t he? He had no interest in being one of those idiot tourists who walked around with a guidebook in their hands, always pulling out their cell phones to take stupid pictures no one cared about.
He backed out of the garage and eased into traffic. He crossed the Golden Gate twelve minutes later, and headed north toward Bel Marin Keys, to the beautiful little clapboard house he owned, with its own private boat dock and its one inhabitant, Pixie. She would make him feel better. She listened to him, really listened, and she knew he was suffering today. She cared about his feelings and what his wife was doing to him.
It wasn’t raining, but it was cold and overcast, and promised rain. He was glad he’d gotten the coupe and not the convertible now that it was getting toward winter. This was San Francisco, after all.
Federal Building
San Francisco
Monday afternoon
If Bill Hammond at the CIA was to be believed, the CIA hadn’t made the connection that Sue could be a Chinese name spelled Xu, hadn’t even known for sure that a foreign government was behind the attempted theft of Mark Lindy’s materials. He assured Savich the CIA would of course follow up on that possibility, search out every Chinese national with diplomatic cover whose name sounded anything like Xu.
Savich doubted the two CIA operations officers who’d come to San Francisco some eight months before to conduct an extensive investigation had left not even knowing a foreign government was involved, let alone which one. It really didn’t matter now, Savich thought, since the game had changed. Now that they had a name, the CIA would be back in the investigation, trying to crash the party and take the cake. Savich figured he had one last shot at the Cahills before CIA operations officers arrived. They were the only ones who knew Xu, the only ones other than Xu who knew what had happened to those files off Lindy’s computer.
He sat with Eve again at the same scarred table in the interview room. “I’m glad you’re still wearing a ponytail,” he said to her as the guards brought Cindy and Clive Cahill in.
The first thing out of Clive’s mouth when he saw them was, “The guard said you wanted to see us again, Agent Savich. You wouldn’t believe—or maybe you would believe—what kind of language Milo Siles used when he found out we’d talked to you without him on Friday. He tried to make us promise we’d never do that again. But Cindy and I—we’re beginning to wonder a bit about Mr. Siles, and that’s why we agreed to see you without him.”
It’s about time you’re finally realizing Mr. Siles isn’t in your corner. Savich said, “Tell you what, Clive, after we talk, you and Cindy can consult with Mr. Siles if you feel the need, how’s that?”
Clive and Cindy shared a look, and Clive slowly nodded. “No harm in listening, at least until you bore us.” He looked at Eve. “You’re quite the little hero, aren’t you, doll? It’s all over the news how you saved Judge Hunt’s life, threw yourself on top of him in that elevator and took three bullets in the back. How good are the Kevlars nowadays? You sore?”
Eve smiled at him. “You bet.”
Cindy said, “A pity the guy wasn’t a better shot and splashed your brains all over the judge.”
Eve turned her smile to Cindy. “My brains are relieved that didn’t happen. It’s true, I’m still a bit sore, but you, on the other hand, are still wearing chains and brushing your teeth with your fingers.”
“Nah,” Clive said. “This is a class joint. We even got toothbrushes, but you have a point, they’re not electric.”
Eve said nothing more. She didn’t want to tangle with either of them, at least not yet.
Cindy noticed Savich was looking at her and leaned slightly toward him. “Isn’t that sweet, Clive? Little Miss Sunshine with her bouncy ponytail doing her good deeds. She saves a life, then visits us poor put-upon prisoners again with her sidekick, Mr. Tough Guy.”
Savich said, “Actually, we wanted to thank you in person for blurting out the name Xu. So how does he spell that? X-u? Or S-u? S-o-o, maybe? At any rate, he’s Chinese, and he’s your handler. We know he’s fluent in English and no one has yet pegged him as Asian, so he’s either very good at disguises or he’s an American. Is he American?”
He backed out of the garage and eased into traffic. He crossed the Golden Gate twelve minutes later, and headed north toward Bel Marin Keys, to the beautiful little clapboard house he owned, with its own private boat dock and its one inhabitant, Pixie. She would make him feel better. She listened to him, really listened, and she knew he was suffering today. She cared about his feelings and what his wife was doing to him.
It wasn’t raining, but it was cold and overcast, and promised rain. He was glad he’d gotten the coupe and not the convertible now that it was getting toward winter. This was San Francisco, after all.
Federal Building
San Francisco
Monday afternoon
If Bill Hammond at the CIA was to be believed, the CIA hadn’t made the connection that Sue could be a Chinese name spelled Xu, hadn’t even known for sure that a foreign government was behind the attempted theft of Mark Lindy’s materials. He assured Savich the CIA would of course follow up on that possibility, search out every Chinese national with diplomatic cover whose name sounded anything like Xu.
Savich doubted the two CIA operations officers who’d come to San Francisco some eight months before to conduct an extensive investigation had left not even knowing a foreign government was involved, let alone which one. It really didn’t matter now, Savich thought, since the game had changed. Now that they had a name, the CIA would be back in the investigation, trying to crash the party and take the cake. Savich figured he had one last shot at the Cahills before CIA operations officers arrived. They were the only ones who knew Xu, the only ones other than Xu who knew what had happened to those files off Lindy’s computer.
He sat with Eve again at the same scarred table in the interview room. “I’m glad you’re still wearing a ponytail,” he said to her as the guards brought Cindy and Clive Cahill in.
The first thing out of Clive’s mouth when he saw them was, “The guard said you wanted to see us again, Agent Savich. You wouldn’t believe—or maybe you would believe—what kind of language Milo Siles used when he found out we’d talked to you without him on Friday. He tried to make us promise we’d never do that again. But Cindy and I—we’re beginning to wonder a bit about Mr. Siles, and that’s why we agreed to see you without him.”
It’s about time you’re finally realizing Mr. Siles isn’t in your corner. Savich said, “Tell you what, Clive, after we talk, you and Cindy can consult with Mr. Siles if you feel the need, how’s that?”
Clive and Cindy shared a look, and Clive slowly nodded. “No harm in listening, at least until you bore us.” He looked at Eve. “You’re quite the little hero, aren’t you, doll? It’s all over the news how you saved Judge Hunt’s life, threw yourself on top of him in that elevator and took three bullets in the back. How good are the Kevlars nowadays? You sore?”
Eve smiled at him. “You bet.”
Cindy said, “A pity the guy wasn’t a better shot and splashed your brains all over the judge.”
Eve turned her smile to Cindy. “My brains are relieved that didn’t happen. It’s true, I’m still a bit sore, but you, on the other hand, are still wearing chains and brushing your teeth with your fingers.”
“Nah,” Clive said. “This is a class joint. We even got toothbrushes, but you have a point, they’re not electric.”
Eve said nothing more. She didn’t want to tangle with either of them, at least not yet.
Cindy noticed Savich was looking at her and leaned slightly toward him. “Isn’t that sweet, Clive? Little Miss Sunshine with her bouncy ponytail doing her good deeds. She saves a life, then visits us poor put-upon prisoners again with her sidekick, Mr. Tough Guy.”
Savich said, “Actually, we wanted to thank you in person for blurting out the name Xu. So how does he spell that? X-u? Or S-u? S-o-o, maybe? At any rate, he’s Chinese, and he’s your handler. We know he’s fluent in English and no one has yet pegged him as Asian, so he’s either very good at disguises or he’s an American. Is he American?”
