missing.”
EIGHT
BY MIDNIGHT IN CHICAGO THE THIRD-FLOOR CONFERENCE ROOM WAS set up as a
command center. FBI technicians had swarmed all evening, running phone
lines into the room and installing computer terminals in a line down
the center of the hardwood table. Now at midnight it was dark and cool
and quiet. Shiny blackness outside the wall of glass. No scramble to
decide which side of the table was better.
Nobody had gone home. There were seventeen agents sprawled in the
leather chairs. Even the Bureau lawyer was still there. No real
reason for that, but the guy was feeling the same triple-layered
response they all were. The Bureau looks after its own. That was
layer number one. The Chicago Field Office looks after Holly Johnson.
That was layer number two. Not just because of her connections. That
had nothing to do with it. Holly was Holly. And layer number three
was what McGrath wanted, McGrath got. If McGrath was worried about
Holly, then they all were worried, and they all were going to stay
worried until she was found, safe and sound. So they were all still
there. Quiet, and worried. Until McGrath came loudly and cheerfully
into the room, making a big entrance, smoking like his life depended on
it.
“Good news, people, listen up, listen up,” he called out.
He dodged his way through to the head of the table. Murmuring died
into sudden silence. Eighteen pairs of eyes, followed him.
“We found her,” he called out. “We found her, OK? She’s safe and
well. Panic’s over, folks. We can all relax now.”
Eighteen voices started talking all at once. All asking the same
urgent questions. McGrath held his hands up for quiet, like a nominee
at a rally.
“She’s in the hospital,” he said. “What happened is her surgeon got a
window for this afternoon he wasn’t expecting. He called her, she went
right over, they took her straight to the OR. She’s fine, she’s
convalescing, and she’s embarrassed as all hell for the fuss she’s
caused.”
The eighteen voices started up again, and McGrath let them rumble on
for a moment. Then he held his hands up again.
“So, panic over, right?” he called out again, smiling.
The rumbling got lighter in tone as relief fueled the voices.
“So, people, home to bed,” McGrath said. “Full working day tomorrow,
right? But thanks for being here. From me, and from Holly. Means a
lot to her. Brogan and Milosevic, you stay awhile, share out her
workload for the rest of the week. The rest of you, goodnight, sleep
well, and thanks again, gentlemen.”
Fifteen agents and the lawyer smiled and yawned and stood up. Jostled
cheerfully and noisily out of the room. McGrath and Brogan and
Milosevic were left scattered in random seats, far from each other.
McGrath walked over in the sudden silence to the door. Closed it
quietly. Turned back and faced the other two.
That was all bullshit,” he said. “As I’m sure you both guessed.”
Brogan and Milosevic just stared at him.
“Webster called me,” McGrath said. “And I’m sure you can both guess
why. Major, major DC involvement. They’re going ape shit down there.
V.I.P kidnap, right? Webster’s been given personal responsibility. He
wants total secrecy and minimum numbers. He wants everybody up here
off this case right now except me plus a team of two. My choice. I
picked the two of you because you know her best. So it’s the three of
us. We deal direct with Webster, and we don’t talk to anybody else at
all, OK?”
Brogan stared at him and nodded. Milosevic nodded in turn. They knew
they were the obvious choices for the job. But to be chosen by McGrath
for any reason was an honor. They knew it,
and they knew McGrath knew they knew it. So they nodded again, more
firmly. Then there was silence for a long moment. McGrath’s cigarette
smoke mingled with the silence up near the ceiling. The clock on the
wall ticked around toward half past midnight.
“OK,” Brogan said finally. “So what now?”
“We work all night, is what,” McGrath said. “All day, all night, every
day, every night, until we find her.”