I did.”
“I was told I wasn’t being followed.”
“I’ve gotten pretty good at it.”
“Apparently.”
“Once I knew where you were going, I just got here ahead of you. Pretty
simple.”
“Was the voice a man’s or woman’s?”
“Couldn’t tell; it was scrambled.”
“Didn’t that make you suspicious?”
“Everything makes me suspicious. One thing’s for sure, whoever’s after
you, they ain’t playing around. The ammo the guy was using back there
could have wasted an elephant. I got to see it up close and
personal.”
He fell silent and Faith could not bring herself to say anything else.
She had several credit cards in her purse, all with virtually limitless
spending power. And they were all useless to her, because as soon as
one went through the swipe machine, they would know where she was. She
put her hand in her purse and touched the Tiffany pewter ring holding
the keys to her beautiful home and her luxury car. Useless as well. In
her wallet was the grand sum of fifty-five dollars and a few pennies.
She had been stripped bare except for this cash and the clothes on her
back. Her impoverished childhood had come roaring back in all its
tarnished, hopeless memory.
She did have a large sum of cash, but it was in a safe-deposit box at
her bank in D.C. The bank would not be open until tomorrow morning. And
there were two other items she kept in that box that were even more
critical to her: a driver’s license and another credit card. They were
both under a fake name. They had been relatively easy to set up, but
she had hoped she would never have to use them. So much so that she
had kept them in her bank instead of a more accessible place. Now she
shook her head at such stupidity.
With those two cards she could go just about anywhere. If everything
collapsed on top of her, she had often reminded herself, this would be
her way out. Well she thought now, the roof’s gone, the walls are
creaking, the killer tornado’s at the window and the fat lady is in the
limo on the way back to the hoteL It’s time to pull the tent and call
it a life.
She looked at Lee. What would she do with him? Faith knew that her
most pressing challenge was surviving the rest of the night. Maybe he
could help her do that. He seemed to know what he was doing, and he
had a gun. If she could just get in and out of her bank without too
much trouble, she would be okay. There were about seven hours between
now and the bank’s opening. They might as well have been seven
years.
CHAPTER 9
ROBERT THORN HILL SAT IN THE SMALL STUDY of his lovely ivy-draped old
home in a much-sought-after neighborhood in McLean, Virginia. His
wife’s family had money, and he enjoyed the luxuries that money could
buy, as well as the freedom it gave him to be a public servant his
entire career. Right now, though, he was not feeling much comfort.
The message he had just received was unbelievable to him, and yet all
plans had the potential for failure. He looked at the man sitting
across from him. This person was also a veteran at the Agency, and a
member of Thornhill’s secret group. Philip Winslow shared Thornhill’s
ideals and concerns. They had spent many a night in Thornhill’s study,
both reminiscing about past glories and devising plans that would
ensure there would be many future triumphs as well. They were both
Yale graduates, two of the best and brightest. They had come along at
a time when it was considered honorable to serve one’s country. And
the CIA had gotten its share of the Ivy League’s best back then. They
had also come from a generation in which a man did whatever it took to
protect his country’s interests. A man with vision, Thornhill believed
with all his heart, had to be willing to take risks to achieve that
vision.
“The FBI agent was killed,” Thornhill said to his friend and
colleague.
“And Lockhart?” Winslow asked.