The Hit

Chapter





32





JESSICA REEL SAT IN HER CAR, which was parked at a curb on a normally busy street in D.C. However, it was late and the traffic had ebbed even on this main artery.

Her rifle was in the trunk. She had fired more than forty rounds at the shooters. She might have saved Will Robie’s life; she wasn’t sure. And while Janet DiCarlo might still die from her wounds, she would have assuredly died without Reel’s intervention. And Robie’s.

That gave a lift to Reel’s spirits, something that hadn’t happened a lot lately.

It had been stupid on DiCarlo’s part to have such limited security that far out. Reel had been to her home before, years ago. A friendly meeting to discuss Reel’s future.

She smiled grimly at this memory.

My future?

She’d had an epiphany after leaving Gioffre. She knew that DiCarlo had been appointed the number two. She still had electronic back doors into the agency. Until these were all shut down—and they would be soon—she had utilized them to the maximum. She’d figured that in DiCarlo’s position as the new number two, she and Robie would have to meet. Reel didn’t know that this meeting was actually their second face-to-face.

She and DiCarlo went way back, farther than anyone else she knew at the agency. She had always been able to count on DiCarlo to cover her back. But now that was no longer possible. Reel had not only crossed the line, she had obliterated it.

She’d followed Robie out to DiCarlo’s house. Initially she didn’t know where he was going, and as the roads became more and more rural and the traffic less and less plentiful, she was afraid Robie would spot her. But at one point she deduced where he must be going and broke off her tail, only to circle back and take up position. She had no idea that an attack was coming.

But then again, she had no reason to assume that an attack wasn’t coming.

She was certain she had hit some of the shooters. If she had, she expected that the mess would be cleaned up before anyone else arrived at the scene. There would be no leave-behinds.

Robie had exercised sound skills in using the armored SUV to make his escape. He was resourceful and worked well under pressure. She remembered this from her brief time working with him. Reel had sized up her competition early and often at the agency. The only serious competition she’d had was Will Robie. They took turns topping the grading system in all their early missions. But Robie had eventually come out ahead. She’d never thought she would ever be pitted against him.

Her thoughts turned back to DiCarlo: Why target her? What did she know?

Reel had long suspected that DiCarlo was better informed than many people inside the agency thought. They probably had believed she would make a competent if temporary number two.

No, a safe number two, she corrected herself.

They obviously didn’t know DiCarlo as Reel did.

They likely thought this because she was a woman. They failed to realize that she had worked three times as hard and had to be twice as tough as a man to reach the level she had.

The area had had a brief respite from the inclement weather, but the broad low-pressure system had anchored itself over the city, and when the clouds grew heavy with moisture the rains had commenced once more. The wind picked up and one of the gusts buffeted Reel’s rental car. She started the engine and turned the heat on but did not put the car in gear. The rain-slicked streets had driven the few pedestrians to drier locations and she had an unobstructed if rain-soaked view of the pavement. If only her thoughts could be as clear. But they were as cloudy as a mountain hollow on a cold morning.

Judge Samuel Kent and the other person on her list had not only been forewarned, but were also now on the offensive. Reel had little doubt that this group had orchestrated the attack on Janet DiCarlo. This was troubling, because they obviously knew something about DiCarlo that Reel didn’t. It was an extraordinary move and an extraordinary move had to have extraordinary justification.

She took out her phone and studied the screen. It was easy enough to text Robie. They couldn’t trace her, of that she was sure. But Reel also knew that the agency could read every text she sent him. So she had to be careful, not just for herself but for him. A funny thought, she was aware, to be concerned about the wellbeing of a man that she had very nearly turned into a burnt husk. But now certain possibilities were opening for her and she meant to take advantage of them.

She tapped the keys on her screen and sent her text. Now that that was done, she would just have to see how it played out. A lot would depend on Robie.

The rain picked up as she drove faster.

Reel had never worn a uniform and yet she’d probably killed more people than even the most decorated of professional soldiers. She risked her life every time she did so. Yet she’d taken her orders from those at a safe distance from the battle. She had never questioned those orders. She had executed them faithfully for nearly all of her adult life.

And then had come the time when she couldn’t do that anymore.

Her father had been a monster and had nearly beaten her into an early grave. Those scars were permanent. Not the ones on her body—the ones in her mind. Those never really healed.

Her career as a sanctioned killer had given her something she thought she would never have.

Clarity of action.

Good versus bad.

Good wins. Bad loses.

It was like she was killing her father over and over. It was like she was extinguishing the neo-Nazis for eternity. And every other demon that dared try to walk among humankind wreaking havoc.

And yet it had never been and would never be that simple.

And it had finally dawned on Jessica Reel that the best arbiter of what was good and what was evil was her own moral compass, tarnished as it was by what she’d done in the past.

Her break with complete obedience to her employer had not come easily. But once it had come it was surprising to her how exhilarating it had been to think once more for herself.

As she drove on, Reel wondered what Robie would make of the little present she’d left for him.