“Assets, plain and simple. We have the infrastructure, the team, and the
experience to do this right. What I’d like personally…?” He paused and pressed
his palm against his chest. “Is for you to join us and give us the benefit of your
insights and, frankly, remarkable skills, Detective Heat.”
Callan held her eyes with his, and a small, involuntary flutter rose in Nikki’s
chest again. She turned to Rook, wondering if he’d read it. Then she looked over at
the striking agent across the room, who seemed just to be waiting the whole thing
out, and wondered if this was a good agent/bad agent soft sell/hard sell or if
Yardley was just a plain asshole. Heat returned Callan’s pleasant smile. “This has
been very helpful, Bart. I do have to say that I have changed my mind. I came here
all pissed off to ask you why you were interfering in my investigation, and now…”
He looked at her with anticipation. “And now I am telling you to stay the hell out
of it.”
Callan insisted on riding topside with his two visitors so he could put in his bid
for another meeting, giving Nikki time to cool off and reconsider. When Heat and
Rook stepped out into the DHS lobby he stayed on the elevator, holding the door open
with his hand. “And don’t be put off by Agent Bell’s brusque style. I went
through an adjustment myself. Kinda had to cinch up my jock when she swooped in on
my case.”
“Aren’t you the ranking officer?”
“I am.”
Heat said, “Looks more to me like you’re working for her, Special Agent. And now
you want me to jump into that political dysfunction?”
“Let’s be pros. Let’s get past the pissing on trees we just saw down there. Agent
Bell has an amazing track record in counterintelligence. Just ask your friend here.
” His reference carried a whiff of animosity that made Rook avert his gaze and
threw Nikki off balance as she processed his prior relationship with Yardley. But
Nikki regained her footing and pushed back.
“I still want an answer to my question. Vaja Nikoladze.”
“OK,” said Callan, “I’ll give you this one as a gesture of good faith. The
Georgian is an informant. We’d like to keep it that way.” He cast a buffalo eye at
Rook. “I’d go on, but I don’t want to be quoted in the media.”
Rook said, “Hey, you carjack a journalist and an NYPD detective on the LIE, you’re
going to buy a paragraph in my article.”
Callan didn’t respond. He asked Nikki to think it over, then released the door for
his descent.
First thing back in the car, Heat said, “OK, spit it out. Who is Yardley Bell?”
“She is a force, isn’t she?”
“Rook, she kissed you. Start talking.”
“We met in the Caucasus five years ago,” he began. “That was when my early
reporting on the Chechen rebels began making noise.”
“Stick to Yardley Bell, Rook,” she said. “I know all about your reporting.”
“OK, so I’m in-country, sitting in the café next door to my hostel, tapping a
dispatch into my laptop, when this woman sits across from me and introduces herself
as a field producer for public radio. She said she’d been reading my stuff and
wanted to tag along to do advance work for a documentary. I thought about it and
figured, why not?”
“Because she was hot?”
“Because I’m a sucker for All Things Considered. And because someone who spoke
English—let alone was an American—was something I hadn’t encountered in six weeks
riding with the rebels.” Then he shrugged, admitting, “All right, and she was hot.
”
“How long until you figured out she was CIA?”
“That night. I woke up and caught her going through my laptop and Moleskines.”
“In the middle of the night,” said Nikki.
“Yes.”
“The first night.”
“Let’s review. Six weeks, American, hot.”
“Got it.”
“I had my journalistic ethics, though. I wouldn’t travel as cover for a spy. And I
sure wasn’t going to burn the cred I’d established with the warlords. So I sent
her off the next morning—OK, next night—and that was that.”