“He wouldn’t. Yet this was being carried by one of the four guys with shitty English dressed as cops in the Dupont Circle metro station. Those were the guys who did kill Ohlhauser.”
“That doesn’t make sense,” Zack said softly. His veneer of self-assuredness had slipped. Then he said, “Hanley.”
“What about Hanley?”
“This morning, in the conference room. He had some song and dance about how you didn’t frag Ohlhauser. About how the evidence didn’t fit.”
“Well then,” Court said. For the first time since he’d arrived here he felt like he just might have someone on his side. “Matt’s right. I didn’t do it.”
“Who were the guys dressed as cops, then?”
Court said, “A foreign unit. Good, but not great. Middle Eastern. Gulf state is my best guess from the accents, but I could be off on that.”
Zack was still not sure about this strange claim. In a doubtful tone he said, “They were Muj?”
“Sure looked like it. Whoever they are, Zack, you can be sure they are working for Carmichael.”
Zack shook his head. “Denny’s not going to contract Muj to proxy for him. Especially not in the middle of Washington, D.C. The director would hang him by his nut sack.”
“Zack, think about it. Those guys would only be involved in the hunt for me if Denny wanted them here.”
“I don’t know,” Zack said. “But I do know that doesn’t have a damn thing to do with me.”
“Okay,” Court said. “Why did they bring you into this?”
“Because I told them I’d help them bag you.”
“And here we are.”
Zack looked around. “Here we are.”
Court waved the Glock towards Zack. “It’s time you think about your predicament.”
Hightower looked again around the filthy old mill, and he licked at the dried blood caking his lips. “Really? Do tell.”
Court said, “If I let you go, you will need to carefully consider your next move. If you run back to Carmichael and say I disarmed and disabled you, then took you someplace for an interrogation, he will know you aren’t good enough to go toe-to-toe with me, and you are not reliable enough to keep in the fold because I might have gotten inside your head. You will be damaged goods to Carmichael, and you know what he does with damaged goods.”
Court saw on Hightower’s face that he understood completely. Gentry could let him walk, but if he did, Zack couldn’t go back and report on anything that had happened tonight.
Zack gave a half nod, unwilling to give Court the satisfaction of knowing he had checkmated his former team leader. “What do you want?”
“I want you to talk to Matt. Tell him about the Middle Eastern assholes working for Denny.”
“Look, Six. Hanley might be in your corner, but Hanley isn’t the boss. Carmichael is.”
“I know that. And I also know you only respect authority, and you only want back in the Agency. That’s all you think matters in your world. But know this: I’m not going to stop until I knock Carmichael off his tower, and I am hoping I can get Hanley to help me. Think about how desperate Denny must be if he’s using foreign assets right here in the U.S. You might want to think twice before hitching your wagon to his.”
“Obviously, Six, you don’t know jack squat about currying favor with the important people at Langley. I have a hard time taking advice from you in that department.”
Court wasn’t going to waste any more time with Hightower. He pulled Zack’s T-shirt out of his pocket and retied it over the big blond-haired man’s eyes.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m giving you time to think about it. I’m going to rest for a while, then I’m taking you back to D.C. You just sit there quietly or I’ll shoot you in the baby maker.”
—
For the return drive into the city Court did not throw Hightower back in the truck bed; he let him sit in the passenger’s seat, but he blindfolded him and bound his arms together all the way behind the seat. It would take a contortionist to get out of the bindings, and even though Zack tried his hardest to work on the knots with his fingertips during the drive, he couldn’t quite reach them, so he remained secured to his seat.
Court drove for ninety minutes on I-95, first to the south, but then he pulled off the interstate and jumped right back on the onramp heading back to the District.
He made his way into D.C. along with the first of the morning rush hour, and he drove to a parking lot a few blocks from where he’d left his bike. He parked Zack’s Silverado under a tree, far away from any streetlights.
Leaving Zack in the passenger’s seat, Court rolled down the windows and climbed out of the vehicle. He walked around to the other side, reached in to Hightower, and pulled off his blindfold.
Once Zack got his bearings he said, “What the hell are you doing?”
“Leaving your ass right here. Think about what I said, Zack.”
“Where’s my gear?”
“You mean your gun? You think I’m going to hand you back the rifle you were going to use to blow my head off?”
Zack did not respond.