She said, “I . . . I didn’t see your face. I swear to God.”
“I know.” His reply was confident. He sounded so . . . normal.
“People know where I am right now.”
It wasn’t true, and he had to have sensed that, but his reply did not contradict her.
“I’m not going to do anything to harm you. I promise.”
Catherine said nothing, but she shifted in her seat slightly, and while she did so, her hands clutched her purse. The man behind the wheel reached over, took the purse from her, and then gently placed it behind him on the rear floorboard.
She did not protest.
They drove in silence for a full minute, heading north. Catherine kept her eyes straight ahead, her jittery hands on her knees. Finally she said, “You said you were ex-Agency. Was that true?”
“Yes.”
“And you know the man they are looking for?”
After a slight pause he said, “I am the man they are looking for.”
She closed her eyes hard. Furious with herself for not suspecting this from the beginning.
Her eyes reopened, and then her left hand slid back into the tight space between the center console and the seat. She started to turn to him to see if he was looking her way. But just as she began to look up he said, “Eyes out front.”
She locked her eyes forward, but her fingertips walked their way back a little farther, to the item wedged tight between the seat and the console.
While she did this Catherine asked, “What do you want?”
“The same as you, I guess. Information. Answers.”
“Answers? If you are who you say you are, you are going to have a lot more answers than me.”
“Don’t be so sure. I haven’t had the opportunity to interview a bunch of CIA execs on background.”
Catherine corrected him. “Just one.”
“Carmichael.”
Despite herself she nodded a little.
“Had a feeling.”
Catherine’s hand found what it was looking for. The plastic grip of her heavy stun gun.
Her kidnapper turned the vehicle off North Carolina Avenue and onto Lincoln Road NE.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked.
“I’d like to just drive around for a bit, if that’s okay with you. We can talk.”
“Sure,” she said, doing her best to force calm into her voice. In fact, her racing heart beat faster by the second, and she steeled herself for what she was about to do.
And her mind raced along with her heart. When was the last time she had charged the stun gun? The packaging claimed the batteries would hold a full charge for six months. Had she even touched the device in that time? Yes, now she remembered. She charged the gun in early January, less than four months earlier. It should be ready to go.
Although she’d never used the weapon on another person, according to the packaging, it was quite simple to employ. One touch to the skin of the man beside her, ideally in the neck or low back near the spine, would fully incapacitate him for a minute or more.
Catherine tried to appear as nonchalant as possible. “Your name isn’t really Jeff Duncan, is it?”
“What do you think?”
“No. What should I call you?”
“Call me Six.”
Her breath quickened. This confirmed him as the man in Washington Highlands. She said, “The house on Brandywine Street. There was a number six left there.” That had not been reported. The man said nothing. “Was that so the CIA would know you were here?”
“They already knew I was here. It was to show them I wasn’t running.” A pause. “Not anymore.”
They approached a four-way stop. He said, “If you try to bail, I’ll just stop you. Understood?”
Her thumb flipped up the security cap over the stun gun’s actuator. Thinking quickly, she said, “Bail? I’m fifty-four. I’m not sure I ever knew how to bail. But even if I did, those days are firmly behind me.”
Out of the corner of her eye she saw the man chuckle at this, as if he was completely comfortable snatching an innocent woman off the street.
A large black work truck rolled up to the intersection on the left of the old Civic.
Catherine squeezed the handle of the stun gun so hard it hurt. Her thumb hovered over the red actuator.
Six started to pull forward, but the work truck on the left began rolling out of turn, so he was forced to brake abruptly.
Catherine took her opportunity. In one motion she lifted the device up, spun towards the man behind the wheel, and plunged the metal tips into the right side of his throat, which, due to the black hoodie, was the only exposed skin showing around her kidnapper’s neck.
She pressed the button and an electric clicking sound filled the air. It seemed impossibly loud and violent here in the small cabin of the Honda Civic.
The man behind the wheel cried out as six million volts coursed through his body.
55
Owwww!” His right arm swung up in a blur, and his forearm connected with the stun gun and knocked it hard, sending it flying into the backseat. It banged against the rear window and skittered to the floor.