CHAPTER
80
ROBIE WAITED ON THE BENCH at Roosevelt Island, right across from the Kennedy Center in the Potomac River. In the middle of a million people the small island was heavily wooded, isolated, and private. It was not open to the public today, which made it even more private. There was a good reason for this.
It was a fine day, bright, sunny, and warmer than normal.
Robie looked up at some birds soaring by and then his attention turned to the man coming down the path toward him. He was walking slowly. He saw Robie and gave a small wave before taking his time heading over.
He sat, unbuttoned his jacket, and leaned back.
“Nice day,” said Robie.
“It will be nicer when we nail the bastard,” said Whitcomb.
“I’m looking forward to that too.”
“You spooked Tucker after our meeting.”
“He was definitely on the defensive.”
“As he should be. Tucker is a disgrace, but difficult as it is to admit, I don’t see how we do it, Robie. The proof just isn’t there. No matter how hard we want it to be.”
“The shooters had been with the agency.”
“His motive?”
“With the world gone to hell the CIA would skyrocket right to the top in budget dollars and turf. The twin holy grails of the intelligence sector.”
Whitcomb shook his head. “Circumstantial only. His lawyers would tear that to pieces. Not one of the shooters had anything useful?”
“They were out of the loop. Hired guns only. Kent is dead. Gelder, Decker, Jacobs. All loose ends tied up.”
“He was efficient, I’ll give him that.”
“One mistake, though.”
“What’s that?”
“We have one loose end that was forgotten.”
“What?” asked Whitcomb eagerly.
“A who, sir. A woman. Karin Meenan. She worked at the CIA as a physician. She was the one who put the tracker device on me. She knew Roy West. And she knew about the white paper.”
“White paper?”
“We called it the apocalypse paper. It diagrammed in meticulous detail an attack on the G8, country by country, assassination by assassination, executed by Islamic terrorists. Then it outlined what would be done after the killings to maximize the global chaos.”
“But the attack in Canada centered on Arab leaders, not the G8.”
“Right. They took West’s document and reversed it. An attack on Muslim leaders by—” Here Robie fell silent.
“Not by factions in the Middle East,” said Whitcomb. “As we told the president. But by Tucker and those idiots at CIA who can’t seem to get this nation-building crap out of their system.”
“I’m afraid new evidence cuts against that conclusion, sir.”
“New evidence?”
Robie waved his hand, motioning over the person who had just appeared on the entrance path. Whitcomb saw the woman coming forward, her steps hesitant.
“I had her locked up in a little hideaway,” said Robie. “I was fearful for her safety.”
Karin Meenan stopped in front of them. Robie said, “I’d introduce you, but you two already know each other.”
Whitcomb stared up into the woman’s frightened features. Then he turned to Robie. “I’m not sure what’s going on here.”
“A friend of mine did some research on you and had an epiphany. Did you enjoy playing football at the Naval Academy with Roger Staubach? He was a couple of years ahead of you and you played on the D-line and he was the QB. But it still must’ve been a thrill for you. Heisman Trophy winner, Navy’s last one. Hall of famer. Super Bowl winner and MVP. Pretty awesome.”
“It was, actually, but I think we need to get back to the matter at hand.”
“He had a nickname too when he played. Quite the scrambler. The running quarterback. What was that nickname again?”
Meenan said in a small voice, “Roger the Dodger.”
“That’s it,” said Robie. “Roger the Dodger. Same handle that the person gave Roy West. West sent him the apocalypse paper. That’s where this all started. Now, I don’t think it was Staubach.” He pointed at Whitcomb. “I think it was you.”
“I am very confused here, Robie. You and I have already discussed this. We put the blame squarely on Evan Tucker. You grilled him after the meeting with the president with my full blessing.”
“Just done to throw you off your guard. To get you to come here and meet to discuss what you thought would be Tucker’s professional destruction. Tucker’s a prick, but he’s not a traitor. You’re the traitor.”
Whitcomb slowly stood and looked down at him. “I can’t tell you how disappointed I am. And I’m more offended than disappointed.”
“I’ve spent my whole working life killing bad guys, sir. One monster after another. One terrorist at a time. I’m good at it. I want to continue to do it.”
“After these accusations today, I’m not sure you’ll be able to, quite frankly.”
“Patience at an end? Didn’t want to wait for people like me to keep pulling triggers? Wanted to clear the game board in one move?”
“If you have one shred of evidence, you better reveal it now.”
“Well, we have Dr. Meenan here, who will testify that she worked with you directly to set this up. And that she put a tracker into my body on your orders.”
Whitcomb stared menacingly at Meenan. “Then she would be lying and she will be charged with perjury and she will go to prison for a very long time.”
“I just don’t see this going to a trial.”
“Once the president hears of this I am sure that—”
Robie cut him off. “The president has already been briefed. Everything I’ve just said, he’s already been told. It was at his suggestion that I meet with you.”
“His suggestion?” Whitcomb said blankly. Robie nodded.
“But there is no evidence tying me to any of this.”
“There is evidence, beyond Meenan here. Sir, you might want to sit down before you fall down.”
His legs shaky, Whitcomb sat back down on the bench. “You said you don’t see this going to trial?”
“Too much of an embarrassment for the country. We don’t need that. There are lots of terrorists out there. That would hurt our ability to go after them. You don’t want that, right?”
“No, of course not.”
Robie looked up at Meenan. “Thank you. There are people waiting for you over there.” He pointed to his left where two men in suits hovered.
After she walked off, Robie said, “Your security detail has been dismissed, by the way.”
Whitcomb glanced in the direction from which he had come. “I see.”
“Your resignation might be in order.”
“Did the president suggest that too?” Whitcomb said dully.
“Let’s just say that he didn’t object when it was raised.” Robie looked at the man. “Did you know Joe Stockwell?”
Whitcomb slowly shook his head. “Not personally, no.”
“Retired U.S. marshal. Good guy. Got in with Kent, gained his trust. Found out what was going on. You had him killed. And a woman named Gwen. Nice old lady. And a former agency guy named Mike Gioffre. They all meant the world to a friend of mine.”
“What friend would that be?” But Robie could tell that Whitcomb already knew the answer.
Robie pointed to his right. “Her.”
Whitcomb looked to where Robie was pointing.
Jessica Reel stood ten feet from them, her gaze on nothing other than Whitcomb.
Robie stood and walked down the trail to the exit. He never once looked back.
The island in the middle of a million people now contained only two people.
Gus Whitcomb.
And Jessica Reel holding a pistol.
To his credit, Whitcomb looked unafraid.
“I’ve been to war, Ms. Reel,” he said by way of explanation as she drew close to him. “I’ve seen many people die. And I almost died myself a couple of times. You never get used to it, of course. But the shock level is diluted.”
“Gwen Jones, Joe Stockwell, and Michael Gioffre did die,” she replied. “You had them killed.”
“Yes, I did. But the world is complicated, Ms. Reel.”
“And it’s also extremely simple.”
“You look at it in different ways. You think you see an opportunity for improvement. Vast improvement. And sometimes you take it. That’s what we did here. We were tired of the killing, the chaos, and always being at the edge of the precipice. We just wanted a more stable, peaceful world by having people we could actually deal with in power over there. A few lives to save millions? How can that possibly be wrong?”
“I’m not here to judge what you did. That’s really not my concern.” She raised her weapon. “There have to be others besides the ones we know. Who are they?”
He shook his head and smiled grimly. “Now, do you want me to kneel? Do you want me to stand? Whatever you say I’ll do. You have the gun, after all.”
“You have family.”
For the first time Whitcomb looked concerned. “They knew nothing of any of this.”
“I don’t care.”
“I would please ask you to not harm them. They’re innocent.”
“Gwen was innocent. And so were Joe and Mike. And they had families.”
“What do you want?”
“Who else was behind this?”
“I can’t.”
“Then I’ll start with your oldest daughter. She lives in Minnesota. And after that your wife. And then your sister, and I’ll keep going until there’s no one left.” She pointed her pistol at his head. “Who else?” she asked.
“It won’t matter. They’re outside this country, completely untouchable.”
“Who else? I won’t ask again.”
Whitcomb gave her three names.
She said, “Congratulations, you just saved your family.”
“You give me your word that you will not harm them?”
“Yes. And unlike some people, I do keep my word.”
“Thank you.”
“One more thing. DiCarlo?”
“She was too close to figuring things out. It pained me, but there was too much at stake.”
“You’se a bastard.”
“So stand or kneel?” he said.
“I don’t care, really. But I want you to close your eyes.”
“Excuse me?”
“Close your eyes.”
“I will have no trouble watching you kill me,” Whitcomb replied.
“It’s not for your benefit. It’s for mine.”
Whitcomb closed his eyes and waited for his life to end.
When no shot came and the minutes passed by, Whitcomb finally opened his eyes.
The island now contained only one person.
Jessica Reel was gone.