Call to Treason - Tom Clancy [129]
"They did," Kat said impulsively. "I said it was okay."
"All right," Howell said. "What is the second favor?"
"If your guy calls back, try to find out who he is," Rodgers said. He started moving toward the door. "Let Darrell know."
"I will," Howell said.
"Thanks. Talk to you later."
Kat terminated the call as Rodgers jogged along the short entranceway.
He stopped by the front door and listened. He heard nothing. Kat had followed. She stood at the other end of the small hallway.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I'm not sure. I want you to stay here," Rodgers said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm going out, and there may be trouble," Rodgers said. "If there is, I need someone who can bail me out."
"What kind of trouble?"
"I have no idea," Rodgers said as he cracked the door. "But there is one thing I do know. What happened in Washington was just the preliminary. The big show is going to be here."
* * *
FORTY-SIX
Washington, D.C. Wednesday, 4:42 p.m.
There is an impunity that comes with being once-removed from danger. A lock on the door. A police officer on the beat. A man of influence standing between you and those who want to hurt you.
In each case, it is an illusion. Darrell McCaskey knew that from his years at the FBI. He was betting that the young and inexperienced Lucy O'Connor did not. Before the afternoon was over, she would.
McCaskey and his wife had been released from the holding cell at the First District Substation. Detective Howell personally drove them to their car, which had been taken to the DMV impound lot at 65 K Street NE. The detective called ahead to have it released and waiting.
Howell was surprisingly forthcoming about what had happened. McCaskey felt as though he had suddenly been drafted as father confessor. Not that he minded, as long as he did not have to keep any of the intelligence a secret.
McCaskey did not judge the man. Fear and self-preservation always colored people's reactions. On the FBI he had seen countless crimes of passion that were conceived, executed, and regretted within the space of five minutes. That did not absolve the perpetrator, but McCaskey understood the drive.
McCaskey was sitting beside his wife in the backseat of Howell's car.
When the detective was finished, Me Caskey asked him what he expected in exchange for his cooperation.
"A way back out," Howell said plaintively.
"That may not be so easy. When we get these people, you know they will finger you," McCaskey pointed out.
"I know they'll try," the detective said. "I've been thinking. I can pretty much cover my own actions. If you two will say that I was working undercover and feeding you information from the start, that will neutralize their charges."
"When you cornered us in the apartment, you did not give us the option to explain things to you," Maria said angrily.
"They had me on a leash," Howell said. "I'm sorry."
"If General Rodgers did not call, we would be standing in front of your district attorney right now instead of driving to our car," she went on.
"I would have found a way to make this go away," Howell said.
"You say that as if it is an upset stomach," Maria said. "This would have been with us the rest of our lives."
"Yes, but in fairness, you did enter the woman's apartment unlawfully."
"We picked a lock to get a leg-up on something big and ugly," McCaskey interjected. "On the Richter scale of crimes, that is one point zero."
"Look, I already said I screwed up," Howell told him. "Hell, I screwed up in the military, too, which is what got me in this fix. What I did then wasn't even a crime. The tribunal made it one to give some punk kid absolution for feeling guilty about consensual sex."
"A punk kid," Maria said. "You mean a boy? A man?"
Howell nodded as they pulled up to the lot. "I took the hit for him because I knew what he was going through. I cared about him. I could have appealed the decision, but I didn't. Then these bastards dig it out and throw it back at me. I felt only for a moment,