The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [176]
“I knew it!” Rogo said.
“But it’s not—”
“And what was the trade? That you’d spy on us—help them catch The Three—as a way to prove your own innocence?”
“I am innocent!” Dreidel snapped.
“So is Wes! So am I! But you don’t see us running to the authorities, making private deals, and then tattling on our friends without telling them!”
“Rogo—both of you—we need to go,” Boyle insisted.
Enraged but well aware of Wes’s current situation, Rogo spun back to the main entrance, followed Boyle through the sliding doors, and burst into the parking lot with Dreidel right behind him.
As flicks of rain bombarded from above, Dreidel quickly caught up so they were running side by side, heading for Boyle’s van. “I didn’t tattle on you,” Dreidel said.
“So you never told them what we were up to?” Rogo shot back.
“I didn’t have a choice, Rogo. Once Wes came to my hotel room that first day . . . I needed the help. They said if I kept my eyes on you and Wes—kept them informed on where you were—they’d do their best to keep us protected as well as keeping our names out of the papers.”
“And that’s not spying on your friends?”
“Listen, don’t be mad at me for being the only one smart enough to realize that in an emergency, you’re supposed to break the glass and call for help. C’mon, Rogo, think for a second. I can’t afford—” As they approached the white van, he explained, “I’m running for State Senate.”
Rushing around to the passenger side of the van, Rogo felt his fingers tighten into a fist. He almost bit through his own lip as he fought to contain his rage. “Let’s go—open the door,” he called out to Boyle.
“I swear, Rogo, I wasn’t trying to hurt you,” Dreidel insisted.
As the locks popped, Rogo ripped open the passenger door, reached inside, and hooked his arm around to pound down the lock on the van’s sliding door.
“What’re you doing?” Dreidel asked. “Unlock it!”
Rogo didn’t say a word as he leaped into the front passenger seat, which was covered with thick piles of cluttered files, photocopies, old newspapers, and a brand-new digital camera. Leaning in Rogo’s door, Dreidel stuck his arm behind the passenger seat and tried to open the lock himself. Without even hesitating, Rogo tugged the door shut. Dreidel tried to pull away. He wasn’t fast enough. The sixty-pound door chomped down, sinking its metal teeth into his manicured fingertips.
“Gahhhhh! Open it! Open it, motherf—!”
“Ooh, sorry,” Rogo offered as he nudged the door open, and Dreidel tucked his hand under his own armpit. “I swear, Dreidel, I wasn’t trying to hurt you either.”
Staring downward from his seat in the van, Rogo shot him the kind of glare that comes with an ice pick. “Don’t pretend you’re Wes’s friend, dickface.”
With a hiccup, the van roared to life, and Rogo slammed the door shut. Dreidel just stood there, pelted by the rain.
“C’mon, we going or not?” Rogo shouted at Boyle.
“Don’t bark orders at me,” Boyle countered. “I didn’t shoot your friend in the face.”
“But if you—”
“I didn’t shoot him, Rogo. They shot me. And if I really wanted to see Wes hurt, I wouldn’t be running to save him right now,” Boyle said as he shifted the car into reverse and jammed his foot on the gas.
Staring dead ahead as they squealed out of the spot and away from Dreidel, Rogo rolled his jaw, forever looking for the fight. For once, he couldn’t find it. “Just tell me one thing,” he finally said as he motioned back toward the modern building with the thermal security cameras. “What the hell is that place, and why’d they have a bed and conference table connected to the bathroom?”
“Didn’t you hear who Dreidel made his deal with?” Tapping the glass of his own window, Boyle motioned to the four-story building that was perfectly located two miles from the airport. “Dr. Eng’s just the name that lets them hide in plain sight. Forget what it says on the front door. That’s a WITSEC safehouse.”
“Wit sack?”
“WITSEC. As in Witness Security.”
“You mean like the Witness Protection Program?”
“Exactly like the Witness Protection Program—which,