The Eyes of Others Page 28

  “You think she’s even here, bro?” Louisiana asks, staring out my window at the building.

  “Yeah, I do. She has no other place to go. Are you sure you want to risk going to Bolling-Anacostia to visit Maryland?”

  “Bro, we need to know what he told the police, and it’s time we had it out like men. Besides, do you really think the gate guards there have my picture?”

  He has a good point. Gate guards at military installations are most concerned with ensuring that arriving personnel meet the requirements to gain entry and that they’re not carrying explosives that could harm personnel and infrastructure. Although each guard shack is provided names and photos of people they should be on the lookout for, it’s doubtful Louisiana is on that list.

  “I’m not sure I think it’s worth the risk. The FBI could be watching him, but good luck anyway. You have my burner number memorized?”

  “Yeah, I got it.”

  “Okay, I’ll catch you on the flip side.”

  I give him a fist bump and climb out of the car. He has no registration or paperwork for it, so if he gets snagged trying to enter the base, he’s toast. That’s his problem now as he drives off toward the mall we originally stashed Tara’s friend’s Infinity SUV in.

  I turn and walk into the building, passing by the front desk with the inattentive guard and take the elevator up to the sleep center. The building is still open at this hour, so he doesn’t pay me much attention. Another hour from now might have been a different story.

  The doors open and I find the sleep center empty again. The only indication it’s not completely vacant is the woman’s laughter that erupts on the other side of the door leading to the sleep rooms.

  “Tara?” I call out.

  The door opens and she comes out, Steven lagging behind her. She runs up to me and throws her arms around me. I guess she isn’t as angry with me as I thought she would be. I return the hug, feeling a little awkward in doing so. Such affection is usually reserved for Gina, and Gina alone.

  “Oh my God! What happened to you?” she finally asks after stepping back and giving me a once-over. I’m still looking a little ragged after my chase through the woods.

  “It was a rough day. Colby’s not the mole, Tara. And neither is Garrett. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “What happened?”

  I tell her the whole story about the confrontation with Colby, the resulting firefight in his house, the chase through the woods with the FBI, and how Louisiana and I finally evaded them. She’s not amused, and Steven is in a state of shock. Reality just came crashing down on him that I’m a wanted fugitive and he could be labeled an accessory for helping me.

  “I can’t believe you! What’s going through your head?” Tara finally admonishes when I finish. She had stayed quiet through the whole story until now.

  “Tara, I’m going to be arrested in the next twenty-four hours. This may be the last chance to find the answers I’m looking for.”

  “Oh, so you came running back here to me just for that?” She’s really unhappy, and I chose the wrong thing to say to her. I have one shot at recovering from it.

  “Tara, you are my angel. I‘ve already asked so much of you, and dragged you into something I never should have. All I can do is apologize for that and hope that one day you’ll forgive me. But now I’m asking for one more favor. I know you’re upset with me and don’t agree with what I’ve done. I respect that, but I’m pleading with you now. I need you to help see this thing through with me for one more night.”

  I hope it sounded as sincere as it felt. The last thing I want her to feel is like I’m using her. The truth is the exact opposite of that. She’s a remarkable woman, sweet and complex, and in different circumstances, someone I would want to get to know a lot better.

  She won’t look at me. Tears are welling in her eyes, and I think she’s going to say no. Finally she turns to Steven who is standing there like a jilted ex-boyfriend. That’s probably how he thinks of himself.

  “Steven, would you mind having a guest for one more evening?”

  “You know I would do anything for you, Tara.” I can’t fight the impulse to roll my eyes. This guy never quits.

  “Thank you,” she says quietly.

  “We … uh … we have a laundry machine and dryer here … to wash your clothes.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate that,” I tell him.

  “I’ll get him set up in eight,” Tara informs him, referring to the room I spent last night in.

  “I’ll go to the closet and get the galantamine.”

  “Steven, on that note, I’ve been shot at, almost burned to death, and involved in a car chase …”

  “We’ll use the same thing as last time to help knock you out.”

  “Thanks,” I say with a nod.

  He disappears down the hall and into a room marked with an “employees only” sign. I follow Tara further into the bowels of the empty sleep center. She doesn’t say a word to me the whole way, and the silence is unnerving.

  “Did you stay here all day?”

  “I didn’t have much of a choice, did I?” she retorts.

  “I’m sorry about that. How did―”

  “Steven told the staff that I was interested in accepting a position here and wanted to see what it was like. Some of them already know me, and know Steven’s … interest … in me.”

  “So they bought it?”

  “They had no reason to question it.”

  We enter the room and Tara pulls out a set of sweatpants and a T-shirt with the sleep center’s name on it from a drawer in a dresser along the wall. In an effort to make patients as comfortable as possible, these rooms are decorated much like a typical bedroom would be. From a different drawer, she pulls the sensors and wires out for the EEG. That’s not something you find in a typical bedroom.

  I strip down to my boxers as Tara powers up the EEG. It’s much fancier and more expensive looking than the laptop she used on me that first night. Finished, she turns around and immediately blushes.

  “Sorry, I should have―”

  “No, it’s okay,” she tells me, averting her head and eyes, but not all the way.

  “Tara, you’ve helped me even though you didn’t have to. I owe you,” I explain after I slip on the clothes and sit on the edge of the bed.

  “Yeah you do,” she agrees, attaching the first sensor to my scalp.

  “Have you made any progress figuring out how I can do this given what we learned last night?”

  “No, not really. There isn’t enough evidence available to understand it,” she explains in a defeated tone.

  “Maybe you’ll learn more tonight,” I console.

  “Maybe.”

  “What are the odds that any memory I see will have any relevance?” She doesn’t respond as she attaches another couple of sensors.

  “Are you mad at me?” I prod.

  “No.”

  “Tara―”

  “I’m not mad. I was thrilled when you walked through the door. I was afraid I’d never see you again. But I’d be lying if I told you I wasn’t scared.”

  She has more to say, but is interrupted when Steven knocks on the door and opens it holding a cup of pills and a small bottle of water. This guy is the king of bad timing. Of course, he was probably standing outside the door and planned it that way.

  “Thanks, Steven,” Tara says as he hands her the pills and water.

  “No problem. I’ll be in the lounge if you need me.”

  “That dude’s ready to put a ring on your finger,” I tell her, sounding far more jealous than I should.

  “I know. He’s asked me out at least a dozen times.”

  “How long have you known him?”

  “A dozen times today, Boston,” she clarifies with a slight smile.

  “I’ve put you through a lot.”

  “Yes, you have. You also have a gift for understatement.”

  “So why are you still helping me? You already got far mor
e than you bargained for.”

  “My parents are both doctors. Dad is a world-renown surgeon working at G.W. and Mom’s a clinical psychologist with countless best-selling books. When they had me, I was born with the proverbial silver spoon in my mouth. From the time I could talk, they started grooming me to become them. It was never a question that I would become a doctor, only what discipline I would choose.

  “I went to the best schools, had the best tutors, and never had to struggle or want for anything. It was an easy life. Too easy. Unfortunately, nobody ever asked what I wanted.

  “To make a long story short, I rebelled against them and their lofty plans for me when I finished medical school and they cut me off as a result. They let me stay in the Adams Morgan property because they couldn’t bear the whispers among their colleagues about their only daughter being out on the streets. It was for their own piece of mind, it had nothing to do with me.”

  “And that’s why you started doing dream therapy. It’s something they would never consider respectable,” I conclude. She nods, tears forming in her pretty blue eyes again.

  “It didn’t have the effect I thought it would. I was angry, but I realized I was only hurting myself and started looking into making changes. You met one of them briefly.”

  “Mark?”

  “I only started dating him because he was successful and from a good family. I knew they would approve. I also started looking into a more professional line of work,” she explains with a forced smile.

  “And?”

  “They both worked out equally well.” That’s her way of saying not at all. ”You’ve been chasing this mole for what, two years now? I’ve never been that passionate about anything, at least until you came along. For the first time in my life, I felt like what I was doing actually mattered. That was why I didn’t get out of the car in Ivy City. It was why I didn’t take Maryland up on his offer. It’s why it bothers me so much that my theory was wrong. It’s why I’m going to help you finish it now.”

  I’ve known Tara for less than a week, and she has shown me more support than my fiancée has in the year and a half we’ve been together. What does that say about our relationship? My search for the leak has caused a lot of strain between us, and it has taken its toll. I love Gina and know she’s done her best to try to work through it with me. Now I’m wondering if that’s enough for us to survive whatever happens tomorrow.

  “Is that the only reason?” I ask, wondering if Louisiana was right in what he said about her liking me. The comment causes her to look away and blush a little. I guess I got my answer.

  “It’s the only one that matters,” she responds, forcing a slight smile at the end.

  “Tara, I―”

  “Don’t say anything. It doesn’t need to be said,” she says, standing and walking towards the door. “Dream well, Boston.”

  She switches off the light and exits the room. Yeah, dream well. I take the pills, remove my shirt, and climb under the covers, lying on my back and staring at the ceiling. This sleep aid better be strong, because I’m completely wired. The adrenaline from the events at Colby’s hasn’t dissipated much.

  I’m already starting to feel a little drowsy. He did break out the good stuff. I reach across the bed and retrieve the cell phone from the nightstand. There’s one last thing to do before I close my eyes. I just hope she has her phone turned on.

  .

  ~ chapter 64 ~

  FBI agent zach bruhte

  Remsen pulls the Crown Victoria sedan up outside the townhouse in a very typical Washington, D.C., neighborhood. Tara’s friend’s house isn’t in as nice an area as hers is, but it’s not exactly in the ghetto either. It’s just another quiet night on a sleepy street interrupted by FBI vehicles and the gawkers lining the streets wondering what’s going on.

  We climb out of the beefy sedan, already missing the SUV we totaled down in Maryland. We get to the top of the stairs leading to the front door when we are greeted by one of the agents on the scene. After a brief introduction and exchange of hellos, he gets down to business.

  “We’ve gone through the whole house, sir. They didn’t seem to leave anything behind and we didn’t uncover anything about where they would have gone.”

  “It was a long shot,” I mumble, looking around the living room at the décor. It’s very tastefully decorated.

  “I did talk to the homeowner, Andrea Davis. She and her boyfriend are still vacationing in France. She confirmed that Tara Winters did have a key to the place. She also gave us a few names of friends she might be staying with. We’re running it down now.”

  “She brought them here because she knew the owner was out of the country. Unless any of those other friends are travelling, I wouldn’t expect to find her at any of those places.”

  “We heard about what happened to you and Tom Grimman,” the agent asks. “How’s he doing?”

  “He’ll be fine, just a bump on the head and he should be getting released from the hospital any time now.”

  “I’m glad he’s okay. The chase in Maryland is all over the local news. Police are reporting it as a home invasion and that the unknown suspects fled the scene, evaded capture, and are at large. They didn’t report our involvement or say anything about Hollinger at our request.”

  “Good. The media have enough to talk about these days.”

  “Sir, you know that isn’t going to last long, right? Someone is going to get that scoop.”

  “I know, but we need it to last as long as it can. Director Weisz has already called four times since I got back into the city. The moment this thing goes public, that will change to a call every ten minutes. She’s convinced he’s the mole and wants him found immediately.”

  “Understood, sir. We’ll stay on it,” the agent promises before moving back into the house to talk to his other colleagues.

  “You still don’t think he is?” Remsen asks.

  “I have no idea. I meant what I said to Maryland. Something has been wrong about this whole thing from the beginning. Everybody wants Hollinger’s head on a platter and none of them seem to care if he’s really the traitor or not,” I summarize for my partner.

  “You think they won’t care if he’s the wrong guy?”

  “No. They’ll sweep it under the rug if they’re wrong. All the while, the real traitor could still be deep in one of our intelligence agencies doing real damage to us overseas.”

  Remsen’s cell phone rings and he retrieves it from his pocket. “Remsen,” he says, walking away.

  I think back to all of Boston’s actions since this whole thing started: his unorthodox and violent response to my surveillance at Doctor Winter’s place, the confrontation with Colby in his living room and the chase with me. None of it makes sense if he was the mole leaking classified information, but the world is content to label him as one.

  Boston may be a loose cannon on deck, but he’s not the mole. He’s legitimately trying to figure out who it is. It’s a job we’re supposed to be doing. Even Grimman, who was in charge of the investigation at DIA, is more convinced than ever that Boston is responsible for the leaks. Everyone wants him behind bars, and if he gets killed in the process of capture, even better.

  There’s nothing more I can do here. I can’t stand around twiddling my thumbs while Boston makes his next move. Maybe it’s time to talk to his fiancée again. If she’s been in contact with him …

  “Did anyone run the phone records from here?” I call out.

  “What do you mean?”

  “They aren’t using their cell phones. One of them may have made a call from the house line.”

  “It’s being run now, sir,” an agent tells me.

  “Hey, boss, we’ve got something,” Remsen says, fresh from his call.

  “What is it?”

  “We were checking the sleep centers in the area at your request. None of them had Eugene Hollinger listed as a patient.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  “Yeah, but that just g
ave me an idea. Tara Winters can’t go back home, so maybe she was hanging around wherever they went.”

  “Remsen, you’re an unrecognized genius. Have them call the centers again. Ask if any of them have a Doctor Tara Winters hanging around there.”

  “It’s almost eleven. Won’t they be closed?”

  “They’re sleep centers. I would hope not. If they come up with any numbers from the house phone, cross-reference them with any of those sleep centers or the employees working at any of them,” I order Remsen.

  My cell phone chimes with a text from my pocket. I pull it out and read what it says. You’ve got to be kidding me.

  “Damn,” I grumble.

  “What is it?”

  “Grimman is back at headquarters now. He wants me to come back and debrief him and Director Weisz. Stupid waste of time.”

  “There’s nothing like holding a pointless meeting to impede progress.”

  “Yeah, welcome to the FBI.”

  .

  ~ chapter 65 ~

  Gina Attison

  The eleven p.m. news leads with reports of the fire, murder, and subsequent police chase in suburban Maryland. I sit on the edge of the sofa, watching with my hands holding up my head. It was Boston. It had to be Boston. I stare at the burner phone next to me. Why hasn’t he called?

  “Authorities have identified the house belonging to Colby Washington, a director at the Defense Intelligence Agency,” the reporter tells the camera with the flashing lights of fire trucks and the smoldering house in the background. “They have not disclosed if he was the victim found inside the house, nor have they commented on how that victim perished. They did tell us that the fire appears to have started in the living room and quickly spread to the rest of the house.

  “Residents in the neighborhood have told us they heard something that sounded like gunfire, but police have not confirmed if any shots were fired in the house or in the surrounding area. Reporting from White Plains, Maryland, this is Tony Martinez, Eyewitness News.”