Nemesis (FBI Thriller #19)(72)
Basara nodded, his face serious, his demeanor solemn as a hanging judge’s. He had the look of an aesthete, Sherlock thought. “As well it should, Mr. Atterley. No sense tripping all over ourselves to avoid saying the obvious. In the short term, we must tighten our security measures, do our best to find the fanatics responsible. But that is only a partial solution. Much of this hatred is fueled by our own actions, our own omissions. I have argued for years that the key to fighting terrorism is to remove its economic causes, and that means providing more economic opportunities for our own disaffected Muslim minorities, and even more critical, providing far more focused and abundant economic aid to those governments we can work with in the regions of the world that are the wellsprings of this hatred for us.” He looked down at his fisted hand. “Until then, I have no hope we can put all this behind us, that we can, in fact, ever achieve a meaningful and lasting peace.”
There was a moment of stark silence. Roland Atterley cleared his throat but managed not to roll his eyes. “Some, shall I say, of the more enlightened members of our society—”
Cal’s cell buzzed “Born Free,” which got him an incredulous look from Kelly.
“McLain.”
“Savich. Tell me exactly what you guys are up to, Cal, and don’t even think of leaving anything out.”
“We’re hunkered down for the night now in the house the FBI picked out for us in Brooklyn, watching some big-time Arab economist on the BBC expound on why we’re all responsible for the terrorist attacks.” He paused. “Don’t worry, Savich, we ain’t gonna let anything happen to Sherlock tonight. All is good.”
“I’m depending on you, Cal. Keep her safe.”
“Has MAX made any progress on finding Hercule?”
“No luck yet with that name online or on the deep Web as either a moniker or a nickname. We’ll keep trying.”
When Cal punched off, he looked at Sherlock, who’d been waiting for him to hand over his cell. He grinned at her, shook his head. “Your husband only wanted to remind me my neck’s on the line if anything happens to you. So let’s take great care, all right?”
Kelly laughed. “Well, I guess a husband who’s your boss at the FBI is better than a hysterical civilian cursing us for keeping you here, Sherlock. Sorry, Cal, the interview’s over and we missed the big wrap-up. Lights out in five minutes, everyone. Cal, alas, you get the sofa. There are blankets in the hall closet and I even saw a couple of pillows. You can take the bathroom first, Sherlock and I are going to share.”
Showering with a woman brushing her teeth not two feet away was a new experience, but Sherlock really needed that shower. As she washed her hair, she prayed a very simple prayer. Keep me and my family safe.
It was past midnight. Kelly and Sherlock spoke quietly as they sat in the dark in the small bedroom, both wearing jeans and sweatshirts, since they had no idea if anything would happen. But if it did, neither wanted to get caught in a firefight in her pajamas.
Candle Street was quiet, only the occasional sound of a car driving by. The air in the bedroom was still, with the scent of stale cigar smoke. Kelly waved her hand in front of her nose. “They should have sprayed after they let Butchy Remis stay here. He’s a low-class hood who turned on his bosses. I remember those cigars.”
“Part of the extravagant lifestyle we signed up for at the Bureau,” Sherlock said, stretching. “You could be home in bed. So could I, for that matter. Do you ever regret signing up?”
“I always knew I wanted to be some kind of cop. I’ve got cop blood, as Cal put it, what with a dad and granddad in law enforcement. But I was kind of coasting, not really settled on a major. You’re young and having fun and wondering what life is going to bring to you. Well, one night life brought me two local creeps who thought it would be cool to hassle a student coming out of the library. Maybe they were thinking rape, but they never admitted that. Mrs. Otis, one of the campus security guards at Northwestern, took them both on, arrested them herself. She told me I had to learn to protect myself unless I expected her to trail me around. I signed up for martial-arts training the next day. Turned out both of Mrs. Otis’s sons were FBI agents. She said she wished she’d made the same choice when she was young enough to have the chance.
“We’d have coffee and I met her sons, talked to them about what they did. They were impressive. As I told Cal, one day I woke up and that was it. I’d be in the FBI. Did you join up before you met your husband, Sherlock?”
Sherlock remembered the now-blurred pain, finally at a blessed distance. She said only, “I joined up to catch my sister’s killer, and oddly enough, Dillon and I did. I discovered it was my calling then and never looked back. Did Cal tell you why he became an agent?”
Your sister’s killer? Kelly wanted to know what this was all about, but it was obvious Sherlock didn’t want to give her any specifics. She said, “I know it all had to do with Nine-Eleven and how an eighteen-year-old boy responded to it.”
“Yes, that was a big part of it. He also lost an uncle fighting Al Qaeda after the first Gulf War.”
So he’d told her some, but not about his uncle. He’d been little more than a boy then. “Ah, Sherlock,” she said, “Cal’s not seeing anyone currently, is he?”
“Not unless it just happened. I expect Dillon or I would have heard it floating around the CAU.” She grinned in the dark, even though she knew Kelly couldn’t see it. “The CAU is like a big, clear Olympic pool—even if you try to sink something under the surface, most everyone still sees it.”