As quickly as he could he moved to the passenger side. He grunted and groaned with fresh pain as he sat down, and she immediately began driving off again.

After a few seconds he coughed out, “Nice ride.”

She looked at him. “It’s stolen. Please do your best not to bleed all over the upholstery.”

He put his hand to his nose and felt the blood there. It had worked its way around his mouth and onto his chin. He wiped it off, then gave her directions to his flat.

As they drove, Court put his earpiece back in his ear and placed a call to Brewer. She answered it after several rings.

Court said, “Violator here. Did I wake you?”

Brewer said, “I’m home. I have to pack for a trip.”

“Odd time for a vacation.”

“This is work. Heading to London soon.”

“Cool, you’re going to come over and be my door kicker?”

“Obviously not. I’m going for the conference.”

“What conference?”

Brewer laughed. “What conference? The annual Five Eyes symposium in Scotland. How can you possibly not know about it?”

Court wiped a fresh drop of blood off his upper lip. “I’m not the kind of employee who gets invited to that sort of shindig. I figure the people who do go drink champagne and pat one another on the back while they send guys like me downrange, first on shitty missions, and then to fix their fuckups.”

“You are such the martyr, Violator,” Brewer said, and Court knew she had a point. He was just bitching because he was annoyed at getting the shit kicked out of him.

But he said, “How the hell are you going to catch the leak at CIA if you’re over here having tea and crumpets?”

“We are working on it.”

“So you keep saying.”

“What about Anthem?”

Court looked to the brunette behind the wheel of the Mini Cooper. “I have her, here with me now.”

“What? Jesus, Violator, you could have led with that one. What did she find in the safe?”

Court glanced over at her. He hadn’t even thought to ask. “Working on it. We’ve been a little busy.”

“Working on it? Just reach over and grab her by the neck and shake her till it falls out.”

“That’s not my style, Brewer.”

“Your style is to shoot them and then scrounge through their body, but I’m not lucky enough to get that out of you tonight.” When she received no reply to this she said, “Put her on.”

Court pulled out his phone and activated the speaker function, moving the call to the phone itself and off the earpiece. He looked to Zoya and said, “It’s for you.”

Zoya sighed a little; for a moment Court didn’t think she would even speak, but then she said, “Hello, Suzanne.”

Brewer’s clipped tone stressed Court out even when she wasn’t talking to him. “Why did you break out of the safe house?”

“Because, for some strange reason, it didn’t feel like a very safe house.”

“Bullshit. I’ve seen the videos, and I talked to William Fields. You were already free of holding when the attack started. You knew it was coming.”

“I did not.”

“Then . . . why did you run?”

“I remembered some unfinished business I needed to attend to.”

“Really? That’s your story?”

“It’s hard to explain.” Court watched as she thought for a moment. He looked for signs of deception on her face, and he thought he saw a slight twitch that made him feel what she was about to say was not the whole truth. “In the pictures of my father’s death you showed me, there was a man standing there. He lives in London. I wanted to come talk to him.”

“You are saying an English solicitor was in Dagestan when your father—”

“I’m not talking about Cassidy. I’m talking about Vladimir Belyakov. You know him?”

Brewer hesitated. “Yes. He wasn’t identified in that photo by DIA. I would remember. He’s now a billionaire over there in London.”

“He was standing right there. I knew him back then, recognized him easily. I came over here, I talked to him, and he led me to Terry Cassidy.”

“For what purpose?”

Zoya paused a long moment, then took the phone from Court’s hand. She hung up the call and handed it back.

“Sorry,” she said as she drove.

Court shrugged. “Don’t be. I do that to her all the time.”

“When we get to your place, when we have you patched up, I will tell you what I know. You can tell Brewer, I don’t care. But I want you to hear this first.”

CHAPTER 33

   Lucas Renfro stood up from the table full of congressmen and aides at the Capitol Grille and shook some hands, waved to others around the restaurant, then headed towards the exit. He was alone, with no protective detail, because even though he was a CIA deputy director, he was in Support and not in Operations, so it was decided he didn’t need the extra security.

This was fine with him. If he did have a couple of Joes on his shoulder it would have been that much harder for him to sneak off to see his mistress tonight before returning to his home in Falls Church.

He could have done it, of this he was sure. He could have ordered the men to wait out in the car while he went up to the apartment he’d rented for their clandestine liaisons, and he could have banged her for hours. His protection detail would not have said a word, because they wouldn’t be there to report marital infidelity; they would be there to keep him alive.

But it was a moot point, because he had no security team, just a mistress, and he had an itching need to see her tonight before going home to his wife.

He’d met the congressmen and staffers during happy hour and then they’d enjoyed a quick bite, so it was only seven fifteen in the evening now. He made his way through the packed restaurant, heading for the door, and he did not notice the fit man with the beard in the blue blazer who stood from the bar and began following him.

Renfro’s car was parked in the private lot just north of the restaurant, and as he walked along in the early throes of dusk he sent a text to Trina to tell her he’d meet her at the apartment in thirty minutes but could only stay a short while. Trina would be there; she could be relied upon to do what Renfro told her to.

She’d left her husband years ago for him, and he’d not left his wife. She belonged to him now, as far as she was concerned.