Trudy nodded. He was involved in taking down that plane. Maybe in a small way, maybe in a large way. At the very least, he had prior knowledge the attack was coming. Now hes leaving.
I was just at the White House, Luke said.
Trudys eyes flashed something. Luke couldnt tell what it was.
It was a Situation Room meeting. There was a general there from the Joint Special Operations Command. He said they think this plane crash was a prelude to something larger, and was maybe even designed as a decoy. Could Boudiaf be leaving because the next attack happens here?
Wouldnt you like to know? Trudy said.
Luke nodded. Lets pick him up. Can we get an assist from local law enforcement?
Trudy shook her head. Her hair bobbed the slightest amount. Not a chance. Too risky. The Baltimore PD is trying to live down a lot of bad publicity right now. Theres no way well get an arrest warrant based on what we have, especially not at a moments notice. So the cops up there wont touch this its exactly the kind of thing that if played wrong, looks like a human rights violation.
Well, lets play it right then. How many people in Boudiafs house?
Seven.
Lukes shoulders slumped. Seven people?
Trudy nodded and raised her eyebrows. Boudiaf has a young wife and a five-year-old daughter. He has an adult son from a previous marriage, who lives in the house with his own wife and young son. And Boudiafs adult nephew lives there, too.
So two children live in the house? Luke said.
Yes, and theyll probably be home today because of the snow.
Luke rolled his eyes. Terrific. Plus two other adult males.
Yes, Trudy said.
What do we suppose Boudiaf is doing right now? Luke said.
Given the late hours he tends to keep, we suppose hes sleeping.
Then lets get on it. If you dont mind, give Swann a kick in the butt for me and get him in here.
* * *Big effort here. Big effort. Nows the time, and you are the man.
Ed Newsam lay on his back under the bench press machine. His tree trunk legs were draped in black sweatpants, and a black T-shirt hugged his broad chest. Words were stenciled across the T-shirt in white lettering: THE BEATINGS WILL CONTINUE. Once upon a time, the saying used to go The beatings will continue until morale improves, but Eds morale was doing just fine.
His MP3 player pumped old Public Enemy through expensive earphones. His body was soaked in early morning sweat hed been in here since 6:30. And he had the bench machine set to 380. One good rep, thats all he asked. Better than good pure, perfect, no hesitation on the press up, and nice, long, negative resistance on the way down. Something to get the sweat exploding out of his pores.
Show me what you got, he said to no one but himself, and pushed the bar. The weight slid upward, inch by inch. He held it for a second at the top, then began his slow descent. His arms trembled crazily. His wrists creaked like they would snap in half. The veins in his arms bulged. He could feel the blood rushing into his head it felt like his brain might explode.
Finally, he let it go the weight came down with a crash of metal.
Beautiful.
Ed was changing his lifestyle. His recent trip to Iran with Luke Stone had scared him a little bit. He and Stone had nearly died half a dozen times. Ed didnt want to die he wanted to live to see his two daughters grow up. But he was thirty-six years old, and not getting any younger. He hadnt mentioned it to anyone, but the truth was there: he had felt old and slow on that mission.
And yet, he didnt want to give up being in the field. During his time on the FBI Hostage Rescue Team, they had started using him as a trainer and a supervisor, rather than an agent and an operator. That was a wrong turn.
This this was a right turn.
Right after the holidays, he had cut back on, and then cut out, the bread and pasta and the apples pies and the cookies. He had broken up with his first true love, McDonalds they just werent seeing eye to eye anymore. And he had committed to getting in here to the gym before work at least three days a week. His workouts had always been brutal. Now they were approaching monstrous.
He loved it here.
He loved being back on the Special Response Team, and loved what they had done with the old place under Stones leadership. The gym was brand spanking new, and had everything Ed needed, from combat ropes to pull-up racks to a 400-pound squat machine to a heavy bag. If he got in here early enough, he often had the place to himself.
The energy of the new SRT had Ed feeling an enthusiasm he hadnt experienced in a while. And Stone seemed as jazzed as Ed. Gone were the beard and the Wildman haircuts. Gone were the haunted eyes and the pained expressions.
Luke had never let himself go physically he was always tip-top in that regard, better than a man in his forties had any right to expect. His resistance to physical aging seemed almost superhuman. But Stones collapsing marriage, his divorce, and then his ex-wifes death, had sent him into a psychological wilderness, and for a while it seemed like he might never return.
But now he was back. And he was on fire. It was a good thing. Stones commitment gave Ed the confidence he needed to invest himself in this organization. The SRT would not survive without Stone one hundred percent dialed in, and thats where Stone was right now. When Ed had agreed to take this job, Stone had promised him he wouldnt go off grid again, and so far he had been as good as his word.
Think of the devil, and he will appear, Ed said.
Stone had just walked into the gym. He strode across the new rubber flooring, making a bee line for Ed. Stone was clean shaven and sported a crew cut on his head. His eyes were sharp and alert. He wore tan slacks and a dress shirt, cinched with an actual tie. The tie had a caricature of John Lennon on it Stone was even developing a signature fashion style. He wore business attire to work, but the ties were often whimsical, and sometimes they were plain ridiculous.
Stone smiled and said something to Ed.
Ed took his headphones off. Sorry? I didnt hear you.
Stone shook his head. I said, what are you shouting at?
Ed smirked. No you didnt.
Stone laughed. Come on, man. Buy you a coffee? We have a lot to talk about.
* * *Hows the girls? Luke said.
They were sitting in the SRTs full-service, two-meal-a-day cafeteria. The cafeteria was Lukes idea he felt that having on-site food available would tend to get people in here earlier in the morning, and keep them here at lunch. If people were inside SRT headquarters when they ate, and even when they worked out, things would happen ideas would spark, connections would be made. Thats what Luke wanted from his people.
So far, the idea was working exactly as planned. Today was a heavy snow day, and it was only 7:30. Even so, the room was already bustling with a handful of eager beavers, getting their breakfast.
Ed shrugged. Good. Growing up too fast. He was slouched in his chair, still in his workout clothes, stirring organic coconut oil into his coffee instead of creamer.
Cassandras got me jumping through hoops to see them, but what else is new? Its nothing I cant handle. She petitioned the court to have me reveal my whereabouts at all times. I told them my whereabouts were often classified information, and thankfully the judge took my side on that one.