“You said yourself Gunther Ansell’s coding was world-class,” Mike said.

“I did, Mike, and it was. But to exploit a flaw and get the code in to begin with, you must get into a back door, whether one you create, or one left for emergency access—should something like this ever happen. We mentioned it and now I’m wondering if Juno’s programmers left a back door for their assessment and Andy Tate was smart enough to use it.”

He went quiet again.

It took Savich a few more minutes to navigate the overrun streets to George Washington University Hospital. No Metro, no trains, so the lines at the bus stops were hundreds deep, people standing in the street because the sidewalks were full. A nightmare security risk.

With the electricity off, the hospital looked strangely deserted. Savich parked and put his FBI placard on the dash. As they walked to the front doors, Mike suddenly stopped, turned, whispered to Nicholas, “We’re being watched.”

“Well, yes,” Nicholas said. “I make two cameras on the second and third floors, and a car two rows over in the handicap spot.”

“No trust from our CIA compadres,” Savich said. “It never fails to amaze me.”

“Maybe they’re afraid someone might be coming after Vanessa,” Mike said.

“That’s the more optimistic view,” Savich said.

Vanessa’s uncle, Carlton Grace, waited for them in the lobby. Mike saw the look of Vanessa in his face, the long nose, square jaw, family traits. Where Vanessa was beautiful, though, Grace was homely. Comfortable, sort of wrinkled. A guy you wouldn’t give a second look to walking by on the street. He disappeared.

The perfect look for a spy. Had Vanessa’s father looked the same way?

He introduced himself, shook hands with all three of them. “Thank you for coming. Please don’t ask any questions until we’re inside. The room is clean so we can speak freely.”

Nicholas said, “Why do you have so many eyes on us?”

Grace smiled. “I wasn’t spying on you, Agent Drummond. It’s Matthew Spenser, the man who tried to murder Vanessa. If he found out she’s alive, he could try to finish the job. I have no intention of letting that happen. There is more, of course. Come with me.”

Savich thought that was good to hear, but he didn’t know whether or not to believe him.

Grace led them through oddly lit halls. The generators were running fine; the power didn’t flicker.

They turned a corner and there was Craig Swanson lounging against a wall, arms crossed. His face was bruised and his nose was bridged with white tape. When he saw Nicholas he straightened like a shot.

Nicholas grinned at him like a bandit. So to add insult to injury, you got a real dressing down, didn’t you, mate?

He would swear Mike growled as she passed by. Swanson called out, “Hey, Agent Caine. Good to see you again so soon. No warm hellos for me?”

“Yeah, big hello, Craig. I’d like to belt you, but it looks like you really can’t take much more.”

He automatically touched his fingers to the white tape, then looked at Nicholas once more. “You broke my nose, you flippin’ Brit bastard.”

Nicholas shrugged. “I told you to stop fighting me, mate, gave you lots of chances to back off. It’s your own fault.”

“That’s enough,” Carl Grace said. “Status, Craig?”

The aggression switch flipped off instantly. “Sir, Vanessa is awake and hurting, but holding it together. No one’s come near her who shouldn’t.”

Grace nodded and Swanson knocked once, then opened the door.

Vanessa saw Mike Caine first, blond hair pulled back from her face in a fat ponytail, black biker boots, black pants and jacket, and a nice black eye. From Craig? He’d told her he’d gotten into it with a couple of FBI pussies in New York. But his nose, she’d asked him? Two against one, he’d said. But now she didn’t believe him. Mike Caine could wipe the floor with Craig. And only two days before she’d looked as alive, her stride as confident, ready to take on the world.

“Michaela.” She realized she hadn’t said her name aloud, only thought it—soft sounding, that name. She remembered she’d initially thought Mike Caine was a country bumpkin, but that hadn’t lasted long. What she was, Vanessa had realized, was fierce, committed, and focused. She remembered meeting Mike’s parents, her father a big solid cop with crinkly blue eyes, high up in the Omaha Police Department, and her mom, the Gorgeous Rebecca, Mike had told her she’d always been called. Wow, what a knockout, and Mike was a young version of her. She’d been funny, too, making jokes about how old everything was at Yale, how the bathrooms needed a major overhaul. Odd she’d remember that now.

Mike didn’t appear to have changed at all since Vanessa had seen her last—what was it? Yes, eight years ago at Yale.

Two big men followed her in—one she recognized from Bayway, Nicholas Drummond; the other she’d never seen before. He looked hard as nails and tough, a man who understood his world and controlled it, a man you didn’t cross, if your brain was working.

As for Drummond, she could feel the pull of him, feel the intensity pouring off him, feel his powerful focus on her, no one else in the room. He looked like he’d never back down, and she knew he’d never stop. Look what he’d done to Craig, and Craig was no pushover.

Their faces blurred and she blinked double time until they cleared. She hated the meds but knew without them she’d be whimpering in the fetal position. She had to be strong, she had to focus as much as Drummond, she had to get through this. She wanted to tell them everything, because only then could she let go and rest.

Her uncle closed the door quietly, walked up to her bed, gently took her hand in his. “Nessa, these are the FBI agents I told you were coming. I’ve told them you would try to answer all their questions, but if you can’t go on at any point, we’ll stop immediately, all right?”

She nodded, only a slight movement, but he smiled.

Carl Grace introduced the three of them.

“Special Agent Savich, he’s the head of the CAU—that’s Criminal Apprehension Unit—here in D.C. This gentleman is Special Agent Nicholas Drummond and his partner Special Agent Mike Caine, both of the New York office.”

Vanessa tried to smile at them, but her mouth didn’t want to move. She managed a whisper. “Agent Drummond, I’ve heard of you. As for Mike, hello. How are you?”

“I’m good, Vanessa.” Mike stepped up and took her other hand, gave it a very light squeeze. A thin sheet was pulled up to Vanessa’s neck, but the thick bandage around her chest was a grim reminder of what had happened to her. She looked bruised, Mike thought, through and through, as if her body were still wondering whether or not to keep going. And she looked so very tired, her face nearly as pale as the hospital sheets. Her beautiful red hair was lank around her head. Mike knew the meds were keeping her with them, but only barely.

“So you’ve heard of my partner, have you?”

Vanessa tried for a smile and managed a small one. “I gotta say, Mike, the guy is too hot for his own good. And that cleft in the chin, I’ve always been a sucker for those.” She didn’t say he looked like the predator he was, hard, no-nonsense, probably ate nails for breakfast, like Savich.

“It’s a pleasure, Agent Grace,” Nicholas said. “Mike’s told me a lot about you. As for the hole in my chin, it does make shaving a bother. Are you up for some questions?”

“Yes, there’s so much. Then I’m going to sleep for a month, well, maybe two months.” She closed her eyes for a moment. She hadn’t realized it would hurt so much to talk. Who cared? It was nothing compared to the Mack truck squatting on her chest. She could do this, she had to do this.

58

BISHOP TO F8