Collision

She reached for the radio and asked air traffic for an emergency patch to Homeland Security. Three minutes later Margaret Pritchard was on the line.

“Agent Vochek.”

“Here. With Mr. Choate and Mr. Forsberg.”

“Please repeat.”

“Mr. Choate and Mr. Forsberg have surrendered and are in my protective custody.”

“Understood.”

“We want to deal, Ms. Pritchard,” Pilgrim said. “We can give your office everything it needs on the biggest covert group in the government. But we get to fly to New Orleans, no problems. That’s what Vochek wants and what we want.”

“I’ll make sure your way to New Orleans is cleared,” Pritchard said, resignation in her tone.

“Thank you, Margaret,” Vochek said.

“One thing,” Ben said quickly. “Part of the deal. You tell Sam Hector that we’ve surrendered to Homeland Security and are being questioned by you in a secure location. The media and the Dallas police don’t know.”

The silence went on so long they thought she’d disconnected the line. “Why do I need to feed him a lie?” Pritchard asked.

Ben gave Vochek a pleading look. “We have some serious evidence against Hector,” Vochek said. “It would be best for now if he believes these two pose no threat to him.”

“I understand.” The line to Pritchard clicked off, and the only noise from the radio was traffic chatter, directions for Pilgrim to rise to a certain altitude. “Will she lie to him?” Ben asked.

“I don’t like that she didn’t give us an assurance,” Vochek said. Ben and Vochek, sitting in the back of the plane, leaned back in their seats. Texas slowly unfolded beneath them as the sunlight began to die. Exhaustion claimed Ben-he hurt all over his body-and he closed his eyes.

He heard Vochek say, “Why?”

“Why what?” Pilgrim asked.

“Why the Cellar? Why was it created?”

“I don’t know.”

“You joined it and you never asked?”

“Ignorance has its advantages. They didn’t hire me for my brains.”

“Don’t,” she said. “You killed for the CIA. And then for the Cellar.”

“Yes. More stole and spied than killed.”

She went quiet and the hum of the engines became like a blanket. Ben thought of Emily; she hated flying, never would have set foot in a small plane.

“Killed, stole, spied. Which did you do the most?” she asked.

“Does it matter?” Pilgrim said.

“You only killed the bad,” she said. Ben could feel the tension coming off her in waves. One did not normally banter with a man who murdered.

“I killed,” Pilgrim said, “and it’s all bad. I had to train myself not to vomit after I killed. But I won’t feel one second of regret for killing Hector.”

“If Hector is guilty,” Vochek said, “and I’m not saying he is, by any means-you can’t kill him. We need him alive.”

“I’m not terribly interested in what you need. I’m telling you what’s going to happen.”

“You’re not working for this Cellar anymore.”

“I don’t work for you, either.”

She poked Ben with her finger. “Open your eyes. Tell me why Hector would risk this takeover of a covert group.”

Ben considered. “A man like Hector only risks his business to save his business. So whatever he’s doing, it has to be something that helps him maintain his bottom line. He’s had a lot of deals lost, a lot of contracts shuttled away from him. He told me a few days ago he’s in the business of making fear go away. So maybe he needs fear to be back in a big way.”

They fell silent as Texas passed beneath them and Louisiana appeared. Ben closed his eyes, exhausted, dozed. He dreamed of Emily, of the soft pressure of her hand in his. Peaceful and quiet. He awoke with a jerk at Pilgrim’s words: “There’s another plane coming up fast on us.”

37

Ben pressed his face to the window. “It’s not a fighter jet,” he said. “It’s a private jet, but bigger than ours.”

Vochek said, “They’re too close.”

“Wait a sec,” Pilgrim said, and he pulled the earphone plug so the radio could be heard in the cabin.

“This is Pritchard. The plane will escort you to New Orleans Lakefront Airport. Upon arrival, you will toss out any weapons, leave the plane, hands on head, and then you will lie flat on the tarmac. Do you understand?”

“Understood,” Pilgrim said. “Thanks for the escort.” He clicked off the line.

“It’s just a precaution,” Vochek said. “You’ve been rogue for ten years. They just want to make sure you behave.”

“Or make sure they control us,” Ben said.

“After they kill me,” Pilgrim said, “they’ll either promote you as a reward, or kill you because you know too much.” Vochek started to shake her head and Pilgrim held up a hand. “Watch your back. At least until the ink’s dry on your promotion.”

“You’re paranoid.”

“Tell me,” Ben said, “what was going to be the end result of finding all the illicit groups like the Cellar?”

“Shut them down. They’re not accountable.”

“Right. And then what? Trials for all the participants and those who gave them their orders, a public spectacle, the dirtiest laundry of our government aired for the world to see? Or was the shutdown going to be discreet? You’d have to find a way to shut everyone up.”

“We certainly weren’t going to eliminate people.”