Collision

Six in all. Two women, four men. The six of them had never been in the same room together, and he could see them glancing at each other, trying not to study each other overmuch. Trying not to be remembered or to remember.

Jackie stood in the back to the room, arms crossed, wearing sunglasses like he was a bad-ass.

“I’m afraid I bear tragic news. Teach is dead,” Hector said when they had all gathered. He pushed a button on his laptop, which was hooked to a projector. A slightly grainy photo of Teach lying dead on the carpet. He’d snapped the picture with his cell phone when he’d run back to the apartment, knowing proof of her death might be useful.

One of the men rubbed his eyes as though weary. One of the women gasped. The rest were silent.

“Let me assure you that the Cellar continues as it always has. The transition to my leadership will be as seamless as possible. Like you all, I am ex-CIA. I worked in Special Ops as deep cover. I currently run, in my regular life, a private security firm. But I’ve worked with Teach in partnership with the Cellar for the past several years.” It was best, he thought, to weave truth and lie together.

“Who killed her?” one of the men asked.

He clicked another button. Pilgrim’s face appeared on the screen. “She was found dead in an apartment leased to this man. He is a Cellar operative known as Pilgrim. He is also responsible for the deaths of three other Cellar agents.” Pilgrim flashed the file photos of Barker, Green, and De La Pena, one by one, and let the growing anger fill the room. “He killed one in Austin, two in Dallas. This is the most grievous attack on the Cellar in its history, especially coming as it did from within.”

“Why did he turn on us?” one of the women asked.

“For profit. He got bribed by our target.” Hector slicked the words with disdain. “We just came into possession of information about a terrorist group called Blood of Fire being underground here in New Orleans. They are gathered here to launch an attack. We’re going to kill them.” He moved the screen to a detailed map showing a house near the south shore of Lake Pontchartrain, in the Lakeview neighborhood. “Tonight. We move fast because they leave the house tomorrow. We’re not giving these bastards a chance.” He handed them copies of files, photos, of the six young men.

“Why isn’t Homeland handling this, why not just arrest them?” the second woman asked.

“We haven’t fed the information to Homeland. The terrorists know about us from Pilgrim. We don’t want the terrorists captured and talking about us. They go in the ground. All of them.”

The phone rang. He glanced at the number display. “Excuse me. Study the maps of the locale and of the house. This is a fairly straightforward operation, but I welcome your suggestions.” He displayed tactical maps on the screen, stepped into the other room, shut the door, and answered the phone.

It was Margaret Pritchard. “We have a problem,” she said.

He wanted to say, Then solve it, but she still believed the only agenda at work here was hers. “Yes, Margaret?”

“Two of the people from the covert group-I’m told they call it the Cellar-took one of my agents and her plane and they’re in New Orleans. One of them, Choate, offered a deal to tell everything he knows about the Cellar to us, but he and his partner ran once they got here. They wanted me to tell you they were being held for questioning by Homeland. I’m wondering why they’d make that request, why they’d want you to believe they were out of the loop.”

Hector stayed calm. Pilgrim didn’t know the location of the safe house; only Teach had. But did he know the target, would he try to interfere? He couldn’t know. He couldn’t.

“You should know serious allegations about you are being made by one of my agents, Sam. I think you’ve done a wonderful job in flushing out these people, but we have to find the rest of them and I want to talk to you about your methods.”

“Is this Agent Vochek? Is she the one they, um, kidnapped?” He remembered the name of the woman who’d called him in Dallas; he’d never returned her message. She’d been in a plane with Pilgrim and Forsberg. He wondered what had been said, what deal might be struck between them and this Vochek woman. This was a disaster for him.

Goddamn Nicky Lynch, missing Pilgrim when he had the chance to kill him. If he’d only shot him and Jackie planted the photos-then Pilgrim would be dead, Ben Forsberg would be under suspicion for having ties to a dead rogue CIA agent, with evidence pointing back to his wife’s murder planted on the dead agent’s body. A millimeter was making a huge difference in his life right now.

“Yes. She’s here with me now. I’m not sharing her allegations with anyone, and I’ve asked her to keep quiet for now. But, Sam, I have serious concerns…”

“Margaret. I know it’s late, but I can come over now and we can sort this out. You’re at your usual suite?”

“Yes,” she said.

“I’ll see you shortly.”