Collision

“You and me. We’re taking Pilgrim out.”

“I can handle it. Without help.” Jackie felt reinvigorated from the night; he’d gotten Teach to talk, a necessary job done right. His father would have been proud of him.

“I need to get back into the field.”

“I thought you just supervised.”

“Every manager should get his hands dirty now and then,” Hector said.

“Why bring Teach with us? Lock her up here.”

“I have a lot of guards here, and I don’t want to leave her behind. Where she might be discovered by my people.” A pause.

“Sure,” Jackie said with a nod and a half smile.

“I’ll pull the car up close to the house. Get her ready. I just need to get one thing before we go. In case Ben is there.”

Ben tapped the keys on Pilgrim’s laptop. He wrote a detailed report of every contract he’d helped Sam Hector win. As far as he knew, nothing in the deals was illegal-but certainly, elements of the contracts might raise watchdog eyebrows, in terms of timing, lack of competition, or inexact wording that might favor Hector more than other vendors. Most businesses in the real world hoped to make a profit; Hector Global worked a guaranteed profit, sometimes up to 15 percent, into every deal with the government. Charges that cost the company eighteen dollars were billed to the government at eighty. A number of contracts had been virtually no-bid; Hector’s only invited competitors were firms that were too small actually to do the work, rendering the competition moot. There had been delays in services rendered, with no delay in payment.

Ben put his face in his hands and took a long breath. He’d helped create this monster. And now-with contracts imperiled, with funding drying up-what would the monster do to survive? His work and smart counsel had helped Sam Hector win deals, made Hector richer and more powerful, with a grasping reach into every agency that surpassed that of senior elected officials.

Pilgrim came into the room, loading a clip into his gun. “I’m leaving. I want to scope out the site thoroughly before I meet her.”

“I hope you come back,” Ben said.

“If I don’t…”

“Then I’ll find a way to bring him down.”

“I would rather eliminate him with a bullet than a spreadsheet.”

“Whatever works.” Ben stood. “Good luck.” He offered Pilgrim his hand and Pilgrim shook it. He left without another word.

Ben sat down to finish his brain-dump on the laptop. He wrote every conversation he could remember with Hector regarding work for Homeland. Writing was peace, a return to normalcy, from the chaos of the past two days. But his shot arm began to ache with the typing. Now he just needed to compile a group of people to send it to-representatives and senators and State and Defense officials who didn’t much care for the contracting business-and convince them to take him seriously.

Since he was currently a fugitive, that would be difficult.

He got up, went to the kitchen, got a glass of water, needing to stretch his legs. He wanted to think.

Pilgrim’s sketchbook lay on the counter; a clear sign that he expected to return.

Ben picked it up. He was tempted to page through the drawings again but it felt like a violation. But he didn’t like leaving it where it might be forgotten if he had to leave quickly. He stuck the small black book in his shirt pocket.

He took his water and went to the window. The day had grown cloudy, gray skies the color of worn chains. He scanned the parking lot. Nothing odd. The construction crews weren’t working this Saturday on the massive construction next door; he heard the soft calming whisper of the wind.

As he closed the curtain and turned away from the window, a Lincoln Navigator turned into the lot.

He glanced at his watch. Pilgrim should be at the soccer fields by now. He decided to write down the list of people who were Hector’s political enemies and then find Internet access so he could start e-mailing them. He finished his water, refilled the cup.

A sound from the front door. A scrape. The lock clicked, being forced, and then the door was open, Jackie entering, gun out in front of him, sweeping the room, finding Ben.

“Hands on head and get down!” Jackie ordered. “Oh, this is going to be good, man. Seriously.”

Ben obeyed. His gun was still under his pillow on the futon. No way to get to it.

The door slammed closed. He kept his face to the gritty kitchen tile. He heard rapid movement through the apartment: Jackie seeing if Pilgrim lay in wait in the bedroom. He started to crawl for the futon and then Jackie was back in the bedroom doorway, gun aimed at him.

“I don’t get to rough your face up,” Jackie said. “But I’m still going to hurt you.” He leaned down and pulled the cell phone from Ben’s pants pocket, tucked it into his dark jacket. He was dressed in black, with black cowboy boots. His face was braced with a nose guard and bandages.

“Clear,” Jackie called to the other side of the door.

Sam Hector stepped inside, holding a woman in front of him. She was fiftyish, graying hair, a generous mouth, haunted blue eyes.

“Sam…,” Ben started.