WASHINGTON, D.C.
When Naomi woke, her return to the world was a gradual process. First she had a sense of shadows spread across the ceiling, separated only by fine threads of yellow light. As she gained a sense of her surroundings— a hospital? —the light seemed to bleed into the dark patches, so that she soon became aware of the faces staring down at her. She read them carefully as her vision cleared.
When she saw concern and not dread in their eyes, she felt relief wash through her body.
Ryan took her hand as Harper went to look for a nurse. “Naomi, can you hear me?”
She tried to speak, but her throat was dry and she wasn’t altogether there yet. “Mmmm.”
“You’re going to be fine,” he assured her. “You took two rounds, but the vest caught both of them. I wouldn’t move around for a little while, though. It’s going to hurt.”
Sure enough, she felt a crushing pain in her chest when she tried to sit up. Ryan eased her head back onto the pillow and smoothed her hair. “Jesus, I just told you not to move,” he said in quiet exasperation. “I don’t believe you sometimes. If I told you not to run into traffic, you’d probably do it just to spite me.”
She smiled weakly. “How long have I been out?”
“About three hours. How do you feel?”
She tested her limbs and winced. “Sore. Can I have some water?”
As Ryan went to fill a cup from the sink, she said, “When can I go home?”
“We’re waiting to see,” he replied gently. He handed her the cup.
“Try to get some rest.” He squeezed her hand as she drank. Harper reentered the room, followed soon thereafter by a harried-looking nurse. The young woman proceeded to check Naomi’s vital signs as Ryan pulled the deputy director toward the door.
Once they were in the hall, he leveled Harper with angry eyes.
“What the fuck was she doing on that raid, John?”
“She’s a grown woman,” Harper responded quietly. “She wanted the chance and I gave it to her. Besides, you’re in no position to question me, Ryan, not after the shit you pulled with Elgin.”
The younger man looked away and tried to calm himself. Anger wouldn’t help him here, and he knew it. “What was in the apartment?” he finally asked.
“Not much, but it’s early yet. We’re still trying to ID the occupants.
The landlord had names, of course, but they were meaningless. It would have been nice to take one of them alive. The Bureau found a cell phone, still intact but cloned. We probably won’t get anything useful out of that. The outgoing calls were deleted. There was a laptop, too, but someone put a half dozen rounds into it when the shooting began.” Harper leaned back against the wall and rubbed his eyes. “It wasn’t a good trade, Ryan. HRT lost four operators with another one on the way out. The SAC got clipped as well. We didn’t get shit in return. The Bureau’s in an uproar; that’s two of their top guys on the East Coast dead inside of a month. The only positive thing is that we’ve been able to throw the press off track. They’re carrying it as a high-risk arrest warrant that went bad.”
“There was no kind of documentation anywhere in the apartment? I find that hard to believe.”
“Well, believe it,” Harper said. “They knew what they were doing.”
A thoughtful expression came over his face. “I’m interested in the woman. You know how the Iranian hard-liners feel about women in general. They would only use one if it was absolutely necessary.
Whatever she was doing for them must have been special. The landlord said these two landed on her doorstep about six months ago, so we’ll have people checking immigration records from early in the year. If they were meant to be long-term sleepers, they would have burrowed right in. It would have been Tehran to Western Europe, to break up the trail, then on to Washington. There’s a good chance we’ll pick them out sooner or later.”
Ryan looked up. “What makes you so sure they were Iranian?”
“Naomi said she heard them calling out to each other in Farsi when the shooting started.”
“That only narrows it down, John. Farsi is spoken in Afghanistan, Iraq, Bahrain . . . They could have been from just about anywhere in the Middle East.”
The DDO frowned impatiently. “Given recent developments, Ryan, I think it’s safe to say they weren’t Iraqis. This lead originated with Shakib, remember?”
“Yeah . . .” Kealey sighed heavily. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Harper was looking at him curiously. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Nothing.” He realized he had snapped out the answer. “What now?”
Harper was still staring at him. “They’ll be discharging Naomi in an hour or two,” he finally said. “The Bureau’s supposed to be faxing the apartment inventory over to Langley, so I want to get back and take a look. Can you wait for her?”
“Yeah, I’ll wait.” Ryan rubbed his face wearily. He was tired, and he didn’t want to sit around for an hour or two and brood about Katie, but he couldn’t leave Naomi alone in the hospital. “Not a problem. I have some things to think about anyway.”
Harper nodded and clapped a hand lightly on Kealey’s shoulder.
As he began to walk away, Ryan hesitated, then called out to him.
Jonathan turned. “Yeah?”
“About the woman who shot Naomi . . .”
Harper shook his head slowly. “It wasn’t Naomi who got her.
Naomi managed to get off a few rounds but missed. It was one of the Bureau guys.”
“Okay . . . thanks.”
“You bet.”
As Harper was walking away again Ryan felt something lift from his shoulders. It was the last thing Naomi needed right now, to live with that burden. He was glad she wouldn’t have to.
He went back in to wait for her.