In the Grey (52 page)

“
You’ll need some
antibiotic and a stitch or two,” Patrick said. “We’ll get it when
we’re on base. We need to get going. The police will be here
any . . .”

“
DCPD. Open up,” a knock
came at the door. “Senator Hargreaves? Everyone all right in
there?”

Ben closed the bathroom
door.

“
Officer,” Patrick opened
the door.

“
We have a report of
shots,” the DCPD said.

“
Yes, officer,” Patrick
let the DCPD uniformed officer inside. “Just a few stray bullets
through the window.”

The DCPD officer went to
the window to look.

“
You’ve been
here . . .”

“
Fifteen minutes,” Patrick
said. “Probably less.”

The officer
nodded.

“
Where’s your security
detail?” the DCPD officer asked.

“
I hate traveling with
them,” Patrick said.

“
I’ve heard that about
you,” the DCPD officer said. “You know how this works,
sir.”

“
Yes, officer,” Patrick
said. “We were planning on showering and getting on our
way.”

Ben came out of the
bathroom dressed in the clothing that had been
delivered.

“
Let’s see that you do
that,” the DCPD officer said. “We’ll call this
a . . .”

“
Drive-by,” Patrick
suggested.

“
On the twelfth floor,”
the DCPD officer said. “Sure. You wouldn’t know anything about a
suicide over at DARPA, would you?”

“
DARPA? No,” Patrick shook
his head. He glanced at Eoin and Cian who shrugged.
“Ben?”

“
Not a thing,” Ben
said.

“
Who died?” Patrick
asked.

“
Dr. Cameron Singer,” the
DCPD officer said. “Know him?”

“
Gosh, I haven’t seen
Singer in . . . ten years? Maybe more,” Patrick
said. “Ben?”

Ben gave a noncommittal
shrug. The officer looked at Cian and Eoin. He raised his
eyebrows.

“
Green cards?” the officer
asked.

“
Of course,” Eoin
said.

“
We’re legal as can be,”
Cian said. “Some Yank shoots at us – probably some bloody Proddie
with a grudge – and here you are, blaming the victims.”

“
Yes, the victims of a
twelfth-story drive-by shooting,” the officer said.

Cian raised an eyebrow and
looked indignant. Three men in ugly blue suits stepped into the
room from the hallway. Patrick went to speak with them.

“
FB flippin’ I,” the DCPD
uniformed officer said under his breath. “You want to
go . . .”

“
Actually,” Ben smiled.
“We’d prefer it if you took us to Bolling.”

“
Me?” the DCPD officer
asked.

“
If that’s all right with
you,” Ben said.

“
Sure,” the DCPD officer
said. “Looks like they’re taking over the scene anyway.”

Ben hustled Cian and Eoin
to where Patrick was chatting with the FBI agents.

“
We need to go, sir,” Ben
said.

“
I apologize,” Patrick
said. “My son and daughters are in the hospital. We need to get
home.”

“
Of course,” the FBI
special agent in charge said. “I know how to reach you.”

“
Thank you,” Patrick
said.

The DCPD officer gave the
FBI special agent in charge a wry look and led them out the door.
They managed to leave the suite with their trash bags full of
clothing. They were in the elevator before the DCPD officer
spoke.

“
Actually, sir,” the DCPD
officer said. “I heard you were in town. I was on my way over here
when the call came in.”

“
Why here?” Patrick
asked.

“
You stay here when you’re
in town,” the DCPD officer shrugged.

“
Obviously, a lot of
people know that,” Patrick smiled.

“
Um, okay,” the police
officer said. “I came because I’m a friend of your daughter’s, sir.
I heard she had some trouble and was in the hospital.”

“
You know Alex?” Ben
asked.

“
I know of Alex, sir. Who
doesn’t?” the DCPD uniformed officer nodded. “Samantha helped me
out of a jam when I was in the Navy. As crazy as it sounds, I was
actually in the wrong place at the worst time. She was my JAG,
saved my keister and my commission. We named our second daughter
Samantha after her. I guarded her when she testified last summer –
you know, in that trial. She’s good people.”

Patrick smiled.

“
How is she?” the DCPD
officer asked.

“
She’s going to be just
fine,” Patrick said.

“
That’s a real relief,
sir,” the DCPD officer said. “I’m glad.”

The elevator stopped at
the bottom floor.

“
Now let’s get you to
Bolling,” the DCPD officer said.

They followed him out of
the hotel and into his car. Between Patrick’s VIP power, and Ben’s
military intelligence muscle, they were on a plane back to Denver
within the hour. Eoin and Cian sat a few seats away. Patrick used
the plane time to read through Dr. Singer’s journal. Ben leafed
through the files Eoin had taken.

“
Did you think Cam
would . . . ?” Ben asked Patrick in a low
voice.

“
No,” Patrick replied in
the same low tone. “I saw him put the pen in his pocket. It
registered to watch it, but I never thought he would use it to kill
himself.”

“
Pretty brutal,” Ben
said.

“
And jerk out of my
hands?” Patrick asked. “Never in a million years would I have
imagined such a thing. You?”

Ben shook his
head.

“
Makes me wonder why it’s
better to die than to talk,” Patrick said.

“
I’m stuck on the ‘joke’s
on you,’” Ben said.

“
Mean anything to you?”
Patrick asked.

Ben shook his
head.

“
I looked it up,” Patrick
said.

“
And?”

“
Nothing,” Patrick
said.

“
What’s weird to me is
that they both said it as they died,” Ben said.

“
Like a mantra or a
religious statement,” Patrick nodded. “Like offering up your
suffering to Christ or whatever.”

“
Maybe it doesn’t mean
anything,” Ben said.

Patrick turned to look at
Ben, who shrugged.

“
It’s as good an answer as
any,” Ben smiled.

Patrick
chuckled.

“
I’m sure it’s occurred to
you,” Ben said.

“
What?” Patrick
asked.

“
The cleaners were there
for Eoin,” Ben said.

Patrick gave a curt
nod.

“
We’re going to have to
watch him,” Ben said.

“
He’s been through a lot
of scrapes,” Patrick nodded.

“
They both have,” Ben
said. “They have the luck of the Irish.”

“
That’s what I’m afraid
of,” Patrick said.

“
How so?”

“
The Titanic was built in
Belfast, not far from where they were born.”

Ben glanced at Patrick,
and then at Cian and Eoin. He raised an eyebrow and
nodded.

“
You’ll figure something
out?” Ben asked.

“
It won’t do much good if
we can’t figure out what the hell is going on.”

Ben glanced at Patrick’s
worried face.

“
We’ll figure this whole
thing out,” Ben said with more confidence than he felt.

Patrick looked at him and
nodded. They flew the rest of the way in worried
silence.

FFFFFF

One day later

Saturday
morning

November 27 – 9:06 a.m.
CST (10:06 a.m. EST)

Federal Medical Center,
Carswell, Texas

The Mister waited for the
guard to open the door to the interview room. The Federal Medical
Center was the only maximum-security federal prison for women in
the United States. It was also a psychiatric hospital. Through the
tiny window, he saw Niamh Kelly-Mac Kinney for the first time.
Her head bowed over her clasped hands. She looked like a nun. When
the guard pushed the door open, Neev’s head didn’t move.

The Mister stepped into
the room.

“
I’ll be right outside,”
the guard said. “There’s a call button if you need a
doctor.”

The Mister tilted his head
in a kind of nod. He waited for the guard to lock the door. He held
up his briefcase.

“
There’s a file in here
that’s supposed to tell me everything I need to know about you,
Mrs. Mac Kinney,” the Mister said.

“
Why don’t you go fuck
yourself?” Neev said in Belfast Gaelic.

“
Because I’ve come a very
long way to spend the day talking to you,” the Mister replied in
Belfast Gaelic. Surprised, Neev looked at him for the first time.
“I’ll probably fuck myself tomorrow, if that’s all right with
you.”

She gave him a sly
smile.

“
Her Majesty’s Secret
Service?” Neev asked.

She’d continued in Belfast
Gaelic, so he did as well.

“
Right now, I happen to be
the person who can either improve your situation or send you to a
black hole for the rest of your life.” The Mister shrugged. “It’s
really up to you.”

“
What do you want to
know?” Neev asked. “My name is Niamh Kelly-Mac Kinney. I am
the second child of Brigid McGee and Ronan Kelly.”

She lifted a shoulder in a
shrug and returned to looking at her hands.

“
There isn’t much else,”
Neev said.

“
Where’s Jack?” the Mister
asked.

For the briefest second,
Neev’s eyes echoed gut-wrenching pain. She blinked at the Mister.
He counted. One blink, two blinks, three blinks before her eyes
settled to even. She shrugged.

“
Fiddledeedee,” the Mister
said.

Neev’s head flicked up to
look at him. He walked to the table and pulled out the chair across
from her. He waited a moment before sitting down.

“
Fiddledeedee,” Neev said
in English.

“
The fly has married the
bumblebee,” the Mister replied in English.

Neev blinked. One blink,
two blinks, three blinks and her eyes cleared. She furrowed her
brow for control and clasped her hands. She bowed her head. Her
lips moved as she silently said what looked like
“
Ár nArthair
,”
the “Our father” prayer in Irish Gaelic.

“
Do you know where you
are?” the Mister asked in Belfast Gaelic.

She shook her
head.

“
Where’s Jack, Neevie?”
the Mister asked.

“
Don’ know,” Neev said in
heavily accented English. “I woke up one morn’, and he was gone. He
was beside me when I went to sleep; gone in the morn’; never came
back.”

“
And your children?” the
Mister asked.

“
Grown with babes of their
own,” Neev shook her head. “No, it’s just me and Jackie on that old
farm. We’re . . . We were so happy. I
was . . . happy.”

The Mister’s eyes scanned
her face for a manipulation or a lie.

“
What happened?” the
Mister asked.

“
Don’ know,” Neev said. “I
went to town. When I came back there was a note on my kitchen
table . . .”

Neev’s eyes welled with
tears.

“
I said, ‘No, I won’t do
it,’” Neev said. “My own brother’s wife. I’m from Shankill.
Jackie’s gone; he’s got to be dead. I came in from milking the next
day to find his ear sitting on my kitchen table.
Blood . . . I knew it was his because of the earring
he got when he was in Long Kesh. He never took it off. He didn’t
want to forget what freedom was worth. They took his ear and left
it bleeding on my table. I was mad. ‘Take my Jackie’s ear? I won’t
do a thing.’ His ring finger with his wedding ring still on it
appeared in my mailbox and . . . they said my
grandbabbies would be next. My kids and their babbies; they’re the
only good thing I ever did. Ever. Of course, they came from Jack.
I . . .”

Neev shook her head and
said, “I should have hung myself. Better than betraying my family;
betraying myself. Better than living without Jackie
forever.”

“
Why didn’t you ask for
help?” the Mister asked.

“
Who’s going to help me?”
Neev shook her head.

While her words spoke of
self-pity, her voice was matter of fact.

“
What about your brothers
and sisters?” the Mister asked.

“
Never forgave me for what
happened with Mom,” Neev said. “I never forgave myself, so I
understand.”

Neev shrugged.

“
Truth is, I’m a rigid and
judgmental person,” Neev said. “Even if I try, I don’t have the
easy grace that Johnny and Rita have. Ask my girls; they will tell
you what a wicked, horrid person I am. They will tell you the
truth.”