Midnight Sun (61 page)

He blinked hard, as if pinching off a stream of thought, and said, “When it comes to the residue of espionage and combat alike,
I
’
ve
seen
men
break
down
into
anything
from
suicidal
depression
to
full-on
schizophrenic
megalomania.
”

“Guys like Kharzai, luckily, are few and far between,” Marcus paused and let out a brief, humorless chuckle. “I pray there is no one else in the world like him. But he is the kind of the guy no one can figure out. Totally focused, perfect actor, perfect killer.”

“
Is
he
a
threat
to
the
president?
”
Lonnie
asked
.

“
I
don
’
t
know,
”
Marcus replied.
“
If
he's
watching
the
bad
guys,
someone
is
going
to
die.
If
he's
switched sides
,
we
’
re
screwed.
”

Chapter
12

Captain Cook Hotel

Tuesday,
June
21st

07:35 a
.m.

They
scraped
up
the
last
bits
of
omelet,
toast,
pancakes
,
and
hash
browns.
Marcus
went
to
retrieve
his
truck
from
the
garage
while
the
others
paid
the
bill.
They
were
on
the
sidewalk
outside
the
front
entrance
as
he
pulled
up.
At
a
quarter
to
eight
,
the
sun
was
already
high
in
the
sky
,
and
it
was
turning
into
a
warm
summer
morning.
In
a
tree
that
stood in
a
round
concrete
planter
in
the
sidewalk
outside
the
hotel
,
a
pair
of
birds
chirped
happily
from
their
invisible
perches
hidden
somewhere
in
the
broad green leaves
.
Their
song,
repeated
back
and
forth,
sounded
like
a
competition
to
see
who
could
do
it
most
perfectly.

“
Listen
to
those
birds,
”
Hilde
said.

“
Yeah,
”
Mike
said
,
“
they
make
it
sound
like
we
’
re
in
a
Disney
movie
or
something
instead
of
trailing
a
terrorist.
”

They
climbed
into
the
F250
and
Marcus
drove
the
eight
blocks
to
the
FBI
building
on
East
6th
Avenue.
There was no public parking area for the FBI building itself, but a row of spaces
in
the
large
lot
at
the
Office
Depot
store
across
the
street
was labeled with signs that authorized
FBI
visitors to use the space
.
Marcus pulled in to one of the slots and turned off the truck.
They
got
out
and
walked
toward
the
building
to
the
tune
of
more
birds
singing
from
inside
baskets
of
flowers
hanging
beneath
street
lamps.
The Municipality of Anchorage prided itself on the huge number of flowers it laid out every summer, taking full advantage of the limited months of bright sunshine
. T
he streets were awash in the bright colors of every possible species of flower that could
thrive
in the Arctic.
The
swallows
and
jays
acted like they were in
heaven on earth as they
flitted
back
and
forth
from
baskets
to
potted
trees,
making
the
morning
seem
more
like
a
party
than
a
manhunt.

Hilde
started
to
wonder
if
they
were
all
overreacting
—the
place
was
just
too
peaceful
for
a
terrorist
attack.
As
they
crossed
the
street
,
the
happy
bird
song
abruptly
stopped,
interrupted
by
the
loud
,
flat
squawk
of
a
massive
raven
that
stooped
on
the
flag
pole
jutting
from
the
parapet
of
the
FBI
building.
The
raven
turned
its head
toward
the
foursome
passing
beneath,
its beady black eyes staring malevolently at them from
above
its
large
beak.
 
Hilde
looked
up
at
the
bird.
It
stared
back
like
an
ill
omen.