No Shelter (15 page)

We wait for the train to clear of its passengers. I glance around us again. Blue Jeans is missing, but Suit is forty yards away. He stands in line for the train but not with everyone else right on the edge of the platform. He’s still looking at his Blackberry, and as I look at him, he glances up. It’s just for an instant, nothing more, and then he’s looking back down at his Blackberry. But it’s enough. I’ve made him and he knows it and now he’s stuck. Can’t move forward, can’t move away. Frozen in place until I make my move.
 

We get on the train and take our seats. I glance back out the window and see that Suit quickly does the same. He’s three cars down.
 

There’s a ding and the doors close and we start moving.
 

Casey now sits beside me. She’s humming something, a tune I don’t recognize, maybe something from the movie. David looks around, the start of a scowl on his face, something he inherited from his father.
 

I place my purse on my lap. My gun isn’t inside it. I’d taken it out because of my job interview today. I’d taken it out because in the past two years there has never been any reason to carry it.
 

The train slows and stops at Federal Triangle. People get off, people get on. From what I can see Suit hasn’t left his car.
 

The doors close, the bell dings, and then we’re moving again.
 

Next stop is the Smithsonian. It’ll let us up into the National Mall. A lot of space, a lot of people.
 

As the train moves I stand up. I grip the metal rail. My hand is sweating. Strange, it wasn’t even sweating during my interview.
 

When the train starts to slow I reach out and take Casey’s hand. Then the train stops and I lift Casey up into my arms. I motion for David to follow and we walk out onto the platform.
 

I don’t bother glancing back to see whether Suit has gotten off too.
 

We get onto the escalator and ride it up to the top level. We follow everyone else and take another escalator up to the surface. I take the kids a good twenty feet away from the exit and then turn around to stare right back at the people coming up.
 

“Holly,” David says, “what are we
doing
?”
 

“You lost again, David.”
 

“I don’t want to play that game.”
 

“That’s probably for the best, because you’re not good at it.”
 

“That’s not true.”
 

“It’s not?”
 

“No.”
 

“Then prove it.”
 

David crosses his arms and starts to pout, his face growing red.
 

I keep watching the exit. Watching students and tourists. Watching men and women and children.
 

Then watching Suit, still holding his briefcase, still holding his Blackberry, rising to the surface.
 

He doesn’t even look once in our direction.
 

He turns south and starts walking toward Independence Avenue. He waits at the corner for the light to change and then continues forward with everyone else.
 

“Holly?” Casey says hesitantly.
 

“There,” David says, “she lost.”
 

“She wasn’t playing,” I say.
 

“What are we doing?” Casey asks.
 

“Going for a walk, honey.”
 

We head north over Jefferson Drive and take one of the pathways across the Mall. The sky is clear and blue. A nice breeze rustles the leaves on the trees. Two people are throwing a bright yellow Frisbee, three others are juggling a hacky sack.
 

I figure we’ll enjoy the afternoon and walk a couple blocks uptown to Federal Triangle. There we’ll take the orange line train back to our stop.
 

Only as we cross over the Mall and reach Madison Drive do I get that sense again, that instinct, that we’re being followed.
 

I pause and glance around us.
 

The guy in the blues jeans and T-shirt and baseball cap, the Post in his hands, the Bluetooth flashing in his ear, is headed our way.
 

28

Blue Jeans is crossing the Mall directly behind us, coming up the same pathway we’ve just walked. He walks casually enough, the paper swinging at his side, his attention on the three juggling the hacky sack.
 

I glance around quickly, considering my options. The National Museum of American History to our left, the National Museum of Natural History to our right.
 

“Let’s go,” I say and start walking.
 

“Where are we
going
?” David says.
 

“Lost again.”
 

“I’m not playing.”
 

“Look, think of this as a game, okay? We’re playing hide and seek.”
 

“Really?”
 

Casey says, “Who are we playing hide and seek with?”
 

“Trying to figure that out is half the fun.”
 

As we approach the Museum of Natural History, David starts looking around.
 

“Don’t,” I tell him.
 

“Why not?”
 

“You don’t want to make it obvious that you’re playing.”
 

“I don’t?”
 

“No. The idea is act like everything’s normal.”
 

Outside the Smithsonian buses are lined up, off-loading and on-loading day camps. The steps are littered with parents and children and counselors and campers. We weave through the mess toward the entrance, then wait in the line that takes us to the metal detectors. If Blue Jeans is definitely following us, and if he is packing anything from a gun to a knife, he won’t be able to come in here.
 

Still carrying Casey, I lead her and David toward the African elephant display in the lobby. I set Casey down, take her hand and place it in David’s.
 

“Stay right here,” I say.
 

“Where are you going?”
 

“Not far. You’ll be able to see me and I’ll be able to see you. Just make sure you stay here and don’t let go of each other’s hands.”
 

I head back toward the entrance doors, glancing back over my shoulder every few seconds. Casey and David stay right where I told them to, holding hands. Both of them watch me just as I keep watching them.
 

I’m not too worried about them getting snatched. At least not in here, not with a thousand witnesses. And if anybody did try to make a move on them, it would take me less than five seconds to make it back to their location. And even with witnesses, the sorry son of a bitch who tried laying a finger on those kids would be lucky if I didn’t break his neck.
 

My only purpose now is seeing what’s become of Blue Jeans.
 

And I guess I’m not surprised to find that he is outside, waiting in line, almost ready to enter the main doors.
 

I turn back around, quickly return to the spot I’d left Casey and David. I pick Casey up and motion for David to follow me.
 

We head toward the back where the stairs are located. I realize much too late that I’ve drawn us into a box. Not that I expect anything to go down here, but the only way out—the only public way—is back the way we came.
 

Which gives me pause, because if that was the case Blue Jeans wouldn’t have to come in after us. He could just wait outside, sit on a bench and act like he’s reading the
Post
until we appeared.
 

So why is he coming in?
 

We take the stairs to the second floor. I glance over the banister and see that Blue Jeans is just standing there in the lobby. I survey the rest of the lobby, all those people and kids, and then I spot a couple museum employees, at least one security guard.
 

“Okay, let’s go.”
 

We turn away from the stairs toward the closest bank of elevators. I can tell David wants to ask again where we’re going but he manages to keep silent. We wait along with two mothers and their strollers and then we all squeeze into the elevator.
 

The elevator lets us off on the first floor. There is a museum employee standing nearby. I walk over and set Casey down, make her hold David’s hand again, then step closer.
 

“Excuse me. Can I talk to you for a minute?”
 

She nods.
 

“See that guy over there, the one in the Yankee’s hat?”
 

She nods again.
 

I lean in close and whisper, “My boy over there said that man was watching him while he was in the bathroom.”
 

The woman raises her eyebrows.
 

Now it’s me who nods, gravely, keeping a straight face.
 

The woman stares at me another moment, then glances at David, then turns her attention back to where Blue Jeans is standing in the lobby, all those kids running around him. She unclips a walkie-talkie from her belt, starts speaking into it.
 

I turn away and walk back to the kids. I pick Casey up and start toward the exit.
 

“Miss, you need to stay here,” the employee says.
 

“I can’t.”
 

“But—”
 

Up ahead, two male security guards have converged on Blue Jeans. They step up very close to him. One of the guards even puts a hand on the guy’s arm.
 

“What’s this about?” Blue Jeans asks, looking back and forth at the guards. As we walk past his gaze shifts and meets mine. I simply smile and wink at him and then we’re headed through the exit doors.
 

I scope out the steps, the sidewalks, even the street. All looks well. But then we reach the sidewalk and I can see Suit farther down the block, on the corner of 12th and Madison. He has his hand to his ear, listening to something (probably the guards asking his partner why he was in the bathroom looking at boys), and then he spots us.
 

He starts forward immediately.
 

Still holding Casey, I tell David to move it and turn left and we start walking.
 

As we walk, David can’t help but look back over his shoulder. I don’t bother telling him not to.
 

“The guy in the suit?” he asks me.
 

“Yeah.”
 

“He’s coming pretty fast.”
 

I increase my speed. David does too. We reach the end of the block and turn left up 9th. Just after we make the turn I set Casey down and once again put her hand in David’s.
 

“Take your sister halfway up the block. Stop when you get there. And don’t turn around until I tell you to.”
 

“What are you going to do?”
 

“Go, David.”
 

Casey starts crying. “Holly, what’s happening?”
 

“Go!”
 

David takes his sister’s hand and starts pulling her forward. She cries harder now and people are looking and David once again becoming the good big brother tries to pick her up and carry her.
 

I don’t see how far they get.
 

I don’t because I can hear Suit coming, his shoes slapping the sidewalk.
 

I don’t because I’m pushing myself up against the wall right next to the corner, flattening myself.
 

I start counting, going one two three four, and then he appears, jogging now, and I step forward, throw my elbow into his face. The briefcase hits the sidewalk two seconds before he does. Both hands fly to his face, holding in the blood. I pick up the briefcase, grip it in two hands, bring it down on his stomach.
 

“Stop,” he says, or tries to say.
 

I bring the briefcase down again. I don’t think about the people watching us, about David and Casey behind me. I think about this man and his partner and about what it is they want to do with the kids and how I’m not going to let that happen.
 

The man takes his hands away from his face. I’ve busted his nose and more blood squirts out. He holds one hand up to block another blow as he reaches into his suit jacket with his other hand.
 

“Keep your hands where I can see them,” I shout.
 

The man tries speaking but blood gets into his mouth, goes down the back of his throat. He coughs and only manages to say, “Me-eye.”
 

“I will smash your face in with this,” I tell him, holding the briefcase up over my head, and the man pauses in trying to reach for whatever it is in his jacket.
 

He opens one eye, looks up at me. Coughs again and forcefully enunciates, “F—B—I.”
 

“What?”
 

“Me ... and my partner ... we’re FBI,” he says, and judging that I won’t smash his fucking face in with the briefcase, he pulls out his badge and holds it up.
 

And yep, there it is in big blue letters: FB-fucking-I.
 

29

“What do you want me to say?”
 

“I want a good goddamned reason.”
 

“And what makes you think you deserve one? They’re my children, Holly. Like I told you before you took this job, my kids are the most important thing in the world to me. I will never let anything harm them.”
 

“And all of a sudden I’m not good enough to watch them myself?”