Page 59 of Edge of Honor

“But instead of drinking it,” she continued, “I put the cork back in, stuck it in the fridge, and went to bed.”

“How are you feeling today?”

“A little hungover, but grateful for my bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast.”

Carolan smiled. “The hangover’s a given. You drink some of the shittiestwine I’ve ever seen. What I’m talking about, though, is the shooting. How do you feel about that?”

“To be honest, I’m angry. I meanreallypissed-off. That motherfucker was going to shoot us.”

“Yes, he was.”

“We were just asking him questions. It was a fucking knock-and-talk. That’s it. He didn’t have to pull a gun on us. That motherfucker.”

Carolan knew her well enough to know that the depth of her anger was often measured in “motherfuckers.” Like the rest of her swearing, he had given up trying to move her off that one a long time ago as well.

She was putting things together in her mind, processing, and so he remained quiet and let her keep going.

“I wouldn’t have even seen his damn tattoo if he hadn’t reached for that hand cannon out of his desk drawer. But by then, he’d already made up his mind. Rather than waiting for us to leave, rather than just playing stupid for a few minutes more, he made a choice. That motherfucker decided he was going to murder two federal agents in cold blood. For what?”

He waited for her to look at him, indicating that she wanted a response, but when she didn’t, he didn’t offer one.

“So he must have known our guy—the one in the morgue with the same tattoo, right? Weber must have figured that we knew a lot more than we were letting on; that we weren’t going to let him walk out of there a free man. He felt cornered, right? Like there was no way out.”

This time she did look at him and Carolan nodded. “Obviously, the tattoo triggered him. And I think you’re probably correct. I think Weber believed we had something pretty serious on him and he was going back inside, maybe to never come out again.”

“But all of that over a tattoo? He didn’t even ask us why we were interested in it. That just doesn’t make sense.”

“Unless,” said Carolan, “that tattoo is tied to something so big that the minute the law shows up asking about it, you know it’s game over. You’re going down.”

“Something big like the attack outside the Vice President’s Residence.”

Once more, Carolan nodded.

“So what’s the plan?” Fields asked.

“I’m working on a possible lead for us,” he replied. “But first, I need you to answer my question. Are you okay, mentally?”

“One hundred percent,” she answered without hesitation. “And I would do it again. If someone pulls a gun on me, or you, we’re not going to sit in a sharing circle and talk about it. That person is going down.”

“Which is all I needed to hear,” said Carolan.

CHAPTER 29

KENTISLAND, MARYLAND

Even though Ambassador Rogers’s property was heavily wooded and Haney and McGee had been inside the house while shooting, tons of the windows had been blown out and the pair had been firing big, unsuppressed weapons. It was likely that one, if not more, of the neighbors had heard the gunfight and already called police.

That had left Harvath with a big decision and not a lot of time within which to make it. Did he stay and deal with local law enforcement, thereby providing Rogers with ironclad proof that he was indeed an active assassination target? Or did he use the narrow window before the cops arrived to move the Ambassador to someplace safer?

Harvath chose the latter.

After a quick security check of Rogers’s Audi, they threw their gear in the trunk, and all piled in. With McGee driving, they headed to the house where he and Haney had parked their vehicles. As they drove, they planned their next move.

The first item of business was where to dump Rogers’s Audi. With all of its onboard tech, a sophisticated enough person could turn it into a homing beacon, leading the bad guys right to them. There was no way they were going to take it to their next safe house. To the Ambassador’s credit, he came up with the terrific spot to drop it.

As a member of the nearby Washington Golf Club, he could leave it in their lot, likely for several days, without anyone giving it a second thought.

Next on their list was where to stash Rogers himself, and this time it was McGee who came up with the perfect spot.