Blowout

“Sir, I’ve got another plan, although since this one was such a spectacular failure, I wouldn’t blame you for telling me to shove it.”
    “Lay it on me, Savich, let’s see.”
    When Savich finished, Jimmy Maitland sucked in a deep breath. “I like it, and it might work. Your brain is good, Savich, keep using it. You need to go see Fleurette. She’s with her parents and Sherlock, and she’s really shaken. I’ll keep in touch with Bethesda, have Dr. Peterson call you as soon as he knows Giffey’s status.
    “Yeah, this might work. You can bet Günter will be glued to the TV, waiting to hear the breaking news that Fleurette is dead so he can celebrate.”
    Savich said, “We’ve got to outthink him. That’s why we can’t come out and announce she’s dead, and that’s why we’ll delay announcing who was taken to Bethesda in the helicopter.”
    “Director Mueller sure won’t like holding back like this, dancing around the truth, but I think he’ll agree. Then we have Callie. You think you can convince her to go along with this?”
    “In a heartbeat.”
    “Maybe we’re being premature. There’s still a chance we can get our hands on him today. Chip has the SWAT people spread out all over. Since we don’t have anything more reliable, we’re looking particularly hard at any late-model cars, Toyotas, you know, like Mr. Avery described last night, and anyone fitting Mr. Avery’s description. We might get this guy.”
    He stopped talking, saw that Savich looked frozen, as if stuck to the wall he was leaning against.
    “Savich, stop blaming yourself. I need you sharp and focused on getting this plan of yours to work.”
    “Dr. Peterson told me to pray.”
    “I’ll wager a lot of people at Quantico are praying. Do your job, Savich. Where’s Sherlock when I need her here to punch your lights out?”
    “You told me she’s with Fleurette and her parents.”
    “Yeah, so I did. And look at what else I forgot—it must be senility that I clean forgot that you’re God and you make all the decisions around here. Well, you’re not, so get over it. Do your job. Get Günter.” Jimmy Maitland turned, his cell phone already in his big hand. He turned back, frowned. “Hey, what’s Giffey’s name short for?”
    “Gifford. She told me her mom named her after Frank Gifford, lived near him in New York City, at One Lincoln Plaza. Her dad liked Gifford too, he’s a real football nut. Giffey told me once it was the only thing she could ever remember her parents agreeing about.”
    “I’ll talk to her parents too. They need to get to Bethesda.” Mr. Maitland looked down at his watch. “I’ve got to speak to Director Mueller right away, tell him about your plan. I’ll bet the media are calling already.”
    Savich was grateful to his boss for dealing with Giffey’s parents and Luther’s family. One phone call, and your world, as you knew it, was gone. Just gone. He thought that if he had to speak to them, he’d start crying.

CHAPTER
34
    S AVICH FOUND F LEURETTE in his office, sobbing in her father’s arms, her mother standing by looking helpless. Sherlock was watching them, sitting on the edge of the desk.
    Sherlock looked up. “Giffey?”
    “She’s on her way by helicopter to Bethesda.” And then he saw Fleurette’s white face and lied clean. “She’ll be all right. She’s fit and strong. Giffey will be all right. They’re going to be in touch with us constantly. I’ll let you know immediately if something happens. Okay?”
    Mr. Malcolm LaFleurette, a tall, handsome man dressed like a diplomat in a gray cashmere Italian suit, looked up over his daughter’s head. “How did this happen, Agent Savich?”
    “It shouldn’t have, Mr. LaFleurette. It shouldn’t have.”
    “The shot the guy made—I can’t imagine shooting that far and actually hitting someone.”
    “It was over three thousand feet.” Savich paused a moment, saw that they were all trying to make sense of the distance, and said, “That’s more than ten football fields.”
    Elaine’s head snapped up. “Ten football fields? I don’t think I can even see that far.”
    “He had a very powerful scope, the very best of everything.” Savich looked toward Sherlock, even managed a small smile. “Excuse me a moment,” he said to Fleurette, nodding solemnly to her mother, Norma Lee, who was looking at him as if he were their savior, and how could that be? He took Sherlock outside and leaned his forehead against