Edge

I stepped into the back, enclosed porch of the house, gesturing Tony Barr and Lyle Ahmad to join me.
    “We have a situation.”
    I gave them the news about Joanne. I explained that she was what in our organization would be called point control officer, running a small tactical team. In her case, though, she wasn’t protecting lives but eliminating them.
    Lyle Ahmad took the news as unemotionally as I would have expected, as if I’d told him the stock market had dropped a few points or a baseball team score was tied in the third. The reaction of Freddy’s FBI agent was different. Tony Barr’s face flashed with anger. “She didn’t tell us?” he whispered. He was undoubtedly used to suspects who regularlylied. But this deception was from somebody he was risking his life to protect.
    This meeting, though, wasn’t to debate the sin of our principal; it was to consider how the new information affected our protection strategy. I said, “She’s positive she isn’t the target. But I think for the time being we have to assume she is and that the primary who hired Loving could be funded with big money and has the support of significant foreign interests.” I reminded the two men about the helicopter at Carter’s house near the Potomac.
    Ahmad said, “So it’s possible they could use a chopper for a tactical assault, not just extraction.”
    “Wouldn’t be surprised,” I told him.
    Barr said, “We should liaise with local air traffic control.”
    “Good idea, and shift to sixty percent outside patrol. And look up, a lot. Lyle, run the perimeter now.”
    He punched the door code and stepped outside.
    Barr and I returned. Joanne was in the living room, looking into the hallway toward the closed bedroom door.
    “The director of your group,” I said. “The same one you worked for back then?”
    “Yes.”
    “I want to talk to him.”
    She gave a resigned nod. She understood it was useless to argue. Which it was.
    We walked into the den. She took her own phone from her purse. She set it on my desk and hit SPEAKER then a speed-dial button. Although today’s scrambled phones no longer sound like a faxmachine, I imagined I heard a clatter as there was a click, and a voice rose from the black box in front of us. “This is Williams.”
    “It’s me,” Joanne said. There was a momentary pause while, presumably, some electronics verified that this was her voice. “On speaker.”
    “On speaker,” Williams grumbled. “That says a lot.”
    Meaning that we’d figured it all out.
    “Yessir.”
    I identified myself and explained that I was in charge of the protection detail for the Kesslers.
    Williams of the elusive first name said, “I know who you are. I figured it was just a matter of time. Somebody’s been tickling our servers.”
    I was certainly angry at the withholding of the information about her prior career but I recalled my mantra about defining goals and coming up with efficient solutions. There might be a time for recrimination but the task now was to keep the Kesslers safe and to find the primary who had hired Loving. So I said, “I need all the details on this man who was involved in Joanne’s last case.”
    A pause on the other end, which might have been a reaction to my request. Or it might have arisen because the woman in question wasn’t Joanne to him but Lily Hawthorne.
    “There is absolutely no shred of evidence that he’s involved. Or anybody else that Joanne came in contact with. We’ve been monitoring the situation from the beginning.”
    “Even so, I want the name.”
    “I can’t do that.”
    I said firmly, “I hope you understand that I havea job to do. Part of that is assessing threats on my own. I can’t just take your word for it.”
    “Part of my job is keeping matters like this very, very private.”
    “I know that,” I said slowly.
    And let my threat register and spread. Public announcements can often be a very effective edge.
    Williams sighed. “His name is Aslan Zagaev. He is a Chechnyan Muslim. Naturalized as part of the plea deal.”
    “You’ve been monitoring him. Where is he?”
    “At the moment? At home in Alexandria.”
    “What’re his details?”
    “Owns a half dozen carpet stores. A restaurant. My people have been through everything, Corte. I mean everything. Com profiles, banking accounts, travel records, corporate holdings, investments, family, brother and sisters, associates. Nothing. He’s absolutely clean.”
    “Chechnyan Muslim. Does he go