Hidden Prey

they were planning to roll him, why’d they take him in the middle of the biggestlit-up area out there? The cab driver says he dropped him off in the dark, where that track ended. If they’d hit him there, they might not have found him yet. They could have rolled him in peace.”
    Silence.
    Then Peyton said, “Americans didn’t like nine-millimeter pistols in the fifties, back when the shells were made. I mean, there were war souvenirs around, Lugers and P-38s and so on, but not many Americans were buying nine millimeters as new guns.”
    “What does that mean?” Lucas asked.
    “It means that if an American did it, it was an odd gun to have around. But the Russians had a lot of nines, especially after the war. Maybe one was stashed on the ship, but never used. The ship was almost as old as the shells. That makes some kind of sense to me,” Peyton said.
    “But the shells were American,” Howard said.
    “But the guy on the ship didn’t hear any shots, which suggests the weapon was silenced, which suggests it was a pro job,” Peyton said.
    Lucas was amused. “You guys are arguing both sides of this,” he said.
    “We’re confused,” Howard said. “We keep going around in circles. This killing was weird. That’s why it’d be nice if you’d stay in touch. We’d really like to know what’s going on.”
    Lucas nodded. “Sure.”
    Another long pause.
    “You don’t sound enthusiastic,” Howard said.
    Lucas stood up, took a turn around his chair, jingling change in his pockets. “I gotta ask,” he said. “What are the chances that your guys did it? You know, that the guy had the plans to the moon rocket taped to his dick and somebody in the CIA killed him, and pulled his pants down to get the plans. What I’m asking is . . . what if we did it?”
    Howard shook his head. “We didn’t.”
    “Boy Scout’s honor?” Lucas asked skeptically.
    “You’ll have to take my word for it—but I checked,” Howard said. “Our people don’t really kill other people. And if we did, you’re about the last guy we’d want investigating it.”
    Flattery, Lucas thought; makes you feel warm and fuzzy, unless it makes you feel manipulated and used.
    “So I see these guys on TV, CIA guys, they’ve got M-16s and they’re wearing these rag things on their heads . . .”
    “We don’t kill people. Not on this kind of deal,” Howard insisted. “We have paramilitaries, you’d see them in Afghanistan or Iraq, everybody knows that. But we don’t do murder. If somebody did, I’d know about it. You can’t keep that kind of thing secret.”
    “Not even in the CIA?”
    “Nowhere. They’d be shit-faced panicked and I’d get a feel, you know? All I got from this one was confusion. Nobody at the CIA even knew who this asshole was, until we told them. And we didn’t pay any attention until the Russians called us up.”
    “Which makes it less likely that it’s a big secret mission,” Lucas said. “The Russians calling up like that.”
    “You’d think so,” said Howard. “But Russia is so fucked up right now that their right hand doesn’t know what their left hand is doing. Maybe the wrong hand is the one that’s calling us up.”
    They thought about that for a moment, then Lucas asked Peyton, “Anything else?”
    Peyton said, “We’ve got a young guy up there, named Andy Harmon. He’s coordinating with a couple of our auditors. He’s a book guy—but he can get to me or Barney in a hurry. If you need phone checks, or research, like that, we’d be happy to help. Something we can do on a computer. If it gets serious, then we can put some guys in.”
    “You got six zillion guys . . .” Lucas said.
    “All but three of them are reading Terrorism for Dummies books. The whole goddamn bureau . . .” His voice trailed away; he didn’t want tosay it out loud. “Anyway, we don’t have a lot of time for a small-change antique Russian operation.”
    Lucas shrugged. “Okay. I’ll stay in touch.”
    “Our guy will call you when you get there,” said Howard. “He’ll give you some contact numbers. Good luck.”
    A whole lot of nothin’ going on, Lucas thought, as he checked out of the place. Nothing but a murder. Small change.
    Back home again, Lucas finished packing, kissed Weather and the baby, and talked to the housekeeper about dealing with the garage-door contractor. She told him not to worry.
    At ten o’clock, as Weather was going to bed—she got up early every day that she