London Bridges

every single detail. And I don’t care that you told it before. You hear me?
You understand?
I don’t care how many times you think you told it.
    “Right now, you two are murder suspects. So I want to hear your side of things. Talk to me. I am your lifeline, your only lifeline. Now
talk.
”
    They did. Both of them. They rambled, incoherently at times, but they talked. A little more than two hours later I left the interview room feeling that I’d heard the whole truth, at least their sketchy version of it.
    Ron Frazier and Leonard Pickett were drifters who lived near Union Station. Both were army veterans. They’d been hired off the street to run around the FBI building like the crazies that they probably were in real life. The camouflage outfits were theirs, the same clothes they said they wore every day in the park and panhandling on the streets of D.C.
    Next I went into another interview room to brief two very senior agents from upstairs. They looked about as tense as I felt. I wondered what they knew about Ron Burns.
    “I don’t think those two know much of anything,” I told them. “They may have been approached by Geoffrey Shafer. Whoever hired them had an English accent. The physical description fits Shafer. Whoever it was paid them all of two hundred bucks. Two hundred dollars to do what they did.”
    I looked across at the senior agents. “Your turn. Tell me what happened upstairs. Who was shot? Is it Ron Burns?”
    One of the two agents, Millard, took a deep breath, then spoke. “This doesn’t leave the room, Alex. Not until we say so. Understood?”
    I nodded solemnly. “Is the director dead?”
    “Thomas Weir is dead. Weir is the one who was shot,” said Agent Millard.
    Suddenly I felt weak-kneed and woozy.
Somebody had killed the director of the CIA.

Chapter 34
    CHAOS
.
    Once word got out about the murder of Thomas Weir, it was on every TV channel and the press corps began to circle the Hoover Building. Of course, nobody could tell them what we thought had really happened, and every reporter knew in his gut that we were holding back information.
    Later that afternoon we’d learned that the body of a woman had been found in the woods of northern Virginia. We believed that she might have been the sniper who killed Tom Weir. A Winchester rifle was found with the body, and it was almost definitely the murder weapon.
    At five o’clock the Wolf made contact again.
    The phone in the crisis room rang. Ron Burns himself picked up.
    I had never seen the director look graver, and more vulnerable. Thomas Weir had been a friend of his; the Weir and Burns families went on vacation to Nantucket together in the summertime.
    The Wolf began, “You’re an extraordinarily lucky man, Director. Those bullets were meant for you. I don’t make many mistakes, but I also know they’re inevitable in a military operation this complex. I accept that mistakes happen in any war. It’s simply a fact of life.”
    Burns said nothing. His face was expressionless, a pale mask, impossible to read, even by any of us.
    The Wolf continued, “I understand how you’re feeling, how all of you are feeling. Mr. Weir was a family man, yes? Basically a decent human being? So now you’re angry at me. You want to put me down like a mad dog. But think about it from my perspective. You were told the rules, and you still chose to go your own way.
    “As you can see now, your way led to disaster and death. It always will lead to disaster and death. It’s inevitable. And the stakes are much higher than just a single life. So let’s move on. The clock is ticking.
    “You know, it’s difficult to find people today who will listen. Everyone is so self-absorbed these days. Take Captain Williams, for example, our assassin. She was instructed not to tell anyone about the job she was hired to do. But she told her husband. Now she’s dead. I understand that you found the body. News flash: the husband is dead, too. You might want to retrieve the body at their home. It’s in Denton, Maryland. Do you need an address? I can help with that.”
    Burns spoke. “We already found her husband’s body. What’s the point of your call? What do you want from us?”
    “I would think it would be obvious, Mr. Director. I want you to know that I mean exactly what I say. I expect compliance, and I will get it. One way or the other, I will get my way. I always do.
    “So, that having been said, let me give you the gory details—the numbers. Our