The Enemy

killed Carbone drove straight out the main gate and killed Brubaker. Hardly touched the brakes.”
    “Double misdirection,” Summer said. “The heroin thing, and dumping him to the south, not the north.”
    “Amateur hour,” I said. “The Columbia medics must have spotted the lividity thing and the muffler burns immediately. Pure dumb luck for Vassell and Coomer that the medics didn’t
tell
us immediately. Plus, they left Brubaker’s car up north. That was serious brain fade.”
    “They must have been tired. Stress, tension, all that driving. They came down from Arlington Cemetery, went back up to Smithfield, came back down to Columbia, went back up to Dulles. Maybe eighteen hours straight. No wonder they made an occasional mistake. But they’d have gotten away with it if you hadn’t ignored Willard.”
    I nodded. Said nothing.
    “It’s a very weak case,” Summer said. “In fact it’s incredibly weak. It isn’t even circumstantial. It’s just pure speculation.”
    “Tell me about it. That’s why we need confessions.”
    “You need to think very carefully before you confront anyone. A case as weak as this, it could be you that goes to jail. For harassment.”
    I heard activity behind me and the stewardess came into view with the breakfasts. She handed one to the nun, and one to Summer, and one to me. It was a pitiful meal. There was cold juice and a hot ham and cheese sandwich. That was all. Coffee later, I assumed. I hoped. I finished everything in about thirty seconds. Summer took about thirty-one. But the nun didn’t touch her tray. She just left it right there in front of her. I nudged Summer in the ribs.
    “Ask her if she’s going to eat that,” I said.
    “I can’t,” she said.
    “She’s got a charitable obligation,” I said. “It’s what being a nun is all about.”
    “I can’t,” she said again.
    “You can.”
    She sighed. “OK, in a minute.”
    But she blew it. She waited too long. The nun opened the foil and started to eat the sandwich.
    “Damn,” I said.
    “Sorry,” Summer said.
    I looked at her. “What did you say?”
    “I said I’m sorry.”
    “No, before that. The last thing you said.”
    “I said I can’t just ask her.”
    I shook my head. “No, before the breakfasts came.”
    “I said it’s a very weak case.”
    “Before that.”
    I saw her rewind the tape in her head. “I said Vassell and Coomer would have gotten away with it if you hadn’t ignored Willard.”
    I nodded. Thought about that fact for a minute. Then I closed my eyes.

    I opened them again in Los Angeles. The plane touched down and the thump and screech of tires on tarmac woke me up. Then the reverse thrust screamed and the brakes jerked me forward against my belt. It was first light outside. The dawn looked brown, like it often did there. A voice on the PA told us it was seven o’clock in the morning in California. We had been heading west for two solid days and each twenty-four-hour period was averaging more like twenty-eight. I had slept for a while and I didn’t feel tired. But I still felt hungry.
    We shuffled off the plane and walked down to the baggage claim. That was where drivers met people. I scanned around. Saw that Calvin Franz hadn’t sent anyone. He had come himself instead. I was happy about that. He was a welcome sight. I felt like we were going to be in good hands.
    “I’ve got news for you,” he said.
    I introduced him to Summer. He shook her hand and took her bag and carried it. I guessed it was partly a courtly gesture and partly his way of hustling us out to his Humvee a little bit faster. It was parked there in the no-waiting zone. But the cops were staying well away from it. Camouflaged black-and-green Humvees tend to have that effect. We all piled in. I let Summer ride in front. Partly a courtly gesture of my own, and partly because I wanted to sprawl in the back. I was cramped from the plane.
    “They found the Grand Marquis,” Franz said.
    He gunned the big turbodiesel and moved off the curb. Irwin was just north of Barstow, which was about thirty miles away across the breadth of the city. I figured it would take him about an hour to get us there through the morning traffic. I saw Summer watching how he drove. Professional appraisal in her eyes. It would probably have taken her about thirty-five minutes.
    “It was at Andrews,” Franz said. “Dumped there on the fifth.”
    “When Marshall was recalled to Germany,” I said.
    Franz nodded at the wheel.