Hightower nodded slowly. There was some sort of intra-office feud going on between Hanley and Carmichael; this Hightower could see on Carmichael’s face.

Hightower put aside his desire to run and gun, and he nodded to the hottie in the business suit. “I look forward to working with you, Ms. Brewer.”

He’d do more than that if he got the chance.

“Suzanne is fine,” she said, and from her tone he instantly realized he would not get the chance. Despite the first-name, this one was all business. “The operations center is on the fourth floor. I have an office there where we can talk further. Violator has been in country about twenty hours, so we don’t have a moment to lose.”

“Then let’s get started.”

Mayes said, “That’s it, Hightower? You haven’t asked for anything. No money. No request for us to clarify your status. Why not?”

Hightower did not hesitate in his reply. “I understand what’s happening. This isn’t just about bringing me in to discuss Gentry’s habits. No, you need a guy like me on the street, in the hunt. You want me to remain off book. Better that way for you. If this breaks bad with a running shoot-out down the National Mall, you don’t want to be tied to it. You are bringing me on to help with TTPs, but if he’s located on U.S. soil, you’d rather some nobody like me went out and did the killing. Not a special mission unit tied to the military, or an operative tied to the intelligence community.

“You want some loser you can leave swinging in the wind in case you need to deny responsibility.”

No one said a word for an awkward moment. Then Zack added, “And I’m good with that.”

Carmichael and Mayes exchanged a look. Finally Carmichael reached a hand across the table. “Good to see you again, Hightower.”

The two men shook hands, and Zack looked to Brewer. “How ’bout you and me go and find that son of a bitch?”

15

Court Gentry accomplished more in his first day back in the United States than most could accomplish in a month. After sleeping five hours he rolled out of bed and looked through his small driveway-level window, checking for any new cars or strange people wandering the neighborhood. Atmospherics and patterns of life. The more he knew about his area of operations, the easier it would be for him to notice something that did not belong. But he saw nothing that triggered his threat radar, so he folded a massive wad of twenty-dollar bills into his pocket, left his rented room, and walked to a discount department store a mile away.

Here he filled a shopping cart with clothing in just minutes, because he knew what he was doing.