The Hunted

31

Jonathan Waller stifled a big yawn as he pulled into the parking garage at headquarters. He had just received a call in which he was ordered to report immediately to Director Knox’s office.

“I’m already on my way. I’ll be there in less than five minutes,” he said. He could tell by the strained tone of Liz Evanston’s voice that something was wrong.

When he walked into the director’s suite, Scott Haviland was on the phone, Knox was pacing in front of the window, and Special Agent-in-Charge Lindsey was scribbling notes on a pad.

“No, let’s divert Calahan to this as well. I need some answers.”

Waller’s stomach rumbled, but he could tell by the tension on everyone’s face that he was not going to be eating anytime soon.

“Took you long enough,” Lindsey said to Waller. “We’ve got some bad shit going down.”

“I brought Agent Payne to the doctor for a follow-up exam. I left him there—”

“Stanfield hasn’t reported in,” Knox said. “I haven’t heard from Melissa, and according to her professor, she didn’t show up for her economics class. And my daughter does not cut classes.”

The room suddenly seemed blazing hot, the air thin. Waller had broken out into a cold sweat as he sat down hard in the chair next to Haviland. “What about Stanfield’s car?”

“I’ve got UPD scouring the lot, but it’s a huge lot. A dozen agents are on their way over now.”

“Make that fourteen,” Haviland said, cupping the phone. He turned to face Lindsey. “And another dozen are on their way, but they’re being diverted and it’ll take time—”

“Lock down the goddamn city,” Knox said. “All exit routes. Coordinate with Homeland Security. And call in HRT. Have them mobilize immediately. Plainclothes. I want them scouring that campus. Shut down the damn university if you have to. This is my daughter!”

Harper Payne was driven back to the Academy by a senior level assistant Waller had called on his way to the meeting with Knox. His thigh was healing well, the doctor informed him, and adjustments were made in his pain and vertigo medications. As for his memory problems, it would require additional workup before any kind of prognosis could be rendered. For now, he was told, the operative word was patience.

“Patience,” Payne growled as he walked toward his dorm room. In contrast with the Academy’s glass-walled hallways that connected all of the separate buildings on the campus, the West Dormitory’s corridor was institutional modern: acoustic-tile ceilings, stark white walls, and industrial carpet.

He walked into his room, sat down on the edge of the twin bed, and looked out the large window at the lush greenery that surrounded the building. It might not be home, but it was certainly a pleasant environment. Then again, he couldn’t remember what home was like. He stood up and began to pace.

A knock at the door interrupted his unease. He grabbed for the knob. Waller was standing there, holding an overstuffed three-ring binder.

“It’s hard to be patient when you can’t even remember who your own mother is, Jon.”

Waller arched his eyebrows. “I don’t see the connection, but I’m not going to argue with you.”

“Do you know who my mother was, Jon?”

Waller walked into the small dorm room and sat down on the bed. “I think she passed away about ten years ago. Some kind of car accident. Your dad went a couple of years after that.”

Payne nodded. “Was I on good terms with them?”

Waller shrugged. “I think so. I don’t remember you complaining about them.” He set the large binder on the bed beside him. “How did your appointment go with the doc?”

“Peachy. Thigh’s better, brain’s not.”

“If it makes you feel any better, Knox is arranging an exam with a neurologist.”

Payne grunted. “Doctors know how to prescribe drugs, but other than that, they don’t know shit.”

“I know this has been tough on you, Harp, but you’ll come through it. We’re here to help.”

“Then you think you can get me access to the Internet for a few minutes?”

“The Academy is its own self-contained network. We’re linked to every field office and resident agency, but we’re not connected to anything outside the Bureau. Security issue, to prevent hacking. The Internet’s not secure.”

“I sent out an e-mail to someone I think I used to know. I’m hoping she’ll be able to jog my memory.”

“I’ll talk to my SAC, see what I can do. Maybe I can get clearance to bring in my laptop from home. Just keep it under wraps.” Waller checked his watch, then stifled a yawn. “Meantime, we’ve got to get down to business. What do you want to start with, Policy and Procedure or Foreign Counterintelligence?”

Payne regarded Waller for a moment. “Sure you’re up to it? You look beat.”

“Knox’s daughter and one of the agents assigned to her are missing. We think Scarponi’s behind it.”

“So he cranks the heat on you, and you in turn have to make sure I perform.”

“Something like that.”

“I can do this, Jon. I’m feeling more comfortable with this stuff every day. I’m beginning to understand why I became an agent in the first place.”

“You were one of the great ones.”

“And will be again. I’d like to stay on with the Bureau.”

Waller chuckled. “C’mon, Harp, you know that’s not possible. It’s not safe. Look what this asshole is doing to the director. He doesn’t think anyone can touch him. That makes for an extremely dangerous adversary.”

“It means he’ll be careless and make mistakes. That’s when we close in on him. We won’t need me to make the old charges stick, because we’ll have a shitload of new ones.”

“A guy like this doesn’t make mistakes.”

“He did when he took me under his wing.”

“We got lucky. Trust me, it won’t happen again.”

“So give me a new identity and make my face over again. I’ll gain some weight, dye my hair, grow a beard, and wear colored contacts. Assign me abroad. But don’t shut me out.”

Waller sighed. “I know you mean well, but I just don’t think Knox will go for it.” He opened the binder he had brought with him. “Meantime, we’ve got a job to do. Let’s start with Counterintelligence.”

“I’m serious about this, Jon.”

“One day at a time, buddy. First we get through this trial. Then I’ll talk with Knox, see what I can do. Who knows — if we’re successful, you may be able to write your own ticket.”