The Hunted

42

In his small dorm room, Harper Payne closed the trial transcript. His concentration had been less than keen, with thoughts of Lauren Chambers fighting for his attention. As much as he did not want to go back to a life that excluded the Bureau, he felt an attachment to this woman he hardly knew. It wasn’t a tangible feeling, one he could analyze. It was more of a magnetism, as if his thoughts were physically being pulled back to her.

Pushing the trial transcript aside, he picked up the phone, dialed nine to get an outside line, then hit 411.

“Academy operator.”

“I–I was dialing information.”

“I can handle that for you, sir. What number would you like?”

Was it standard procedure for the Academy operator to intercept calls like this? He was sure that according to the rules and procedures Waller had gone over with him, an outside line was obtained by dialing nine.

“What number would you like?” the operator asked again.

“I’d actually like an outside line, please.”

“If there’s a number I can get for you, I’d be happy to—”

“Chambers. Michael or Lauren Chambers in Placerville, California.”

“Hold, please.” There was a click, followed by a brief silence. Then, a few seconds later, another click. “No available listing, Agent Thompson. Is there anything else I can get for you?”

Payne stood there for a second, thinking. Thompson was his alias. But he had never told her his name. A hundred new agents were housed in the dorm at any one time, yet the Academy operator instantly knew which room was his. Did she have time to look it up during the few seconds he was on hold? Was it automatically displayed on her console? Or had she been told to intercept his calls?

He ground his molars together. “No, that was the only number I needed. By the way, who am I speaking with?”

“Sir?”

“I don’t think we’ve spoken before.”

“Margaret Little, sir.”

“You’re so efficient, Margaret. You sound like you’ve been doing this awhile.”

“I — yes, awhile. Thank you, sir.”

“At least a year, right? I always try to guess how long people have been doing their jobs. It’s my theory that you can always tell when someone’s new and when they’ve been on the job at least a year. It’s kind of an arbitrary cutoff, the one-year mark, but I really think it makes a difference. So, am I right, have you been an operator at the Academy for least a year?”

“Yes, uh, a little over a year, sir. Can I get you another number?”

“No, thanks for your help — and for being so efficient.”

He hung up the phone, sifted through his papers, and found the Academy directory Waller had given him. He scanned the listing of non agent personnel for Margaret Little. There was no one by that name.

He lifted his shoulder harness off the hook on the door and strapped it to his body. He threw his navy suit coat over his shoulder and left his room. He walked downstairs, crossed through the glass- enclosed hallway to the library, and picked up the white in-house phone. He hit zero and waited while it rang.

“Academy operator.”

“This is… Agent Waller. Who am I speaking with?”

“This is Leslie Orens. What can I do for you today, sir?”

Her manner was formal, just like that of the operator he had spoken to a moment ago. “I was just on the phone with Margaret. Can you put her back on for a second?”

“Who?”

“Margaret, the other operator. Margaret Little.”

“I’m sorry, Agent Waller. There’s no Margaret Little here.”

“Are you sure?”

“There are only three of us here, sir.”

“No problem, my mistake.” Payne hung up and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Why had his phone line been diverted? Why wouldn’t they allow him access to an outside line?

Was he merely being paranoid?

He suddenly felt uncomfortable, his eyes panning the library to see if anyone was watching him. Two men in suits were on the balcony above him, speaking in hushed tones with one another.

Come on, Harper. Cut it out. They’re whispering because it’s a library. And they’re just talking about the Wizards game. Or forensic findings. Or a suspect. Or about me.

They’re watching me.

He quickly turned away and walked out, headed for the gun vault to sign out his Glock. Paranoia or not, regardless of what was going on, he was going to be prepared.

“Like you said, Jon,” he said aloud as he quickened his pace, “we do what we need to do.”