Jad Bell: Bravo Part 15

Chapter Sixteen.

NESSUNO WAITS UNTIL they're in the air, the Learjet wheels up out of Carroll County Regional Airport, then says, "I can get how you spoof the DNA, the prints, all of that. The dental records, easy, especially since I understand there wasn't much in the way of teeth remaining. But the body, where'd you get the body?"

"Afghanistan," Bell says.

"You just grabbed someone off the rack?"

"There was a height and weight requirement," Bell says. "Once they had one, they put it on ice and flew it out through Bagram."

"And that was Tohir?"

"Close enough."

"We really are sick sons of b.i.t.c.hes, aren't we?"

"Whatever it takes."

She shifts in the seat opposite him, glares at him with those dark eyes. It's not too far from the look she gave him at the Palomar, when she found him sitting in her room.

"Am I AWOL?" she asks.

"How it'll look," Bell says. "But if it makes you feel any better, I'm supposed to be in custody right now."

"Dereliction of duty."

"That's right."

"And other pending criminal charges in the investigation?"

"That's right."

"Why?"

"To put us outside the chain."

She doesn't say anything, continues to stare at him for a fistful of seconds longer, then twists in her seat to look out her window. There's nothing but black night outside.

"Can I trust you?" Nessuno asks.

"I'm solid," Bell says. "Whether you choose to, that's your call, Chief. Now here's my question: Can I trust you?"

He doesn't get an answer.

They're in Hailey before 2300 local, Bell's pickup again waiting in the lot. He drives them out to his house, and she pauses on the way to the front door to look up at the sky and search the surroundings. He can hear a distant dog barking, the rustle of the boughs, and she doesn't move, just standing there. He waits her out, and she heads inside through the door he holds for her.

"Bedrooms," Bell says, indicating their rough direction. "Take your pick."

"You don't want me in yours?" she asks.

He just looks at her.

"That was sharper than I intended," Nessuno says. "When you said you wanted to see me again, is this what you meant?"

"You mean did I know this was how it would come down?"

"Yes."

"I did not. There are three bedrooms. One of them is spoken for. That is all."

She nods, just barely. She makes two fists, brings them to her temples, closes her eyes. "I thought he was dead. And I was...f.u.c.k me, I was grieving, I was mourning him."

"And now?"

The hands come down, and the eyes open. "And now instead of being glad he's alive, instead of being happy, I'm scared again. I'm scared again, I'm f.u.c.king scared still. I love him, and I don't, and you...you, I don't even know what to think about you."

"Then at least it's mutual."

"So I can trust you, but I can't trust what you're thinking?"

"Call it the bends," Bell says.

"The bends," Nessuno says.

Jorge appears at midnight almost on the nose, coming up from the bas.e.m.e.nt. Nessuno is taking a shower in one of the bathrooms, and Bell is making soup from the cans he's found in the kitchen cabinets.

"Isaiah and Freddie are on watch," he tells Bell. "O'Day is crashing at my place. Heatdish is sleeping the sleep of a man who's getting what he wants."

"His standards have fallen. He talking?"

"Nothing worth repeating. He's still in a lot of pain from the hip, too, and the transport took more out of him than he wanted to show." Jorge inclines his head toward the sound of falling water. "Since you're standing in front of me, I'm forced to ask who's in your shower. You pull the stewardess?"

"It's the Chief."

Jorge arches an eyebrow.

"Brickyard's idea, not mine," Bell says.

"We can't use her for guard," Jorge says. "He'll go after her."

"She's here to talk to him."

"I get that. What I'm saying is that we're light, boss. We want two on him at all times, and that gives us d.i.c.k for perimeter, never mind sleep. We don't know how long this'll take."

"We'll start in the morning."

Jorge nods, turns his head in the direction of the distant shower as they hear the water stop. Looks back at Bell. "I heard a rumor."

"Certainly actionable intelligence."

Jorge just looks at him. Bell waits.

"Yeah," Jorge finally says. "What I thought."

She doesn't want any soup, moves past Bell in the kitchen, opens the refrigerator. Pulls out the carton of milk from the door, gives it a sniff.

"I heard voices," she says.

"Bonebreaker with the sitrep," Bell says. "Heatdish is sleeping; he's under watch."

"I heard voices," she says. "But I didn't hear the door."

"He came up through the bas.e.m.e.nt." Bell indicates the backyard, through the kitchen window, the darkness outside, the stretch of lawn that runs to the trees, the fence. The light in the kitchen kicks off the gla.s.s, makes viewing anything in the darkness outside next to impossible. "His house is that way."

"Tunnels?"

"The houses were prepped for us, yeah. We've got a run between, some storage for weapons and gear, range s.p.a.ce, and a hard room about midway along. That's where he's staying."

"You've got a shooting range?"

"Use it or lose it."

Nessuno opens a cupboard, then another. "Where are the drinking gla.s.ses?"

"Your guess is as good as mine. This'll be my second night spent here."

She drinks from the carton, replaces it in the door.

"Good night," she says.

"Sleep well."

She doesn't answer.

When he opens his eyes out of sleep, he has no idea what time it is, only that the world is still dark. He drags himself up from a disjointed dream, something about his daughter and a shotgun and Amy, and he fights the urge to go for his weapon when he sees the figure standing in the doorway.

"Friendly," Nessuno says.

"Problem?" His voice is hoa.r.s.e with sleep. He clears his throat. "Problem?"

She moves to the edge of the bed, opposite him, hesitates, then sits. The mattress shifts barely with her weight on it. She's wearing the same shirt from the day and her underwear. Her hair is pulled back, tied in a ponytail. Ambient light barely gleams off the chain of that saint's medal she wears. Bell sits himself upright, aware that he's wearing shorts and nothing else.

"I'm really p.i.s.sed off at you," she says.

"I know."

"You're asking me to do something tomorrow I don't want to do."

"I know."

"I'll f.u.c.king do my duty; I know my job. I'll play him, all of that. I'll do it. Don't you doubt that."

"I never once have."

"Don't lie to me."

Bell shakes his head. "Straight s.h.i.t. Do I doubt your loyalty? If I did, you wouldn't be here."

"Orders."

"I know how to disobey. You're compromised, you're not here. But you're here, ergo not compromised."

"But I am compromised. My problem is, I don't know what I'm feeling anymore."

"I have the same problem," Bell says.

Her fingers find the back of his hand, begin to trace his fingers with sudden intimacy. Bell doesn't move.

"There's a part of me, the Elisabetta Villanova part of me, that's still with him," she says. "I'm trying so hard to untangle that, to get the threads sorted, like. But there's a piece of me, this Stockholm syndrome bulls.h.i.t piece of me, I can feel it, and I know what it is, you understand? The part of me that likes him, that loves him, that had to and still does. The part of me that made it okay to do what he wanted me to do. The part of me that needed him to want me. The part of me that made it okay to be in his bed, to have him inside me. That part."

She trails off, staring at him in the darkness, in the palpable silence of Hailey, Idaho, at night. She hasn't moved once since sitting down except for her fingers, still tracing his.

"You asked if you could trust me," Bell says.

"You said I could."

"You never answered my question."

"I am answering it now." In the darkness, she looks down at their hands. Her fingers leave his. "You can't."

"You turn or you face," Bell says. "You either come up all the way or you stay under. You stay under, then you're right-you're compromised, and you'll be his to the end. That's your choice."

"It's not as simple as that."

"It begins with the action. You're trying to be either Petra or Elisabetta, thinking you can't be both."

"One of them has to lead. That's why I'm here, because you need me to be Elisabetta. I'm here now because she's who you want."

"You're here now because there's a man who has information that will save American lives and you can get it from him. Petra or Elisabetta, it doesn't matter. Your job is to get him to talk. Can you do that job, Chief?"

She doesn't answer.

Bell pulls the blankets back on the side of the bed, shoves one of the pillows over. She turns, slides her legs beneath the covers, lies down stiffly. Bell makes sure there's s.p.a.ce between them, careful to avoid contact between their bodies. He is surprised when he feels her hand come to rest on his forearm, settle there.

"Get some sleep," he says.