The Directive (18 page)

BELLS RANG. I
don’t know if they would have done the job of waking me on their own, but as I lay half conscious on the ground, a fat, cold drop of rain landed in my ear. I came to with my teeth chattering. The bells were the shrill digital ring of my cell phone. I lifted myself onto the log, hunched forward.

I had to keep moving.

I answered the phone as I tried to stand.

“Hello,” I said.

“Mike?”

“Who is this?”

“It’s Emily. Emily Bloom. I wanted to check in on how the meeting went. Are you okay? Is this a bad time to talk?”

“A bit of trouble,” I croaked. “You aren’t up around, I don’t know, I guess I’m near Herndon?”

The pain made it hard to breathe. Every word came out as a groan.

“You sound awful. Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Are you hurt?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I didn’t want to drag her into this, but I preferred not to die of politeness. “Thank you,” I said.

“Just give me an address.”

I looked myself up on my phone’s GPS and read it out to her.

While I waited, I called my dad.

“Hey,” I said, doing my best to sound like one of the living.

“What’s up, Mike? Jack okay?”

“I haven’t checked. I was wondering about that doc that you and Cartwright know. The veterinarian.”

“Macosko?”

“Can you give him a call, see if I can stop by there tonight?”

“What happened?”

“I’m fine. I just need something stitched up.”

“What? Go to the damn ER. You’ve got insurance.”

“I can’t.”

“Why can’t you?”

“I got, just a little bit, I got shot.”

“You can’t get a little shot, Mike. What the hell is going on?”

“I’ll tell you all about it later. I can’t talk now. But in the meantime, can you get Macosko, see if I can come in? Please?”

“I’ll come get you,” he said. He was at least a half hour away.

“I have a friend coming. I’ll give you a call if there’s any trouble.”

For a second I could only hear breathing, then my father relented. “I’ll call him.”

I tried to stay conscious, but I started to go dark again, despite the rain. I woke, blinded by headlights.

It was Bloom. She wanted to know what had happened, how I’d gone from the field office to bleeding out on the side of a county road, but I didn’t have the strength to get into it all now. She dumped out a large Neiman Marcus shopping bag from the back seat, tore the sides, and laid it on the passenger seat.

“You mind if I just rest?” I asked. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but it’s been a tough day.”

“Sure. Hospital?”

“No,” I said. I checked my messages and gave her an address off Lee Highway.

A half mile off the main drag we pulled up to a storefront with a lighted sign that read “NoVa Veterinary Clinic.”

The vet was a friend of Cartwright’s. I think the doc owed him, for gambling or some other sins. He served as the go-to for injuries you’d prefer not to explain to the police. I’d first heard about him because of the trouble my father and I were in a while back with my old boss.

The bleeding was slow but steady. The pain had died down some, or I’d just grown used to it. I started to hope that maybe the bullet hadn’t gone through, that the mess in my back was just a result of the force of impact. When I had tried to pull the vest off, the pain made me pass out again, so I was still wearing it.

Macosko met us in the lobby, carrying a mug, wearing sweatpants and a flannel shirt.

“Shot?” he asked me as he pulled the tea bag out and tossed it in the trash.

“I think it hit the vest.”

“Mmm hmm,” he said. He walked past the receptionist’s desk. I followed. A few dogs snapped their teeth against the doors of their cages along the wall. He sat me on a metal table. The place looked nicer than the last hospital for people I’d been in.

Macosko undid the Velcro on the vest and lifted off the front.

I ground my teeth together.

“That okay?”

“Uh huh.”

He tugged the back of the vest gently away from my spine, testing it.

I let out a few choice obscenities.

“I see,” he said.

“What?”

“Behind-armor blunt trauma. What shot you?”

“A rifle, I think.”

He prepped a hypodermic and slid it into a vein in the hollow of my elbow.

“You’re going to want that,” he said as he dropped the plunger. A pleasant, woozy feeling drifted through me.

He lifted some gauze with a pair of forceps and told Bloom to grab the shoulders of the bulletproof vest. All the Velcro was hanging free.

“Pull it when I say,” he said. “Ready?”

She grabbed it.

“Go.”

She yanked it away. I felt as if someone had jammed a flaming Roman candle through the flesh of my back. I groaned low in my throat and gripped the edge of the table. Something clinked against the tiles behind me. I looked over to see a deformed rifle slug skitter across the linoleum and under a cabinet.

I felt warmth spill down my back as Macosko jammed the gauze in the hole left by the bullet. That burned worse than the original tug. I was too tired to grunt anymore, so I just clenched my teeth, and redoubled my grip on the table’s edge.

“Did it go through?” I asked.

“Yes and no.” He looked through his reading glasses at the wound. “A case like this, it enters, but not too deep, and brings the vest material with it. It’s sort of like a magician stuffing a handkerchief into his fist. You’re lucky I see a lot of GSWs. Most docs would assume it went right through, open you up and spend a couple hours doing a laparotomy and poking around in your abdomen looking for it.”

He slapped the table, indicating I should lie on my stomach. I complied, slowly. He set to work stitching up my back.

“This isn’t nearly as bad as it looks.”

He almost sounded disappointed. Bloom came back with the slug and took a second to examine it. “Looks like a five five six. You’re lucky you’re alive. These tumble.”

The stitches took another ten minutes. I sat up, and Macosko gave me some pills. I looked at the bottle.

“These are for dogs,” I said.

“It’s all the same stuff,” he said. “Will help with any mange, too.”

“Are you the wife?” he asked Bloom.

“No.”

“Well, that’s none of my business.” He started loading his autoclave. “But this one—” he pointed to me “—has a pony’s worth of oxycodone in him. Keep a close eye for the next eight to twelve hours. He should be fine, but Lord knows I’ve been wrong before.”

Bloom walked me outside. With the bullet out and the drugs in, I felt like a new man.

“So I take it the meeting didn’t go as planned?” Bloom asked as we stepped into her truck.

“No,” I said. “I just need to get home and lie down.”

“Annie there?”

“No.”

“Anybody?”

“No.”

“Then you’re coming with me. Doctor’s orders.”

I WOKE AND
nuzzled my cheek against cool sheets and a mattress more comfortable than anything I’d ever slept on. It sure wasn’t mine.

On the dresser, I saw family snapshots: skiing in the Alps, riding horses in what looked like Montana, a Stanford graduation. All featured Emily Bloom.

I let out a long, quiet “Oh no.”

Last night was a haze. What had I done? When I rolled over I barked in pain, but found, fortunately, that I was alone. I lay there and took in the bedroom, all perfectly arranged. I couldn’t imagine a real person lived there; I felt as if I’d conked out in a Restoration Hardware. Last night grew clearer in my mind. I slowly pieced together the events, the shot, and why I was sleeping in a strange woman’s bed.

Bloom opened the door.

“Morning,” she said. “You want some coffee? Vicodin?”

“Both. God bless you. Sorry I put you out. I should have slept on the couch or something. Did I pass out?”

“You earned the bed. Don’t worry about it.”

I sat up and swung my legs to the ground. I was wearing a T-shirt and a pair of Bloom’s sweatpants.

“Should you be moving around?”

“I feel pretty good, considering. A lot of it was just having the damn thing in there, not knowing how bad it all was.”

She’d slept in the living room and checked in on me every few hours. A bag of bagels and coffee from Dean & DeLuca sat on the kitchen counter.

“All right,” she said. “What happened?”

“The good news is that I got very close to finding out who is after me and my brother. The person at the top.”

“Who is it?”

“That’s the bad news. I don’t know. I keep going over it in my head. There are a few cases I have going now that could be related, a few guys I tangled with in the past.”

“Are you being cagey? You can trust me, Mike.”

“I genuinely don’t know. It must be this anticorruption work. If I can get to my files, I can narrow it down, maybe get some audio.”

“You were close enough to get shot. I guess that’s something. You want to talk it through?”

“Everyone who learns about this case seems to end up in the hospital, or the morgue, or the vet’s office, so I’ll save you the details.”

“Are you still going to the feds?”

“That’s how last night started. They have sources everywhere.”

“Lasseter?”

“Above Lasseter. But don’t say or do anything. They kill informants. I’ve seen them do it. Promise me.”

“Of course. So what’s next?”

“Can you take me home?”

We pulled up to my street in Bloom’s truck. My clothes from yesterday, caked in river muck and blood, sat in a trash bag between my feet.

Even through the narcotics, my back was screaming. As we approached my house, I saw familiar cars: a 1950s Bentley, a Lexus convertible. They belonged to Annie’s grandmother and her aunt.

A white windowless van—to my mind, the preferred ride of kidnappers—was parked in my driveway. If Lynch and his higher-up knew that it was me at the casino, they would come after me with everything.

My hand went to my knife, and then I saw a waiter in a white shirt and black pants, ferrying an empty tray from my backyard to the van.

He emerged with a bunch of hors d’oeuvres with toothpicks sticking out of them. We parked in front of the house. Bloom stepped out of the car at the same time I did.

“You might be a little shaky,” she said.

“I’m okay,” I said. Despite the pain, I was able to get around pretty well.

When I turned back to the house I saw Annie on the front porch. I thought she wasn’t getting back until tonight, but I may have had that wrong.

If I had known she would be home, I probably wouldn’t have rolled up to the house after being out all night with the woman I swore I wasn’t sleeping with. And I definitely wouldn’t have worn the clothes I got from Bloom: a threadbare girls’ Catholic school T-shirt and red sweatpants.

Annie regarded me with barely contained rage. Given the evidence against me, I was getting off easy. I climbed the steps to the porch. After last night, I was just glad to be alive to hug her. It was like squeezing an oak. She pushed me away.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

We had a good-sized audience of aunts and cousins and friends in the picture window now, pretending to eat canapés while watching the action on the porch.

“I can explain.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I tried to go the FBI, but—”

Annie’s father stepped onto the porch. I threw up my hands. This was bad enough without Clark in the front row watching as my life imploded.

“Maybe we could talk about this later,” I said to Annie. “I’ve had a truly awful night.”

“Looks like a decent night to me,” she said, looking from my clothes to Bloom, who was standing beside her car. Annie glanced at her father, then moved closer to me. “We are absolutely going to talk about this later. There’s going to be a goddamned
symposium
on this. Make yourself presentable.”

Was today her shower? Then what was the spa thing? I may have had other things on my mind besides Annie’s social calendar, but there seemed to be an endless chain of prewedding events, of female relatives and friends throwing around gadgets and champagne and tissue paper. It was hard to keep them all straight.

At least having a house full of guests bought me a brief reprieve from the trouble I was in with Annie. I looked back at her.

“What are you grinning about?” Annie asked. I hadn’t realized. I was just so happy to see her, for us both to be safe. But I really should stop smiling like someone who’d just had the night of his life. “Are you high?”

Just dog pills. And I had a prescription.

I didn’t answer her. All my attention turned to a car coming around the corner. It was a Dodge Charger. I peered at the window. Lynch’s man in glasses was driving, with three other men in the car.

The Charger double-parked in front of our house, blocking the driveway.

“Get inside, Annie!” I said.

“You’re giving me orders now?”

I put my hand on her back and steered her toward the front door. Then two hundred and fifty pounds of future-father-in-law stepped in front of me to protect his daughter.

“I don’t have time to explain, Annie. Just get inside. These men—”

“Stop it, Mike. I know what’s going on.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out an envelope crammed with thousands of dollars in twenties.

“The police came by today in front of my whole family. They were here to bring you in for questioning about that murder on the Mall. Have you completely lost your mind? You’re a lawyer. You can’t run around robbing or conning people or whatever the hell you and your brother are really up to. I thought that was sort of a given. I can’t even believe what I’m saying here. It’s like a bad dream.”

“Annie. You’re not safe. Just go inside.”

“I can’t believe I fell for your bullshit yesterday. You lost your main client and didn’t tell me? Who are these people you’re hanging out with? Did your brother get you involved in some kind of…a gang? Are you in a fucking gang?”

She clearly didn’t care anymore who heard her.

“I’m trying to protect you.” I took her arm. Clark put his hand on my chest.

“Just stop,” Annie said. “Stop lying. And her.” She looked over at Bloom. “You’re obviously sleeping with her, so don’t insult me by pretending otherwise. It’s two weeks until our wedding. What the fuck, Mike?”

“I swear nothing happened. I—”

“I thought you wanted all this,” she lifted her hand toward the house, the tidy garden. I saw her grandmother inside, watching us and enjoying my comeuppance. I couldn’t argue with Annie now. I didn’t have time. Soon Lynch and his men would come for blood. I just had to get her to safety and hope I survived. Then I could find some way to explain it all, to ask forgiveness for the unforgivable.

“But you can’t stand it,” she went on. “You can’t stand me. You think this is about your brother? It’s not. You’re using him as an excuse to get your hands dirty and steal away from me every chance you get. You told me you could change, Mike. But I don’t know anymore. You act like it’s the right thing, a means to some honorable end. But it’s your whole family. It’s in your blood. You’re one of them. You’re a lost cause.”

She threw the money down at my feet.

“It’s better I find out now, before I make the biggest mistake of my life.” She gave me a look I knew well. It was the look she’d been hiding from me ever since she’d seen me kill a man. It was a mix of pity, suspicion, and fear.

She held her forehead and sighed. “I can’t believe what I’m saying, but this is over.”

“Annie. Please, just give me a chance to talk to you, but not now. Now I need to get you someplace safe.”

I reached out for her. She backed away. Her father blocked my path.

“I think she’s finally seen you for who you are, Michael. Now I suggest you go.”

“Me?” I turned on him. “I’m the fucking criminal?”

I’d told myself I wouldn’t do this. It would only blow back in my face, only make me look petty. But I was too broken down to hold back. The sight of that smug prick basking in my downfall was too much, the hypocrisy of it all just too much.

“I may be trash,” I said as I stepped toward him. “But at least I’m not some self-loathing hypocrite con man whose whole life is a lie.”

He shook his head.

“Has it ever seemed odd, Annie,” I asked, “that he gets fifteen percent returns for twenty years in a row, no matter what happens in the markets? That a London real estate guy pulls together a billion-dollar fund in a few years while everyone is hiding their money under their mattresses?”

Annie looked down. She was entering the embarrassed-for-me stage.

“Your father is the real crook. Ask him about his first deals in London. Ask him about blockbusting. Ask him about the fires in Barnsbury.”

She looked at her dad. And for a moment I saw the doubt flicker on her face, saw that at one time or other she had wondered about him, too. She turned back to me. I had her.

“This is just pathetic, Mike,” she said.

I turned to the side. I knew I shouldn’t have said anything.

My prepaid phone rang. It was Lynch. I had to answer, to at least negotiate Annie’s safety, no matter what it cost me.

“One second,” I said.

“You’re taking a call in the middle of our life falling apart?”

“It’s an emergency. I swear.”

I stalked across the lawn. “You or any of your men come near my home, and I’ll fucking kill you,” I said into the phone, seething.

“Oops,” he said; I watched as his car pulled around the corner and stopped. He stepped out and started walking toward my house.

Bloom had stood silent beside her truck the whole time, examining the edging around my sidewalk and doing her best to spare me any further embarrassment. Maybe she was hanging around because it was clear I was going to need a lift soon.

I looked from her to Lynch, then back.

I lifted my phone and then dialed the number I’d seen Lynch call back at the FBI. My cell rang in my hand. But it wasn’t the only one. Another ring echoed it. It was coming out of Bloom’s pocket. She silenced it.

“No.” I said. “You?”

I walked closer.

“You? What the hell did I do to
you?
”

Bloom stepped over and put her arm around me.

“Just business,” she said.

I flicked open the knife. “Get these men away from my house.”

“Lovely,” she said. “But I don’t think sticking me in plain view is going to help your nice-guy case with Annie. You see that truck?”

I looked past the grass beside my house. There was a black Chevy Suburban on the side street. The rear window was open.

Annie stood on the porch, clearly shocked that I had decided to huddle with my mistress in front of our extended family at a time like this.

“Let me tell you how this plays out,” Bloom said. “You tell Annie that you’re coming with us. We’ll call it a bachelor party. Then you get in the car, and we go do this job. No one gets hurt. Understand?”

“Don’t you dare threaten her.”

“I haven’t, actually. I don’t think that’s necessary. But if you need convincing, here are a few things you should know. Lynch has a guy at your father’s house right now. I just talked to him. He’s watching your dad read a paperback on his deck. There’s also a man in that Suburban. Both have suppressed HK416 rifles and two-way radios, and both are waiting on a single word from Lynch. He, as you may have noticed, is getting increasingly erratic, so it’s best not to give him an excuse. He might try to wing her, but there’s no such thing as a safe shot. He could just as easily end up paralyzing her from the waist down or worse, you know?”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Of course he would. You’ve seen him do it. Do you want him to put the red dot on her to prove his point?”

I looked back at Annie, at our appalled families. I knew that if I went with Bloom, it would be the end of the best thing that had ever happened to me. The price was Annie. She would never speak to me again, but at least I could buy her safety. And that was more important than anything else.

“Tell Annie what I just told you,” Bloom said. “And then get in the car. One wrong word and the triggers get pulled.”

I looked at Lynch, his push-to-talk phone held up to his mouth, ready to give the order. I took a step toward the porch.

“I have to go,” I said to Annie. “I can’t explain. Go to your father’s.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m sorry, Annie.”

“Don’t,” she said. I could see her fists clench, the muscles in her jaw tighten.

I walked toward Bloom, then looked back at Annie one last time. It was like standing too close to the edge of a cliff. My body refused to move. I had to will it, step by step. Bloom climbed into the driver’s seat, leaned over, and opened the passenger door.

“If you leave now, Mike,” Annie said, “this is the end.”

I’d been feeling sick since the morning before, when I realized that Jack had been playing me from the beginning. Now, as this trap closed around me, shame and regret filled me, crawled down my spine like the worst hangover I’d ever had.