Chapter 61

CHAPTER 61

T HE BOOKSTORE WAS FAIRLY FULL, and Devine watched as moms and dads with young kids, older people, and what looked to be college students searched through the stacks of tomes on shelves, browsed the music department, or hit the small café for sugar and caffeine.

Devine was simply trying to find the girl on the train, but had no idea what she would look like this time. As he glanced around, Devine was also wondering if Glass would send out a hit on him after Devine had cratered his security crew in a parking garage.

He finally figured if he sat at the same table he’d been at before, she would signal him, or make herself known somehow.

However, no one approached him. After ten minutes he was about to get up when two people strolled over and sat down at the table. A man in his fifties and a woman in her forties. He was in a smartly tailored blue suit with no tie and she had on dark slacks and a purple turtleneck sweater with a long black coat over them.

“Mr. Devine?” she began crisply.

He looked at them. “And you are?”

In answer, she opened her purse and pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across.

Devine unfolded it and read off what was the very same message that had been slipped under his door earlier, purportedly from the girl on the train to meet here today.

“Who are you and why do you have this?”

“We were the ones who slipped that note under your door at the hotel,” said the man.

“And how did you know what to write in it?”

The man glanced around. “This is not really the place to go into all this. We have a car outside.”

“I don’t get into strange cars. I’ve found it bad for my health.”

The man pulled out a small black leather case from his suit coat pocket, laid it on the table, and opened it. The woman did likewise.

Devine looked down at the credentials and then up at the pair.

“That confirms I will never get into your car,” he said. “Central Intelligence is not really on my best buds list at the moment.”

“We always do get the bad rap,” said the man with mock jocularity. “In the movies we’re looking to murder half the world. And on TV we kill the other half. I’m Will Chambers, and my colleague is Angela Davenport, as our credentials say.”

Davenport leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Before we get down to business on this matter, Devine, I wanted to personally thank you for clearing up the death of Jenny Silkwell in Putnam, Maine.”

Devine looked at her in surprise. “You knew Jenny?”

He noted the woman’s lips trembled at his query.

“She was actually my protégée. I hoped to see her take my spot in the hierarchy in due time. A wasted talent and life. You risked your life to clear it up. You have my gratitude and respect, sir. And that of the entire Agency.”

She put out her hand, which he slowly shook.

This was all delivered with such sincerity that Devine was a bit taken aback.

Chambers leaned in. “Angie brought up the business in Maine to also illustrate another point, a connection, in fact, with where we are presently.”

Davenport tapped the table with her fingernail. “The girl on the train, as you colloquially refer to her.”

“And how do you know that? And how did you know what to write in the note you put under my door?”

“The word ‘intelligence’ is in our name,” noted Chambers.

“And we’re here to ask you about her,” added Davenport.

“Why?”

“Because she used to work for us.”

“I know nothing about that.”

“Oh, come on, Agent Devine,” said Chambers. “If you lie to us, we’ll get nowhere.” He glanced around again. “But can we at least stretch our legs? I know bookstores are not the usual stomping grounds for foreign spies, but I’ll feel like an idiot if we’re being recorded here. And I, for one, do not wish to see my thirty-year career of public service end in a professional scandal that took place across from the young adult section and a cappuccino machine.”

A minute later they were walking slowly along the pavement, while Devine observed that a black Tahoe followed at a discreet distance.

“Her name is Prudence Jackson, Pru for short,” said Davenport. “She was one of our best field agents.” She gazed up at Devine. “Look, to be up front, I will make some statements, Mr. Devine, and share some information with you, in the hopes that you will reciprocate. I will do this knowing full well that we have no way to force you to do so.”

“Waterboarding off the approved list?” said Devine.

“I tell you what,” exclaimed Chambers. “Hollywood has royally fucked us over.”

Davenport said, “Jackson was a first-class intelligence officer. In the same mold as Jenny Silkwell, but with a survivalist mentality that made her the perfect choice to drop into hot spots all around the world. She served brilliantly.”

“So what happened?”

“We were told that she was killed by an enemy of this country and her remains were buried in an unknown location,” replied Davenport. She paused here and studied Devine once more. “I take it that whatever she may have told you does not comport with my statement?”

“How do you know she’s told me anything? Or that we’ve ever even met? I don’t even know if this Pru Jackson was the woman who tried to kill me on the train.”

Davenport continued, “We have since learned that Jackson is not dead, and has been quite active. She did try to kill you on a train from Geneva to Milan. We have the proof.”

“And she tried at least twice in Maine to put you six feet under,” added Chambers.

Davenport said, “Jackson has become a mercenary. Highly placed, highly compensated.”

“You know all this, but you can’t find her?” said Devine skeptically.

“She is very good at what she does. And have your people at DHS been able to find her?” she retorted.

Got me there , thought Devine. “Okay, she’s highly placed and compensated and she’s good at hiding. What else?”

“Can you at least tell me something you’ve learned about her? It might save us a lot of time. And my instincts are telling me we are fast running out of that.”

Chambers added, “We know something big is being planned, right here on American soil. Not another 9/11, thank God. But maybe, in the end, perhaps even more damaging. If you understand me.”

“I’ve heard that from other quarters,” conceded Devine.

“So, shall we join forces?” Chambers said.

“My boss, Emerson Campbell, is back at my hotel. Why don’t we have a powwow of sorts and see what we can do together?”

Chambers and Davenport glanced at each other. She said, “I guess it’s high time we all started cooperating. If we want to have a damn country left to serve.”