The fact that this job involved the Russians had almost kept him from showing up. The Russians had long memories, and Farrington had done a number on them in the past. More than once.
He walked a block east on Foster Avenue and crossed the street at South Lakewood, heading for the tricked-out silver Suburban Anish called home these days. Graves had to admit that his former partner in crime had made some aesthetic and functional improvements to the original concept of their undercover communications hub.
Back in the day, they’d just bolt a folding desk and some industrial metal bookshelves to the floor of a cargo van, relying on a combination of Velcro, zip ties, and bungee cords to keep everything in place. Gupta had even completely hidden the antennae array, which had always posed a detection risk to them in the past. The only issue with the new arrangement was interior space. He’d traded the expansiveness of the somewhat conspicuous Mercedes cargo van for the assured cover of the oversize SUV—ubiquitous in the suburbs and city these days.
The Suburban was parked in a row of diagonal spaces on the left side of the street, facing out for quick egress. The rear passenger door opened the moment he stepped off the curb, Richard “Rich” Farrington hopping down with a wide grin on his face. A rarity in Graves’s experience.
“Timothy. Sorry I missed you earlier. I was putting the final magic touches on a few things,” said Rich. “Good to see you. Sounds like life on the Outer Banks is treating you well.”
“I can’t complain too much,” said Graves. “It wasn’t the easiest adjustment to make after spending close to two decades in this line of business, but I’m making it work. Every day my shoulders relax about a quarter of a millimeter.”
Rich laughed. “Well, I apologize for setting your shoulders back a few months, but I do appreciate you coming out of retirement temporarily. My guess is we’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. Did Miralles bring you up to speed on the mechanics of the operation?”
“She did. Is this really the Russians?” asked Graves.
Rich nodded. “Long-dormant sleeper network. Second generation—if it checks out.”
“Second generation? Holy shit,” said Graves. “Wait. You haven’t vetted this yet?”
“Tonight’s operation has been vetted,” said Rich. “But Karl Berg says it’s connected to a much-bigger conspiracy. We’ll all get a chance to scour the evidence and try to poke holes in the theory.”
“This is Berg’s theory? I thought he was retired.”
“He is. Or was. Kind of like someone else I know,” said Rich, patting him on the shoulder. “A former colleague of his at Langley apparently spent close to the past two decades investigating this theory. She was killed under suspicious circumstances about two weeks ago. Killed herself, but too many aspects of her case don’t add up. She handed over the reins to her son, Devin Gray. He reached out to Berg at his mother’s recommendation—and here we are.”
“And Berg is convinced?” asked Graves.
“He sounds convinced,” said Rich. “But he’s open to criticism. Same with Devin Gray. They both want to be wrong about this.”
“I knew I should have left my phone behind when I took the boat out this morning.”
“What kind of boat?”
“Nothing too fancy,” said Graves. “Just a fishing boat.”
“Does it have a flying bridge?” asked Rich.
“It might.”
“Sounds kind of fancy,” said Rich. “Don’t worry. We’ll get you back to your yacht in one piece.”
“I’ll hold you to that,” said Graves. “And take you fishing if you make good on it.”
“Deal,” said Rich, shaking his hand. “Keep your friend out of trouble. He hasn’t matured since you left.”
“I heard that,” said Gupta.
“Be good, guys,” said Rich before crossing the street and getting into the passenger seat of a black SUV that hadn’t drawn Graves’s attention until now.
In the fading light of the evening, he recognized Scott Daly, former Navy SEAL, behind the wheel of the SUV. Daly waved at him, and he nodded back. They were in good hands. Graves climbed inside and gave Gupta a high five before shutting the door.
“Thanks for answering the call of the wild, bro!” said Gupta. “The band is back together, baby!”
“Is it too late to go home?” asked Graves.
“You know you missed me,” said Gupta.