But the fact that the threat was widespread didn’t ipso facto mean—
He’s on those tapes.
The instant the thought blossomed in her mind, it felt right. Even obvious. The insight had the kind of clarity she experienced only when a faulty assumption, suddenly swept away, had been occluding it.
Of course. That’s why he’s so afraid. And trying so hard to conceal it with anger.
How many assets had she known who, hands-over-heart, had protested that they were spying for America only out of political conviction, when in fact it was the money, or the excitement, or the promises of resettlement for them and their families? Or any one of a dozen other personal reasons, including fear of what CIA could do to them if they refused to cooperate?
Devereaux could protest all he wanted about how this was really about protecting the club. And maybe on some level, it even was. But what he was really trying to protect was himself.
She could see now the precariousness of her position. She had understood she was to function as a cutout, yes. In the course of a long career, she’d become accustomed to that. But there was a thin line between cutout . . . and fall guy.
Devious little bastards, she thought.
And then she smiled at the irony. They were trying to exploit a woman to clean up a mess that was caused by, and that by definition was only a threat to, other men.
She remembered something her father, before his untimely heart attack himself a career CIA man, had told her when she was a girl: If you want to get something you never had before, you have to do something you’ve never done before.
She thought about everything Devereaux had told her. About how Schrader had used the videos only once before this, and both times only as a get-out-of-jail-free card.
But if the videos included footage of men like Devereaux . . . if they included footage of Devereaux . . . then for all these years, Schrader was in possession of assets that he was vastly underutilizing.
What a waste, to make so little use of something with so much potential power. It was like keeping a race car forever in the garage.
But race cars weren’t built for garages. They were built for drivers.
She’d been right to refrain from mentioning the backup. Devereaux wanted a Plan B? He had no idea.
chapter
nineteen
LIVIA
Livia was on her way into the morning briefing at headquarters when her cellphone buzzed. She saw it was Diaz and immediately felt uneasy that Alondra would be calling at such an early hour. She peeled off toward the elevators and raised the phone to her ear.
“Hey. Everything okay?”
“I’m okay,” Diaz said. “I’m okay.”
That sounded not okay at all. Beyond which, Alondra’s voice was breathless and shaky.
The elevator doors opened, and Livia’s lieutenant, Donna Strangeland, emerged with her trademark giant coffee thermos. “Hey,” she said in her outsized Brooklyn transplant accent. “You’re going the wrong way. Big shooting this morning in Freeway Park. Come on.”
“Be right there,” Livia said. And then, when Strangeland was safely out of earshot, “What’s going on?”
“I was on my way to Freeway Park for my morning run. I thought I heard gunshots, and . . . there are bodies. I think six.”
The corridor seemed suddenly ten degrees colder. “You’re in the park now?”
“Yes.”
“Did you call 911?”
“Yes. They’re sending a car. Or cars.”
“Are there people around?”