The Buck Stops Here (38 page)

He mulled that one over for a few minutes.

“A couple reasons, I guess. First of all, it was the code
he
helped create that got into the wrong hands and put this country in danger.”

“What else?”

“When he tried to crack the code, he couldn’t do it. He failed there.”

“What else?”

“He was the one who insisted that my presence was required for breaking that code. He talked the NSA into having me released from Keeplerville into their custody.”

“You mean, it’s because of Tom that you were there at all?”

“Yep. It’s also because of Tom that I was able to escape.”

My pulse quickened.

“How?” I whispered. “What happened?”

“I duped him,” he said. “He was in that house around the clock, but the guards made a shift change every eight hours or so. Like I said, things got lax. One guard in particular would sit out on the front porch and fall asleep. I knew that was their weakest link. I figured if I could get Tom out of the house during that guard’s shift, then I might just get lucky and be able to slip away and make my phone call.”

“You tricked Tom into leaving? How?”

“Well, see, he and I shared a history, you know. I was married to his sister. I knew what made both of them tick. I knew his one area of weakness.”

“And what was that?”

“His father. I wrote a note to Tom, ostensibly from Daddy, saying he would be changing planes at Dulles the next day at a specific time, and that he hoped his son would come to meet him there, because he had something extremely important to tell him about the past. Brilliant of me, don’t you think?”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Tom’s father was dead by then, wasn’t he?”

“No, he was still alive. He didn’t pass away until about a year later.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I slipped the note into the NSA pouch and Tom never knew it hadn’t come in from the outside. Like clockwork, when the time came, Tom simply up and left me alone there with the guard. Tom was gone for hours on a wild goose chase to the airport, all to no avail. By the time he got back to the house in Virginia, of course, everything had changed.”

“Changed?”

“I was in the local jail. The NSA was going nuts. And, I’m sorry to say, your husband was dead.”

Forty-Five

I needed to think.

Once my phone call with James Sparks had been concluded, I knew that more than anything I needed to get away and clear my mind. I told Gordo to call me back as soon as he was out of there, and while I waited for that to happen, I did what I had said I would do: I called Tom, so that he could alert the NSA to the full reality of the situation.

He sounded rushed and distracted when he answered, and I was glad. I wasn’t yet ready to talk about all that I had learned.

“This’ll just take a second,” I told him.

“Good, ’cause I’m about to board a plane for D.C. I got your message last night about the substance, so I’m on my way to an emergency conference at…um…headquarters.”

“NSA headquarters?”

“Yes. I’ve been thinking a lot about what you said, about Sparks’ claims that there was some…collusion…between him and someone else. If that’s really the case—and it’s looking fairly obvious that it is—then it’s time to turn this whole thing over to the authorities. I know that sort of messes up your agenda, but I don’t see that we have any choice.”

“Actually, that’s why I’m calling. I thought you’d like to know that the substance inside the inhaler is ricin. I don’t know anything about it, but it’s supposed to be lethal. I agree that it’s time to bring in the NSA.”

“Where is the inhaler now?”

“Locked up in a climate-controlled storage facility out in the middle of nowhere. I wasn’t comfortable having it around.”

“You did the right thing. The NSA will take it from here. I’ve already had some conversations. While they need to keep the man safe, they’re also interested in letting the situation play itself out a little bit—though in a controlled fashion, if you know what I mean.”

“You’re going to track the prison guard and see who he’s working for?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, he uses a dead drop. It might not be that simple.”

“Duly noted. We’ll also need to get that inhaler from you to have it analyzed for fingerprints. Someone will be in touch. I’m sorry, but they’ll also need to question you about your involvement. Just be honest with them.”

“I understand.”

In the background over the phone, I could hear an announcement from the loudspeaker.

“Final call,” Tom said. “I have to go.”

“Tom, I—”

“Look, I don’t know any other way to say this, Callie. I’m sorry, but I think once the NSA is finished meeting with you, you’ll need to pack up and go home.”

“Go home?”

“Just drop your investigations and go home. Considering all that’s happened, I don’t think you’re safe there. We’ll handle it from here. I’ll be in touch.”

“But—”

“I have to go. I’ll call you later. I love you.”

Then he hung up the phone. Before I could even process all that he had said, the phone rang again.

“Tom?”

“No, it’s Gordo. I’m outta there and already on the highway. That was one doozy of a phone call, huh? I hope it gave you the information you needed.”

“And then some,” I replied. I thanked Gordo profusely for all of his help this week. “You understand that every single thing you heard in there today was probably classified information you can never divulge to anyone.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gordo said. “If you knew some of the things I’ve learned in my years in this business, your head would spin. I won’t breathe a word to a soul. I never do.”

“Good. I knew I could trust you.”

I told him that his work there was finished and that he was free to go home.

“You’ll get my bill,” he said. “And it won’t be cheap.”

“You’re worth every penny, Gordo. You always are.”

After I hung up, I grabbed my tote bag and my room key, and then I went to the front desk and asked if there was anywhere in all of this city that a girl might rent a canoe. I thought if I didn’t get some space and a way to think things through, I might explode!

A half hour later I was on the water of Bayou St. John, a sort of canal that wound its way through an area known as Mid-City. There were few crafts on the water, but the banks were bustling with activity, mostly walkers and bikers taking advantage of the wide sidewalks that lined the waterway, which was shaded by huge oaks and flanked with stately old homes. I would have preferred a more isolated place for canoeing, something more like my river back home, but this was probably for the best anyway. I didn’t know if I was in any personal danger, but isolating myself out in some quiet, hidden river somewhere really wouldn’t have been wise or prudent. This very visible spot was a much better choice.

And, oh, did the paddle feel right in my hands and the sun feel good on my face! I gave it my all, stroking vigorously in the muggy noontime hour, racing down the canal through what had to be one of the most architecturally and culturally interesting cities I had ever visited. Tom had hoped I would love it here, and I did. I could think of nothing more perfect than a future that included this place.

But what of that future?

The truths that had been hidden from me, the truths that I had so desperately sought, were all laid out on the table now. While I still didn’t know the full story of James Sparks nor who his accomplice was, that really had nothing to do with me or with Bryan’s death. The facts I needed in order to make some decision of forgiveness about Tom had all been provided.

Now that I knew the whole truth, all I could think was: Did he really think these were things I couldn’t forgive?

Tom was hard on himself, much harder than I thought I had the right to be. In my mind, I went through the list of what he had done wrong that led to the death of my husband.

Tom created a secure computer encryption program
.

Could I blame him for being smart, for taking his ideas and making them a reality? As Beth had said, it simply started as a puzzle for him. Once he understood the implications of that puzzle, he halted everything despite the personal cost, both literally and figuratively. It wasn’t his fault that the program had made its way into the wrong hands. That code was sold to terrorists by James Sparks. But at the time, Tom had already realized the danger potential of the program and had disbanded the company. He couldn’t have known what Sparks would do.

When Tom tried to crack the code, he couldn’t do it
.

He was still the brilliant Tom Bennett. He had still done wonders with mathematics and code breaking. That he couldn’t break his
own
code was really a testament to his genius. If he couldn’t do it, no one could. I couldn’t fault him for that.

Tom was the one who insisted that James Sparks’ presence was required for breaking the code. He talked the NSA into having Sparks released from Keeplerville prison and into their custody
.

Again, who was I to judge? I didn’t know anything about the national crisis that sparked that need, but I could only assume it was something extremely dire. And while I hated the secrecy that surrounded Tom’s work, and I would have given anything to know what the crisis was that had resulted in my husband’s death, that was the nature of national security. Who was I to judge the decision to pull Sparks out of prison?

Tom’s desire to connect with his father had caused him to commit the careless and selfish act of leaving the house that day, ultimately allowing Sparks to escape in the boat
.

I had a feeling that that was the element of this whole thing that Tom most blamed himself for. The brilliant mathematician had been easily duped because the trick Sparks used—the fake note supposedly from Tom’s father—tapped into the one unsettled, uncertain part of himself that was vulnerable for exploiting.

And while it bothered me a little that Tom had never shared with me his feelings about his father or the sad past that bound them together, I also couldn’t blame him for making one stupid decision. He was human. He had made a mistake. When I pictured him reading that note and leaving the house despite the fact that he had a responsibility to stay there, I didn’t feel anger. I just felt sad—sad for a man who wanted nothing more than to connect with his dad and to solve the mysteries of his own past. This, I knew, was the act he had thought I wouldn’t be able to forgive.

More than anything, I wanted to go to him now. I wanted to take him in my arms and tell him that now that I knew everything, I did not hold him to blame for Bryan’s death. Bryan died from a difficult and complicated set of circumstances. Yes, Tom had been a part of those circumstances, but I didn’t find his actions unforgivable.

I looked up at the sky, at the vivid blue fringed with clouds, and suddenly my heart soared. I finally knew the truth, and while it was very tragic, it was also something I could live with.

For better or for worse, I knew I could live with it for the rest of my life.

Forty-Six

When I arrived back at the hotel, I wasn’t surprised to see two men sitting outside my door. The courtyard area was deceptively peaceful, but I knew they hadn’t come here to enjoy trailing ivy and twittering birds.

“Mrs. Webber?” one of them said softly as they both stood.

“Yes.”

“I’m Brett Devlin. This is Chester LaForest. NSA. Do you mind waiting a moment while we make a phone call to verify?”

I nodded and then simply stood there as he pulled out a phone and dialed.

“Janine McDowell, please,” he said.

For some reason, that name sounded familiar.

“Janine, Brett Devlin here. We’re ready. Can you put us through? Thank you.”

He put one hand over the mouthpiece and spoke to me.

“Mr. Bennett’s on an airplane right now. We have to do this through the FAA.”

The FAA. Of course. Janine McDowell was Tom’s contact there. I had met her last fall, a gorgeous blonde who sought me out in an airport to deliver a message personally to me from Tom.