“He’s hiding something, of course.” Wolf waited until the Town Car door slammed behind him before turning to Fitzsimmons. To speak in the parking lot would have been unwise, even with the rain acting as a natural barrier to microphone pickup. He trusted Gleason or his white rat, Snow, would have had them trained on Fitzsimmons and himself to glean whatever they could, to try to save themselves.
It was what he would have done.
“You speak the obvious. That call to check on the woman. Likely a signal. We should have demanded it be on speaker phone.”
“And that would have shown we did not trust him.”
“He already knows we don’t trust him, you fool.”
Wolf didn’t respond. The car cruised down the highway through the gusting rain under the firm guidance of Fitzsimmons’ driver.
Fitzsimmons himself stared out the side window. “God, how do you stand it here? This darkness and rain. Weren’t you in Florida before?”
Wolf decided responding would be less dangerous to his career. “One becomes accustomed. I have my ultra-violet lights at home. I take my vitamin D. It is the heat I miss, if anything.”
The car swayed in a gust of wind as I-520 swept down towards the Evergreen Floating Bridge and the dark waters of Lake Washington. The Seattle towers dripped light in the rain.
Florida had been a lovely interlude of sun and sand, and it had been an active posting dealing with the ongoing flood of Cuban refugees and the drug trade. His experience dealing with the politics of the rich had served him well since arriving in Seattle, as well.
“But Seattle and taking down the AGS has the better potential for promotion.”
Fitzsimmons’ statement of fact turned Wolf to him. He managed a smile.
“Actually, yes. A chance you gave me.”
“I’m glad you recognize that fact.”
Fitzsimmons rubbed his chin on his shoulders in a manner reminiscent of birds preening, then he caught Wolf again in an eagle glare.
“So what are you going to do with Gleason?”
A test, and one Wolf planned to pass. He smiled more openly now, because he could almost taste AGS blood and feel the pats on his back as he got news of his promotion.
“Gleason has tried to buy himself time. I suspect he’s trying to get stories straight amongst the staff. That’s what I’d be doing.”
Fitzsimmons nodded.
“So if he’s given himself—what?—ten or fifteen hours, we don’t let him have it. We do the one thing he clearly doesn’t want us to do—we pick up his Agent for questioning.”
“When?”
Wolf checked his watch. “How does time enough to get home and change my clothes sound? This is one takedown I want to lead myself.”