his student.”
Mr. Agadakos tugged at his vague clouds of hair. “Are you sure?” he finally said.
“Of what?”
“That he’s who he says he is.”
Beck looked at the closed door. From the kitchen came quarreling voices: the two sisters, not quite getting along. It occurred to her that Audrey had barely said hello to her father’s oldest friend, and had not come out to say goodbye. Maybe nuns, like other people, held grudges. Maybe Dak was the reason for the fight. She wondered what the grudge could be.
“All I know is what he told me,” Beck said. “I didn’t ask him for ID.”
“In the future, maybe you should.” He puffed out a lot of air, then unlimbered himself. He tufted his hair some more, and the deep-blue eyes grew warm again, so suddenly that Rebecca knew it was an act.
“You know him. I saw it in your face.”
“I met him a few years ago. He wanted to interview me for a book on the Agency. I said no. And, so far, no book. He’s nobody, Rebecca. A hack writer. Forget him.”
“He said he’s working with Jericho.”
“Once upon a time, I’d have said that Jericho wouldn’t give the time of day to a twerp like that. Now? Who knows?”
He opened the door. Chilly wind snapped in. She felt his alertness tauten, and stretch outward, farther even than his eyes could see. He was like an animal, scenting the air for predators; or prey. Evidently satisfied, he drew her onto the front step. He was concerned about microphones, she decided. Just like Jericho.
“What’s going on, Dak? Is there something we should know?”
But Phil Agadakos had Jericho’s trick of answering the question he wanted to rather than the one you asked. “Tell you what.” He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “If you’re worried, I’ll have somebody give the state police a call. See if they can’t put a car down at the end of the driveway. How does that—”
He stopped. His head jerked upward. Her gaze followed his. The cold rain had taken a hiatus. In the glowering sky, the helicopter was passing overhead. Dak had heard the engine before she had; and the expression on his tired face was one of such utter contempt that if he’d had a gun, he’d have been trying to shoot it down.
“This is not a good moment,” he said, “to know what Jericho knows.”
(ii)
Very gently, Dak took her hand and led her down the steps, until she was standing beside him. “I need you to do something for me,” he said.
“Something like what?”
“Keep an eye on him.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He shook his head impatiently. “That’s not what I mean, Rebecca.” He glanced at the house. “Jericho hasn’t been entirely right for a long time. In the head, I mean. He hasn’t been right for a good fifteen years.” He read her dark thoughts on her face. “No, honey, no. It’s not your fault. It’s not. Okay? If anything, what happened with you was a symptom, not a cause. Okay? I’m not saying what he felt for you wasn’t genuine—isn’t still—only that the Jericho I used to know would never have yielded to his passions, no matter how powerful, or pure.”
Beck turned her gaze aside. She said nothing. They were standing beside his car.
“I don’t mean he would never have cheated on Lana. He would. He did. You must know that. Before you, yes, he had his flings. In our business, well, when you have a fling, you report it. There’s even jargon for it. Unveiling, we call it. That’s what you do, you unveil your relationships to a security officer. We say, it’s better to unveil than to be unveiled. And Jericho, well, Jericho did a fair amount of unveiling. But he never left Lana. He never wanted to hurt her or the kids. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“He had his flings, he unveiled them, and life went on. That’s the key. Life went on.”
“I said—okay.”
Maybe it was the rising wind that made Dak’s voice seem harsher. Or maybe, old spy that he was, he had sensed her shrinking, and was in pursuit.
Mr. Agadakos tugged at his vague clouds of hair. “Are you sure?” he finally said.
“Of what?”
“That he’s who he says he is.”
Beck looked at the closed door. From the kitchen came quarreling voices: the two sisters, not quite getting along. It occurred to her that Audrey had barely said hello to her father’s oldest friend, and had not come out to say goodbye. Maybe nuns, like other people, held grudges. Maybe Dak was the reason for the fight. She wondered what the grudge could be.
“All I know is what he told me,” Beck said. “I didn’t ask him for ID.”
“In the future, maybe you should.” He puffed out a lot of air, then unlimbered himself. He tufted his hair some more, and the deep-blue eyes grew warm again, so suddenly that Rebecca knew it was an act.
“You know him. I saw it in your face.”
“I met him a few years ago. He wanted to interview me for a book on the Agency. I said no. And, so far, no book. He’s nobody, Rebecca. A hack writer. Forget him.”
“He said he’s working with Jericho.”
“Once upon a time, I’d have said that Jericho wouldn’t give the time of day to a twerp like that. Now? Who knows?”
He opened the door. Chilly wind snapped in. She felt his alertness tauten, and stretch outward, farther even than his eyes could see. He was like an animal, scenting the air for predators; or prey. Evidently satisfied, he drew her onto the front step. He was concerned about microphones, she decided. Just like Jericho.
“What’s going on, Dak? Is there something we should know?”
But Phil Agadakos had Jericho’s trick of answering the question he wanted to rather than the one you asked. “Tell you what.” He pulled a notebook from his pocket. “If you’re worried, I’ll have somebody give the state police a call. See if they can’t put a car down at the end of the driveway. How does that—”
He stopped. His head jerked upward. Her gaze followed his. The cold rain had taken a hiatus. In the glowering sky, the helicopter was passing overhead. Dak had heard the engine before she had; and the expression on his tired face was one of such utter contempt that if he’d had a gun, he’d have been trying to shoot it down.
“This is not a good moment,” he said, “to know what Jericho knows.”
(ii)
Very gently, Dak took her hand and led her down the steps, until she was standing beside him. “I need you to do something for me,” he said.
“Something like what?”
“Keep an eye on him.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
He shook his head impatiently. “That’s not what I mean, Rebecca.” He glanced at the house. “Jericho hasn’t been entirely right for a long time. In the head, I mean. He hasn’t been right for a good fifteen years.” He read her dark thoughts on her face. “No, honey, no. It’s not your fault. It’s not. Okay? If anything, what happened with you was a symptom, not a cause. Okay? I’m not saying what he felt for you wasn’t genuine—isn’t still—only that the Jericho I used to know would never have yielded to his passions, no matter how powerful, or pure.”
Beck turned her gaze aside. She said nothing. They were standing beside his car.
“I don’t mean he would never have cheated on Lana. He would. He did. You must know that. Before you, yes, he had his flings. In our business, well, when you have a fling, you report it. There’s even jargon for it. Unveiling, we call it. That’s what you do, you unveil your relationships to a security officer. We say, it’s better to unveil than to be unveiled. And Jericho, well, Jericho did a fair amount of unveiling. But he never left Lana. He never wanted to hurt her or the kids. Okay?”
“Okay.”
“He had his flings, he unveiled them, and life went on. That’s the key. Life went on.”
“I said—okay.”
Maybe it was the rising wind that made Dak’s voice seem harsher. Or maybe, old spy that he was, he had sensed her shrinking, and was in pursuit.
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