Chapter 43 Ingrid
Ingrid
Tuesday
According to the hospital rules, no more than two visitors at a time were allowed in a patient’s room, but the Martini Club had never been good about following rules.
All four of them had gathered around Lloyd’s bed, including Maggie, whose face was so bruised and swollen that she looked like she should have been in a hospital bed as well.
But as Ingrid had learned long ago, it took more than a black eye and a torn lip to knock Maggie Bird off her feet.
Maggie was tougher than that. So are we all, thought Ingrid.
Even Lloyd, who looked surprisingly chipper this morning, propped up in bed, his empty breakfast tray in front of him.
He looked down at the bandages on his chest and said, “It’s my very first bullet wound.”
“It’s your only bullet wound,” said Ingrid as she carried away his empty breakfast tray. He had complained that hospital food was inedible, yet he’d still managed to polish off the whole meal. Clearly, his appetite was back.
“And now I almost feel like one of you,” said Lloyd.
“None of us have ever been shot,” Declan said. “You’re the first.”
“Lloyd,” Maggie said, managing a smile despite her painfully swollen face, “you are one of us.”
That made Lloyd go quiet for a moment. He looked down at the IV tube taped to his arm, and he took a breath. “I have to confess something. Something embarrassing. The truth is, I was utterly terrified.”
“You’d be crazy if you weren’t,” said Ingrid. She sat down beside him on the bed and took his hand. “Although I do question your intelligence. Running into the house like that.”
“I was terrified for you.” He looked at her, and in the bright light of the hospital room, Ingrid saw how the years had left their wear and tear on his face.
The same wear and tear she saw on her own face when she looked in a mirror.
They were both growing old, and she was grateful they could still do it together.
She touched his cheek, rough with gray stubble. “Let’s not do this sort of thing again, all right?”
“But what if he asks you to? Your friend, Rodrigo?”
Ingrid could feel them all watching her, waiting for her answer. She could see the questions in their eyes.
At that exquisitely inopportune moment, they heard a knock on the door. It swung open, and there he was. Rodrigo.
“Ingrid, can we talk?” he said.
She looked at her friends. “We can talk right here.”
“This is sensitive. Agent Minnihan’s on his way, and he’s going to ask questions. We need to decide how to approach this.”
“My friends here already know.”
Rodrigo frowned. “Know what?”
“How Hannah Murray died. I told them.”
At once, he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him. “What did you tell them?”
“Everything. I trust them. Now you need to come clean.”
“Come clean? I’m not sure what you mean,” he said innocently, but Ingrid could see that the sly Rodrigo she once knew was back in action, his mental gears turning as he weighed possible responses, calculated which path would lead to the least damage.
The years had not changed him. When it came to sticky situations, Rodrigo could still count on his wit and charm to extricate himself.
The same charm that had once ensnared Ingrid.
“Tell us the rest of the story,” said Ingrid.
“There is no—”
“Jon Marcus,” said Ben. “We already know about him. Why he did it.”
Rodrigo looked at Ingrid, then back at Ben. “When did you find out?”
“After Ingrid told us what Marcus did, in the kitchen, I went to my sources at the Agency. We already had a pretty good idea who Marcus really is, and they confirmed it. ‘Jon Marcus’ is just a cover name.”
“He’s Gordon’s son,” said Ingrid.
Rodrigo didn’t respond. Instead he turned toward the window, as if to avoid their gazes. Avoid letting them see the truth in his face.
“He was only twelve years old when his father was killed,” said Ingrid. “A boy that age doesn’t forget how his father died. Certainly, Gordon’s son didn’t.” She paused. “How long have you known this, Rodrigo?”
“Not long.”
“How long?”
At last, he turned to look at Ingrid. “I only found out when he approached Argus, asking us to take on the mission. By then, the Agency had already identified the mole. They also knew who his GRU contact was, so they could feed Moscow strategic bits of information—or disinformation—in the mole’s name.
Marcus wanted to take it a step further, use that conduit to lure and eliminate Moscow operatives, hoping he could finally draw out the fifth man.
But such a mission would never be officially sanctioned. ”
“No wonder it wasn’t sanctioned,” said Ben. “Exposing defectors? Putting them at risk?”
“They were never at risk. We saw to that. Both Willem Dekker and Beatriz Guerrero are safe and have already been relocated.”
“What about my safety?” said Ingrid.
“We had you protected the whole time.” He paused, then admitted: “At least, we thought we did.”
“Why did you even bring me into this mess?”
“Because I trust you. Because we always made a good team. And because you had a personal stake in the outcome, just as I did. Just as Gordon’s son did. We made a promise, remember? This was our chance to honor it. To honor them. I knew you’d want to join the hunt.”
“I did,” said Ingrid. “But you should have told me who Jon Marcus really was. And why he was involved.”
“Would it have made a difference?”
“It would help me understand how we got to this point.”
“Well, now you know the background. Why Marcus wanted Hannah Murray dead. I can certainly understand his reasons, and there are three of them: Gordon. And Simon. And Sophie.”
At the mention of their names, Ingrid nodded. Yes, she did understand. Justice did not always move in a straight line. Sometimes it took detours. Sometimes, those detours took one to dark places.
“What happens to Marcus now?” asked Maggie.
“He’s resigned from the Agency. As for where he goes next, that’s under discussion. He has options.”
“With Argus, you mean?” said Ingrid.
“I could find a place for him. Men like Marcus are few and far between. And he is Gordon’s son. Which is why I hope we can agree.” He looked around at the others. “All of us.”
“Agree on what?” asked Lloyd.
“What the truth is. About how Hannah Murray died.”
The truth. In the world they’d once inhabited, the truth was not necessarily absolute.
It could be embellished or altered or even erased.
What really happened in Maggie’s kitchen?
Did Hannah aim at Jon Marcus, forcing him to shoot her in self-defense?
In the bloody chaos of that room, could Lloyd and Ingrid and Rodrigo really remember how it had all gone down?
Perhaps not. Perhaps their memories would be as inconclusive as the statements they would later give to the FBI.
“Minnihan will be here any minute,” said Rodrigo. “What are we going to tell him?”
“To be honest,” said Ingrid, “I’m a little hazy about the events in Maggie’s kitchen. I don’t really remember, because it all happened so fast.” She looked at Lloyd. “Don’t you agree?”
There was a long silence as Lloyd mulled over his answer.
“Well, as an analyst,” he finally said, “my job required me to strive for accuracy. That’s what I’ve always tried to do, stick to the facts.
But this time . . .” He looked at his friends.
“It’s a different sort of situation, isn’t it? With a different set of rules.”
Ben smiled and clapped his hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “Welcome to our world.”