Pereira watched the corner Collins rounded, counted to ten under her breath, the final three out loud, and eased us away from the curb in the opposite direction. She u-turned north toward Cambridge Street.
A light mist began to fall. The wipers cycled once and stopped. The Charles came up on our left, flat and black, with the lights of Cambridge thin and scattered on the far bank.
Wiley spoke. “I keep thinking about the courier.”
He paused, and I waited for him to continue.
“He looked like a kid. Hewasa kid with a bike helmet under his arm. Donna at theGlobesigned him out and put him on a bike and sent him to a house she didn’t know was a safehouse, with an envelope she didn’t know contained a threat.”
“Yes.”
“They used him.”
“They did.”
Wiley exhaled through his nose. “That’s what I can’t stop turning over. They didn’t have to risk exposure for any of their people. They walked their note up the front steps inside aGlobesatchel.”
I checked the side mirrors. There was a cab two blocks back, with a delivery van behind it, both moving at normal speed for the hour.
“They wanted us to know they could do it,” I said.
“They wantedmeto know.”
“You and Cabot. The note didn’t specify.”
“The envelope hadmyname on it.”
“Then they read the room wrong. Cabot’s the asset they want, and you’re the man who can name them. They don’t get to pick which one of you scares them more.”
Pereira took us down past the back side of the State House and merged us onto Storrow. The river opened up beside us.
Wiley was quiet for a half-mile. Then: “Where are we going?”
“Brookline. A carriage house behind a larger property.”
“Do you know it?”
“No, but Eamon described it on the phone. There’s a single road in, mature trees, and a controlled approach. Discreet. It's the kind of place a couple fixes up while insisting they are just friends.”
Wiley nearly smiled.
I checked the mirror again. The cab had peeled off two blocks back. The delivery van was still there, three car-lengths back.
Wiley turned away from the window. “How long until we’re there?”
“Fourteen minutes. Maybe twelve.”
The van was still there at the BU Bridge. It was three car-lengths back, traveling at a steady speed.
I watched the mirror without turning my head.
Pereira adjusted her hands on the wheel, left at ten, right loose at five.
Wiley looked out his window again.
I kept my voice flat. “Wiley.”
“Yeah.”