Chapter 21: Dead(ly) Ends
Cho, Sacramento, Friday
Cho threaded his way through Friday night traffic preoccupied with the case, devoting only enough attention to driving for safety. Progress on the case was just not enough. To the good, there hadn't been another attack. The bad? They were no closer to identifying the terrorist, accomplices and organization (verifying it was Al Qaeda) than they were on Sunday. Most agents who had been working the case had been reassigned, although a dozen were helping finish running down tips and checking the less promising possibilities. Agents across the US were available as needed but, so far, they just didn't have good leads. He mulled the information from the team meeting.
Dark rumors about Muslims repeatedly swept through California, feeding suspicions and raising tension. Working with local FBI offices, Muhammad and Hassan found no connections between the attack and any California Muslim community, a relief but also a dead end.
Prying apart the van's crushed cab produced little. Forensics verified only one man was in the van. Hopes raised by finding an intact hand in the bloody mess were soon dashed. As with the photo, the three useable fingerprints got no matches. The crowning disappointment was the shattered, melted junk that used to be a cell phone, that might have led them to accomplices.
Rodriguez and Durand had traced the terrorist's journey back to the Texas-Mexico border; Jane's hunch got them photos before security recordings were overwritten. They had a time-line, a few grainy photos and an obviously fake name. Lacking an identity, tracking him further rested on visual recognition by Mexican law enforcement, drug cartel informants – like that'll get us anything – and the intelligence agencies of friendly nations. Cho wasn't optimistic.
Vega checked out the Move It van used in the attack. It was rented in southern California the preceding Wednesday. Having traced the terrorist's itinerary, they knew he was driving through Arizona that day so another man had to have rented the van: Unsub number two.
Cho unconsciously sighed. Once again, the name, ID and credit card were false. A baseball cap and beard obscured the face from the security camera at the Move It counter. The counter guy had a foot-long handle-bar mustache and swore the customer's beard was fake. Cho's lips quirked, Of course Jane trots out 'pogonophile'... Luckily, they got a full-face image from a second camera that recorded the entrance to inside storage , Wylie got no matches from any database of criminals or terrorists. Which leaves the explosives.
Ammonium nitrate fertilizer plus diesel fuel was used, the same as in the Oklahoma City bombing in the '90's. Forensics roughly estimated the quantity based on destruction at the airport. Unlike plastic high explosives, fertilizer manufacturers weren't required to mix in chemical ID markers. Ojara and Vega checked fertilizer distributors within a hundred miles of the Move It rental location for recent orders. The most promising possibility was a farmer who had immigrated from Iraq decades ago. He had been arrested for minor scuffles during demonstrations against US Middle East policies. Fertilizer in the right quantity was charged to his credit card three weeks before the attack. The lead and hopes literally died there. The man had passed away of natural causes two weeks before the attack. His shocked widow was vehement he had nothing to do with terrorism and told them they'd stopped using that charge card. She angrily challenged them to find evidence of involvement in his computer and papers. They found nothin–
"–Damn!" Cho jammed on the brakes and narrowly avoided rear-ending the car ahead. He exhaled and relaxed his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel. He glanced at the dashboard clock, frowned, and fished out his cell phone. "Tamsin, it's Cho. ... I'm off work, but I got called into DC tomorrow, early flight. ... Sorry I have to cancel. ... Yeah, next time."
Tamsin Wade had called mid-day. Fried from 16-hour days investigating the attack, Cho had welcomed her invitation to drinks and dinner. He'd have to eat anyhow and the distraction would be a relief. Then Abbott's admin called, summoning him and Jane to DC for a Saturday meeting. Cho frowned recalling Jane's resistance, then let it go. Abbott's deal with Jane is Abbott's headache. Cho sent his team home at the workday's end to rest and regroup, though Jane was still poring over unsub photos when he left. They would pick up the work on Sunday, refreshed after having Saturday off.
Exhaustion and frustration caught up with him during the drive home, especially with the prospect of a 6 a.m. flight. Getting together with Wade could happen another time ... if at all. He still bristled at her hard-assed reaction to Summer Edgecomb before the CBI was disbanded. He wondered if Wade's attitude changed because he was now FBI. That would make it worse.
After a shower and an hour to decompress he was surprised by the doorbell. Better not be Wade dogging me...
Yanking open the door, "What is – Alyssa?"
"Hey, Cho." Alyssa Chay leaned casually against the railing. "Can I interest you in hot pizza and a cold six pack?" She grinned, "No pineapple."
He opened the door wider and motioned her in. "What are you doing here?"
"I was in town for a briefing on the wildfires and have the night off." California summers were plagued with wildfires and this one was typical. But the rules required periodic downtime to keep the pilots who dropped water and fire suppression chemicals from literally crashing and burning.
"How'd you know I'd be home?"
"Either you are or you aren't. Let's eat while it's hot, huh?"
He nodded and led the way to the kitchen. Unlike Wade, unlike her sister Elise Chay, Alyssa was easy, soothing. She'd be good company even with everything going on. Especially with everything going on.
Lisbon-Jane Home
The terrifying, trying week had finally ended, at least for them. The devastation was permanent for those with murdered family and friends.
Lisbon puttered, glad to unwind with mindless domesticity. Now settled in their new home, she resumed gardening efforts she'd begun in Cannon River with a dozen outdoor potted plants. (Indoor plants died ugly deaths during long away cases.) Done with watering and dead-heading, she showered and put Jane's latest concoction in the oven to bake. (Three years after Jane discovered Sophie Miller's severed head, he still avoided using the oven.) She was mildly disappointed but not surprised when Jane called to say he'd be late. He hated abandoning a puzzle before solving it. "Quitting time" meant nothing unless he'd made a specific commitment. He finally showed up at 8 p.m.
"About time," she called easily over her shoulder, glancing up from her law enforcement periodical.
"Hello, my dear. Have you eaten?"
"Mmhm. Food's in the fridge." He dropped a kiss on her cheek on his way to the kitchen.
Fifteen minutes later he joined her on the couch, tray laden with dinner and tea and a slice of cake for her. She set her reading aside.
"You first," he said between bites. "How was your day?"
"We're back to normal cases and the regular schedule. Hightower's gonna announce she's running for AG on Monday."
"Then you'll officially be the assistant director?"
"Uh-huh. She'll announce it in the same meeting."
He raised his teacup in a salute. "A long-overdue home-coming and elevation to top cop."
Dryly, "It's the CIB not CBI and just assistant top cop."
Unfazed, "Only a matter of time. Teresa Lisbon was always the legitimate heir."
She waved it off with a soft snort, "That's not saying much after Bertram."
"Au contraire, Bertram proved the glaring mistake of passing you over."
She shifted restlessly, pleased but uncomfortable with glowing praise, "Minelli had just retired and I wasn't ready."
"They should have gone with quality, my dear. You'd have gotten there. Instead, they chose a venal, grandstanding, criminal hack who destroyed the CBI."
Quickly changing the subject, "How's the case?" She took a bite of cake.
He sipped his tea and leaned back, slumping. "So far, dead ends."
"Is that what kept you?"
"I was checking out an idea." He paused, gaze unfocused. "The convenient narrative, the obvious narrative ... doesn't fit."
She straightened in surprise. "It wasn't a terrorist attack by an Islamic radical?"
He turned toward her. "Of course it was. But there are unexplored layers to the puzzle." He deftly forked a piece of her cake.
"Hey!" She glared, protesting the theft on principle. "Is that why you're up in the middle of the night?"
"I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't. I just noticed."
He shrugged. "Hassan's university professor gave me books on the Middle East and Islam. And language DVD's. I'm woefully unprepared for working CT."
"Because it's hard reading people from other cultures?"
He nodded. "American, European, Russian extremists are easy, but I need a crash course on the Middle East." He frowned at a new thought. "I haven't even thought about Asian and African cultures."
She gently bumped shoulders. "Just get enough sleep. And don't get sucked in too deep."
He smirked, "Yes, dear." Returning to his earlier thought, "Ruthless doesn't mean stupid or illogical. The current narrative requires assumptions that'd tie a contortionist in knots." He again drifted off into thoughts about the case.
She ate her cake and waited. She finally nudged his knee and broached the topic, "Are you gonna tell me about Abbott?"
He started. "There's nothing to tell."
She rolled her eyes. "Abbott's admin phoned to remind you – forcefully – that you damn well better show up when Abbott calls."
Curtly, "Cho's going."
Lisbon frowned, "Jane, you owe Abbott work, what's the problem?"
"He wants me in DC tomorrow."
"So?"
Jane pulled her close. "You're more important."
Her eyes narrowed, "You mean the blood test?" He nodded. Both pleased and perplexed she said softly, "Patrick, the doctor said the first test is a baseline that doesn't mean anything. Go meet with Abbott before he blows a gasket." Or throws you in prison.
"You're–"
"–Sure. Tuesday is the one that matters."
He tightened his embrace then released her. "I'd best humor Abbott then."
Intercourse was ill-advised after an embryo transfer so they made do with cuddling, making out, and a fair amount of biofeedback by Jane. They turned in early so he could be up by dawn for the flight to DC.
Sacramento Airport, Saturday
Terminal B handled all flights until Terminal A could be rebuilt. Jane strolled to the gate sipping tea in a disposable cup. Only a scattering of passengers waited for the 6 a.m. flight. He caught sight of Cho who was reading and noticed another senior agent nearby.
"Cho, Singh," he greeted amiably. Cho nodded; Singh waved casually. "Why are you on this infelicitous flight, Singh?"
Yawning, "The Deputy Director says, 'Jump,' I ask, 'How high?'" Singh scratched his head. "He wants a briefing on my case." At Jane's questioning glance he explained quietly, "The CIA agent who died in a car crash last Saturday."
"Ah." Jane looked over at Cho.
Without looking up, "What?"
"You booked coach?" Cho nodded, continuing to read. Lightly, "I'll upgrade to first class, my nickel." Cho's bad back qualified him for an exception to FBI rules specifying coach but Cho begrudged the hit to his unit's budget. Glancing over at the other man, Jane added, "You too, Singh."
"Uh, why?"
Jane shrugged one shoulder. "It's a six-hour flight and I don't fly well. You can distract me with your case."
"Thanks," Singh said, pleased at Jane's generosity and hopeful Jane might even offer useful insights. He glanced at the clock behind the ticket counter. "I have time for a pit stop before we board," and left for the men's room.
Cho looked up. "You fly fine. Why?"
"Meh. Just curious."
Cho stared for a moment then resumed reading. Jane went to the counter to put in the upgrades. He chose a window seat, put Singh on the aisle, and gave Cho the seat across the aisle.
Six-and-a-half hours became seven-and-a-half after detouring around bad weather. The nearly empty first class section let them talk without being overheard. When they touched down at Dulles International at 5 p.m. local time Jane knew as much about Singh's case as Singh did. As did Cho. They got sandwiches and drinks before taking a taxi to FBI headquarters.
Only a few FBI personnel were in during the weekend. Singh opted to wait in the Deputy Director's anteroom for his meeting which had also been pushed back. Cho and Jane got to Abbott's office at 5:25 p.m.
"About time," Abbott growled, looking up from his desk. He checked the time and exhaled in frustration. "I wanted to talk before the meeting, but there's no time." Rising, he motioned them to follow. "People from several FBI branches and all national security agencies will be present. We'll see how they can help with your case. Jane, take a look at everyone and see if you pick up anything interesting." The elevator doors closed with just the three men inside. Abbott looked hard at Cho and Jane. "Information is dangerous in this town. Stick to facts in there." The doors opened, precluding elaboration.
The meeting began at 5:30. Courtney Wentworth quietly entered a few minutes later as the group was making introductions. As the only observer she took a seat away from the conference table.
Cho presented the work done and facts gathered to date. Representatives from the various branches and agencies explored the options for identifying and tracking the two unsubs inside the US and internationally, by physical means, by human intelligence, and electronically.
The group took a ten minute break halfway through. Cho sipped his coffee and talked with an NSA staffer while subtly keeping an eye on Jane. Wentworth joined Jane at the beverage station as he prepared tea.
Jane smiled and extended his hand, "We meet again." Jane flinched when they shook. She released his hand as though burned. He showed her the large, fading bruise on his hand. "Sorry."
"This meeting is under grim circumstances," she said, as befit someone from California.
"I've seen you and the senator in newscasts." Jane sipped his tea.
She cocked her head, and eyed the new scar barely covered by his hair and fading scrapes and bruises on his face. "My god, you – were you caught up in–" Sympathy and something else flickered in her eyes.
Unemotionally, "–I was at the airport during the attack."
She swallowed a lump. "Did you lose–" She couldn't finish the sentence.
"No, I was lucky," he said, closely watching her face.
She looked down and to the side. Choking back emotion, "It's horrible. My grandfather's outraged."
Gently, "Did you lose someone close?"
"No, thank god." She vaguely waved to include everyone present. "The senator wants to ensure everything possible is being done." She looked around. Most people were seated at the table.
"They're about to resume," Jane noted and turned away.
She caught his elbow, "I'm sorry you were hurt."
"Thank you but I'm okay. Sadly, not everyone was as fortunate." Sorrow, regret and – guilt(?) marked her expression until she regained her poise.
The meeting ended at 6:30. The attendees left after agreeing on what each area could contribute. Thousands stationed abroad from the FBI, CIA, ICE and military intelligence would join in trying to identify the dead terrorist and pick up information about the attack. Cho thought the odds of learning much were slim when all they had were low-quality photos for visual identification and a questionable claim by Al Qaeda. Abbott, Cho and Jane lingered near the door.
"I have another meeting. Be back here by 8."
As they watched Abbott stride away Jane noticed Wentworth talking with someone farther down the hall. "Who's that?"
"FBI agent. Saw him around when I trained at Quantico but don't know his name. Why?"
Jane tapped his lip. "Just wondering." He turned to Cho, "Dinner?"
The airport sandwiches had barely carried them through the meeting and their stomachs protested the neglect. Jane and Cho stopped at the first reasonable looking restaurant and got seated before the worst of the Friday night crowds. They chose a secluded booth at the room's perimeter in the mid-range bar and grill. A tv tuned to an all news channel flickered silently above the bar with captions instead of sound. Jane called Lisbon while they waited for their food. As expected, she didn't know anything from the baseline blood test.
Three-quarters of an hour later Cho slid his plate away and waited for Jane to finish. "What're your thoughts?"
Jane waved the server over to clear the table and bring more tea. "What makes you think there's anything?"
Cho looked at him flatly. "You upgraded Singh's seat so you could pump him for information. You're wondering about Abbott's warning. –And what did Wentworth want?"
Jane mocked, "Ah, you know me too well, the mystery is gone," before answering seriously. "Singh just happens to be meeting here the same day, same flight as us. I'd lay odds Abbott's in that meeting with Singh and the Deputy Director. How does a terrorist attack connect to a CIA agent killed in a car accident? Abbott doesn't trust the people who were in our meeting. Why? And I wonder why Courtney Wentworth, the senator's granddaughter not just an aide, shows up the second time we're here. On a Saturday. Overly distraught about the attack–"
"–It's her state capital."
"She's mid-30's, tough and experienced. She doesn't know me and didn't lose anyone in the attack. The emoting is excessive." He frowned. "She's having an affair with the FBI agent, which may or may not be relev–"
"–Look." Cho motioned toward the TV. Jane half turned. "Isn't that the senator?" Jane nodded and they paused to read the crawl.
'TODAY SENATOR WENTWORTH WITHDREW HIS OPPOSITION TO INTERVENTION IN THE MIDDLE EAST. WENTWORTH SAID THE CALIFORNIA TERRORIST ATTACK CHANGED HIS MIND. ... TROPICAL STORM DANIELLE BREWING IN THE ATLANTIC–'
Jane turned back and finished his thought. "Too many questions, too many coincidences."
"What about the case?"
Jane ran a hand through his hair. "The ostensible narrative has more holes than pieces fitting together." At Cho's raised eyebrow, "I don't have an alternative theory – yet."
Cho nodded tightly. "No way to ID the terrorist or accomplice. No confirmation it's Al Qaeda. No connections to anything. Too pat to be a one-time attack by an amateur with a friend." He signaled the server for more coffee. "Let's go through it before we meet Abbott."
Jane gave a calculating glance, "Don't trust Abbott?"
"Managing the brass. I want to decide where to take the case before Abbott weighs in. I need to know what he can tell us about those coincidences."
Abbott, Cho, and Jane, FBI DC Headquarters, Saturday Evening
Cho and Jane knocked on the door to Abbott's office. He waved them in.
"You're–" Abbott glanced at a clock, "on time," he acknowledged almost grudgingly.
Jane sauntered over and placed a take-out bag on his desk. Lightly, "Here's something to eat. The break room has tea and comfortable chairs so let's talk there, g-man."
Abbott said nothing, but rose and followed Jane and Cho after a moment. The building had been sparsely occupied earlier. Now, Saturday evening, it was deserted. Abbott chose a table and fetched what he needed from the counter. He fastidiously swiped a germicidal wipe over the table in front of him before sitting and pulling out the sandwich. Cho and Jane settled into the comfortable chairs opposite him and waited for him to begin.
After chewing and swallowing a bite, Abbott started. "We covered the facts in the meeting. I want your thoughts about them."
Cho began. "Two weeks ago, a man illegally crossed into Texas from Mexico, traveled to Sacramento and, with the help of an accomplice, destroyed Terminal A of the Sacramento International airport on Sunday. Everything else is questionable."
Abbott frowned. "Explain."
"Obviously, a foreign national launched a successful attack. We think there's more to it." Abbott nodded for him to continue.
Jane picked it up. Almost off-handedly, "Why did Al Qaeda take three hours to claim credit? Why would it pay travel costs for an uncomplicated attack when it now mainly radicalizes men already here? If Al Qaeda didn't pay the travel costs, why would a poor man–"
Abbott interrupted sharply, "–How do you know that?"
"A cheap shoe with the terrorist's blood on it."
Cho added, "Hassan and Muhammad say only the poor wear them in the Middle East."
Jane resumed, "Why would a poor man travel here instead of attacking targets in the Middle East? He crossed the border in Texas. Why skip bigger, better known targets like Houston or LA to attack Sacramento?" Jane shook his head. "Logic applies, zealot or not. And that's just the beginning." Jane stopped and sipped his tea.
"Go on."
Cho spoke. "The terrorist had the Quran in a metal box. That ensured it would survive the explosion and link the attack to Islamic terrorism."
Abbott commented, "Not inconsistent for an Islamic terrorist."
Cho continued. "Only one customer within a hundred miles of the Move It office ordered the necessary amount of fertilizer three weeks before the attack." He added before Abbott asked, "I have agents checking farther away but so far, nothing. It was bought with a credit card belonging to a farmer who immigrated from Iraq decades ago. No links to terrorism. His wife says they had stopped using the card."
Frowning, "No links to terrorism?"
Jane shook his head, "Nope. And he conveniently died of natural causes two weeks before the attack."
Cho frowned. "The farmer didn't rent the van. If he wasn't involved, who else had access to his credit card number?" Cho took a mouthful of coffee. "Every FBI office has the photos of the two unsubs and the Iraqi farmer. My agents have circulated in the California Muslim community. No one recalls the farmer supporting terrorism. No one recognizes the photos or heard about plans for an attack. The photos and three usable fingerprints aren't in any databases. NSA didn't pick up electronic chatter about an attack." Intensely, "We are being fed a story designed to dead end."
The silence stretched into minutes as Abbott finished his sandwich.
Suddenly Jane asked, "How does the CIA agent who died in a Sacramento car crash fit in?"
Abbott looked up sharply, "Who says he does?"
"You just did." Jane smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "You asked how I knew instead of denying it. Gold tell."
Abbott exhaled slowly. He looked around to be sure there was no one to overhear. "The agent who died was under investigation."
Cho frowned. "Corruption, on the take?"
"Maybe money, maybe something else."
Cho pushed. "He had a sniper rifle in the trunk the day before a terrorist attack. There are three possibilities. He was there to stop the attack. He was there to join the attack. Or it was coincidence. I don't believe in coincidence." A flicker of smile crossed Jane's face.
Abbott unconsciously flexed his shoulders. "We –"
"–You and the Deputy Director?" Jane asked pointedly.
Abbott nodded sharply once. "We don't think he was helping the terrorist."
Jane rubbed his thumb over the fingertips on his right hand as he thought aloud. "Interesting. If he was trying to stop it legitimately, he'd work with the Sacramento FBI – Cho or Mancini. The sniper rifle suggests killing the terrorist," he frowned, "though we don't know whether it'd be before the attack or after. Hiding something? Protecting a larger plan or wider group?" Jane looked up and stared at Abbott. "The Deputy Director can't spend time on one dirty agent among thousands." Jane leaned forward, "It's more than one agent and more significant than greed. A-n-d you're suspicious of the other agencies that were at today's meeting." He sat back grinning as Abbott's micro-reactions confirmed his guesses.
Cho spoke into the silence. "We can't work in the dark, boss."
Abbott deflected. "What did you pick up in the meeting, Jane?"
Jane shook his head slightly and gazed at the table recalling the meeting. "There's no love lost between the FBI branches and the other agencies." Thoughtfully, "The CIA guy didn't want to be there, was hiding something relevant to the case. Ms. NSA was worried but doesn't know anything for sure." He looked at Abbott. "There was an undercurrent of unease among everyone there that had nothing to do with the case."
Cho and Jane leaned back, waiting.
Abbott rubbed his jaw. After a minute, "I need to know if the CIA agent was connected to the airport attack. See what you can find in the next two weeks and we'll meet again."
"My team will need Singh's information."
"I'll make that happen. Keep your investigations separate."
"Yes, sir."
Jane tilted his head, "You're keeping us in the dark?"
"Let's see what you turn up. Cho, make sure your team discusses this only in person at the Sacramento FBI."
The thee men rose. They paused at the corridor.
Jane slyly glanced sideways at Abbott. "You sweep your office for bugs, Dennis?"
Abbott looked startled, then pursed his lips. "Daily."
They started to move away then paused when Jane called, "Dennis– Why was Wentworth there?"
Abbott turned back. "The senator thinks he's indispensable to national defense. He demands being in the loop."
Cho frowned. "Since when does anyone outside the Bureau get information about on-going investigations?"
Abbott grimaced, "The senator's influential on every committee involved with national security. That courtesy–" he adjusted his glasses, "ensures his support." He added, "I'm told his office has never leaked confidential information."
Jane just nodded. After a moment, Cho and Jane walked toward the exit and Abbott returned to his office.
They exited the building and paused.
"Want to do anything? Comedy club?" Cho asked.
"I'll catch a redeye home. See you tomorrow."
Van Pelt-Rigsby Home, Sacramento, Sunday Evening
Rigsby sank onto the couch with a sigh. "Taylor and Ben are down. At last."
"Thanks, Wayne."
He eyed his very pregnant wife. "Ready for work tomorrow?"
"Yes, though I'm beginning to think the doctor is right. I'm just tired."
"You're entitled. You just spent two weeks keeping our kids busy and you're carrying twins. ... You were in a terrorist attack. -You could go on maternity leave now," he suggested hopefully.
She shook her head. "I want to close the two cases and finish up the paperwork. A couple more weeks."
"Min's okay doing child care till you're off?" His wife nodded. "Heck, she's pretty far along herself. Is she up to it?"
"I talked to her today. She feels fine and wants to finish up August. Min's been talking to adoption agencies about choosing a couple for her baby. She sounds frustrated."
He shook his head slowly. "That's a huge decision. I can't imagine giving Ben up after he was born."
She sighed. Slowly, "I know there are wonderful people who want to adopt and Min thinks that's best for her and her baby. Even thinking about giving a baby up is hard, especially to strangers." She shuddered.
Rigsby moved close and took her hands. "Grace, Mrs. Cho is helping and it is Min's decision. You said it yourself. There are good families out there. It's not our problem." He took a breath and swallowed hard. He changed the subject with deliberate cheer. "Hey, check your email. Hightower's called an all-employee meeting tomorrow morning. Scuttlebutt has it she's filling the assistant director position."
"Who?"
He shrugged and grinned. "No one knows. I hope it's the boss."
"Lisbon?" He nodded. "She's been consulting for Hightower. That'd be terrific."
"We'll know tomorrow. Let's turn in so you're rested for work."
Lisbon-Jane Home, Just Past Midnight on Monday Morning
Lisbon stirred as Jane slipped into bed. "Mmph," as she rolled over on her back. "Thought you stayed in DC," she mumbled half asleep.
He slid closer and kissed her cheek. "Why stay in a lonely hotel room when I can be here with you?"
She turned toward him and nestled against his side. "Works for me."
"You're okay, with the test and all?"
She brushed a strand of hair away from her mouth and settled closer. "'S okay. I'll–" yawn, "know soon enough. ..." Sleepily, "Anything interesting happen in DC?"
"Meh, it'll keep. ... Ready for your ascension to top of the CIB food chain?"
Lisbon lifted her head from his chest, more awake. Wonderingly, "Yeah. I never thought this'd happen, but I'm looking forward to it."
His embrace tightened. "Good." He kissed her tenderly and relaxed completely. "'Night, Teresa. Love you."
"Love you more," she whispered and surrendered to sleep.