Page 98 of Fire and Bones

Sliding me a side-eye, Doyle tipped her head toward my Mazda.

“Thank you so much,” I said. “Have a lovely weekend.”

We were halfway down the walk when Pope called out to our backs.

“Those wheels were mine, you know what I’d dub’em?”

“What’s that?” I asked.

“The Camry Canary.”

Shuffling backward without turning, Pope slammed the door.

“Tough old bat,” Doyle said as we were buckling our seat belts.

“I liked her.”

“Not a chance she’s our Foggy Bottom arsonist.”

“No. But Deery should still check her out. See what evil lurks in the Pope family tree.”

Grinning, Doyle pushed damp curls from her face. “Well, this was a total waste of time.”

Was it?

What had my subconscious been trying to tell me?

The National Academy of Sciences is centrally located, at 2101 Constitution Avenue NW. I arrived at two-forty-five and hung back by the row of cars into which I’d embedded my Mazda. Before making my presence known, I wanted to assess the woman I’d agreed to meet. Should she appear sketchy, or armed, I’d split.

Einstein’s wasn’t the biggest memorial in the district. Nor had it been the easiest to find. I’d finally spotted it in an elm and holly grove in the southwest corner of the Academy grounds.

A bronze statue, maybe twelve feet tall and undoubtedly weighing mega tons, depicted the great man casually seated on a three-step stone bench. His left hand grasped a sheet inscribed with what I guessed were mathematical equations.

I couldn’t be certain from so far off, but what else would they be? It was Einstein.

The sculpture was burly and craggy and wonderful. Dappled with shadows cast by overhead branches, the effect was truly beautiful. I felt Albert would be pleased.

At the moment only squirrels were present, rooting and rummaging for whatever appealed to their rodent minds. Not sure how Albert would have felt about that.

Three o’clock came and went. No one appeared.

Every few minutes I checked the time.

Three-ten.

Three-fifteen.

Might the woman be doing exactly as I was? Hanging back to see if I was crazy or packing?

Sighting down the barrel of a Mauser M18?

By three-twenty, I felt like I’d downed two triple espressos. Nerves jangling, I threw caution to the wind and strode to the monument.

No gunshot shattered the afternoon quiet.

No figure materialized in the warm summer sunlight.

Only the squirrels reacted, scattering quickly, at least one screeching its irritation.