Maden Mike - Tom Clancy Firing Point

Rhodes was in good shape for his age, around sixty, she guessed, and good looking, in a game show host kind of way. He must have had something going on for sure, given the fact he’d been married for over thirty-eight years to his college sweetheart, a former beauty queen and mother to their six children.

Good for them.

“I appreciate you coming in a little early this morning,” Rhodes said. “I’m afraid I have some bad news.”

She leaned forward. “What?”

“I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this, but Dylan Runtso is dead.”

Her mouth narrowed. “Oh.”

She sat back slowly, expressionless for a moment, eyes blinking as she processed the information. Finally, she said, “That’s terrible. How?”

“Four days ago, he was in a café in Barcelona when a bomb exploded. Maybe you heard about it on the news?”

She shook her head. “I don’t watch the news.”

“I know you two were close when he was here.”

“He was a brilliant guy.”

“Have you two stayed in touch?”

“No.”

“This must come as a real shock. If you need to take time off—”

“No. I’m fine. I mean, yeah. It is shocking. But we’re already behind schedule.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure. The Russians and the Chinese aren’t taking time off, are they?”

“No, I suppose not.”

Parsons knew what buttons to push. It was a three-way race to the finish line.

God help us if we don’t finish first, Rhodes thought. RAPTURE was just weeks away from completion. The bad guys weren’t far behind, according to his contacts on the Senate Intelligence Committee.

“I appreciate your commitment to the work, Kate. I really do.”

She stood, a small smile on her angular face. “I’m a scientist, first and always. Personal feelings must come second. I’ll work now and grieve later.”

Rhodes stood as well.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to get to the lab.” She started to turn.

“Oh, Kate. Just one other thing. Since you will be here today, I need to add something to your schedule.”

“Sure. Name it.”

“The FBI wants to speak with you.”

Her head cocked, like a bird spotting a worm. “Me? Why?”

“About Runtso, of course. They have a few questions. But if that’s a problem, I can wave them off.” He began reaching for his desk phone.

“No, not a problem at all. You know where I’ll be. Send them along when they get here.”

Rhodes smiled sheepishly. “They’re already here.”

48

There was a knock on the open door.

“Dr. Parsons?”

Kate Parsons stopped typing and glanced up from her computer.

“May I help you?” Parsons asked.

An East Asian woman and a Hispanic male stood in the open doorway, both in their mid to late thirties. Off-the-rack suits, store-brand leather shoes, cheap digital watches, Parsons noticed.

The Asian female held a synthetic leather folio in one hand and a leather billfold in the other, flashing her gold FBI badge and identity card with her name and badge number. The Hispanic agent did the same.

“I’m Agent Kang”—she pronounced it Kong —“and this is Agent Silva. Is this a good time?”

Parsons forced a small smile as she stood, extending her hand.

“Sure. Why not?”

“Sorry to disturb you. Dr. Rhodes told us to keep it short. We know how busy you are.” Kang pointed at the open chairs near her desk. “Do you mind?”

“Please,” Parsons said. “Something to drink? Water? Coffee?”

“We’re fine, thanks,” the woman said.

Parsons sat back down behind her desk. “Do you mind if I just finish up this e-mail?”

“No, not at all,” Kang said.

The two agents sat quietly, silently scanning the spartan office as Parsons finished up. No awards, no photos, no mementos, no diplomas. They exchanged a glance.

Parsons expected the visit. Rhodes had warned her they were coming. Okay, not warned, she reminded herself. They were just coming. A friendly visit to talk about Dylan. No doubt they were concerned about him. Nothing for her to worry about. She hadn’t done anything wrong.

Technically.

They would ask her a few questions and leave. This wasn’t her first rodeo with the Feds. She’d been interviewed by them before when she was getting her ANACI and SSBI security clearances, and many times since when they sought information about security clearance applications for other people in her department. She knew the drill. In fact, she probably could conduct this interview herself.

The questions were largely standardized. But there was one red flag to watch for.

When they asked specific and limited questions, it meant they were just tying off a few loose ends. No big deal.

But if they started asking broad and general questions, then they were hostile. Open-ended queries were just opportunities to say the wrong things, betray confidences, and confuse rehearsed stories. That meant they were fishing.

And you were the fish.

She finished the e-mail and hit the send button with a whoosh, then turned back toward her visitors.

“How may I help you?”

“Just a couple of questions,” Kang began. She opened her folio and clicked a pen.

“Of course. Anything.”

“I believe Dr. Rhodes informed you of Dr. Runtso’s death.”

“Yes. He said it was a bomb. He thought it was a coincidence.”

“What do you think?”

That was not a good question. Way too general, Parsons thought.

“I have no idea.”

“Why do you think he was in Barcelona?”

“Again, no idea. I didn’t even know he was in Spain.” Parsons’s gaze turned aside, presumably to hide her grief. “It’s terrible. He was a brilliant guy. So young.”

“Yes, it’s tragic. How long did you know Dr. Runtso?”

That’s better, Parsons thought. It was a very specific and quantitative question. An easy answer. She glanced up at the ceiling, calculating.

“I first met him when he interviewed for a position in my department twenty-eight months ago.”

Agent Silva fought back a smile. What? Not twenty-seven and a half months?

“And you hired him, why?” Kang asked.

Parsons couldn’t decide if that was open-ended or not.

“He first came to my attention because of a paper he presented on quantum computing, his field of expertise. He also came highly recommended by a Princeton faculty member that I trust implicitly.”

Kang poised her pen over her pad. “And that faculty member’s name?”

“Dr. Craig DeBell.”

Kang scratched the name down.

Parsons noticed that Silva never took his eyes off her, like he was conducting a visual lie detector test or something. She smiled at him. He didn’t react.

“Why did Dr. Runtso leave your employ?”

“He said at the time he had a better-paying opportunity in the private sector.”

“And what opportunity was that?”

Parsons felt the heat rise on her neck. There wasn’t any doubt in her mind that Kang already knew the answer to the question.

“I believe he became a private consultant.”

“And who did he consult for?”

“I don’t know. We didn’t talk much after he left. I heard he was freelancing, but I have no idea who his clients were—obviously someone who valued his expertise. Something that took advantage of his top secret clearance, I’m willing to bet.”

“Any guesses as to whom he might have worked with? I mean, it’s kinda weird a guy like that decides to live in Knoxville. I’d think he’d move to Silicon Valley, or even the Triangle.”

“Dylan loved Knoxville, especially the craft beer scene. With his skill set, he could travel anywhere to consult. I’m betting he did a lot of work from home.”