Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

“I wonder if Jean Wingo knows about the email?” asked Sean.

“If I had to guess, I would guess not. They don’t seem to be two people who share much of anything except a house.” Michelle added, “But if Sam Wingo is alive, why is the Army saying he was shot and killed?”

Sean said, “And then mortared. Which gets them around the pesky detail of remains that can be identified by family members.”

“I was thinking the same thing, actually,” said Michelle.

“So again, why? Because the Army has to be in on the subterfuge. They would certainly know if the man was alive or dead, as would members of his unit.”

“Pity we can’t get to them and ask them,” said Michelle.

“I guess it would behoove us to find out when his unit’s coming back stateside.”

“Do you think Dana could wheedle that out of her hubby?”

Sean nodded. “Soldiers are made of strong stuff. But Dana has a way of making men talk.”

“Really?” said Michelle, but her features were clearly annoyed.

Sean didn’t see this warning sign. He gazed at the ceiling, a smile playing off his lips. “She came into the restaurant dressed in a miniskirt, fishnets, and stilettos, with her cleavage spilling out and this really hip blonde hairdo. I have to admit, she looked great. I thought every guy in the restaurant was going to fall out of his chair. One old guy almost choked when she talked about being sexually insatiable.”

“ Every guy?” said Michelle, a definite hard edge to her words.

Sean looked at her, suddenly taken aback. “No, of course not every guy.”

“Sexually insatiable? How the hell did that come up in the conversation?”

Sean sputtered, “We were just… I mean, we were just talking… about what went wrong between us, and I–”

Michelle rose. “I’m beat. I’m going to bed. See you in the morning.”

She headed for the door.

“Michelle, you’re being silly,” he called after her.

“Great, Sean, just what a woman wants to hear.”

She slammed the door behind her.

WHEN MICHELLE CAME OUT OF HER APARTMENT the next morning it was early, the sun barely up.

Yet there he was.

Sean was standing next to his Lexus, two cups of coffee in hand. He was shivering with the chill in the air.

“Why are you here?” she asked.

“To beg forgiveness for being a total ass last night.” He held up the coffee. “It’s not much, but it is hot. I timed your appearance just right. You are definitely not one to linger in bed.”

She stared at him for a few uncomfortable seconds, then walked over and snagged the Styrofoam cup.

“I am sorry,” he said quietly.

“You have nothing to be sorry about. We’re business partners. What you fantasize about in your spare time is entirely up to you.”

“I don’t fantasize about her. Don’t forget, I only looked her up because you asked me to.”

Michelle’s anger faded with this statement. She took a drink of her coffee and just stared at the pavement.

“Look, Michelle, Dana is happily married. I know it sounds incredible, but she really cares for her general. She went on and on about him.”

“And you?”

“I’m really happy she loves the general.”

They eyed each other.

“I guess I get that,” said Michelle.

“Trust me, my years with Dana were some of the worst of my life. I do not have enough time left to go back down that road, even if I wanted to, which I don’t.”

Michelle sipped her coffee. “Okay, what now? We’re waiting on Dana and Kathy. We really can’t approach Tyler at this point.”

Michelle’s phone dinged. She looked at the screen and then held it up for Sean to see. “We just got Tyler’s email address from Kathy.”

“Then our next stop is Edgar Roy.”

“At his farm?” she asked.

“No, I checked. He’s working in D.C. the rest of this week.”

“Bunting Enterprises?”

“Satellite office thereof,” replied Sean.

“Can we see him there? Isn’t it classified and firewalled with attack dogs ready to eat trespassers?”

“I’m sure it is. But we can call and arrange to meet with him outside the Emerald City. I’ll tell him to bring his laptop. And his big brain.”

Sean started to get in on the driver’s side of his Lexus.

Michelle said, “I’ll drive.”

“But–” Sean started to protest. Michelle was already climbing into her truck, however.

Sean opened the passenger door to the Land Cruiser and a pile of junk fell out onto the pavement. He jumped when a half-empty carton of orange juice spilled on his shoes.

“Just throw it in the backseat,” advised Michelle.

“How about I just put it all in that trash can over there?” he said angrily.

“But it’s not all trash.”

“If it looks like trash and smells like trash…?”

“In the backseat, Sean. Thanks.”

Sean glared for a moment at the pile of stuff and then proceeded to hurl it into the backseat with velocity. Finished, he slammed the door shut.

“Feel better?” she asked.

“No, not really,” he said between gritted teeth as he stared straight ahead. “I have orange juice in my socks.”

“Then your feet will never get a cold.”

Sean called Edgar on the drive over. He did not keep normal hours and had been at work for some time already.

When they reached the office building a block over from K Street, they both saw him at the same time. Edgar Roy was hard to miss. He was six foot nine, which was extremely tall on any surface other than an NBA [14] NBA – National Basketball Association. court. He was also exceedingly thin, which made him seem even taller. He was carrying a laptop computer under one arm.

They pulled to the curb and Sean rolled down the window.

“Hey, Edgar.”

Edgar glanced over at him. Partially obscured behind the thick glasses was a pair of eyes that fronted one of the premier minds in the country, if not the world. Edgar Roy was America’s most invaluable intelligence analyst. The amount of material his mind was able to burrow through to find small nuggets of intelligence gold was truly unprecedented.

Yet right now all Sean was hoping was that he could hack a teenage boy’s email.

Sean and Michelle hopped out of the truck and approached. Both tall, they still had to stare nearly straight up to come close to an eyeball-to-eyeball with Edgar.

Edgar nodded at both of them and then turned his gaze fully to Michelle.

“I didn’t say this the last time we met but I’m glad you’re doing so well, Ms. Maxwell.”

Michelle had tried and failed to get him to call her by her first name.

“Thanks, Edgar. But I should be doing the thanking. You’re the one who saved my life. And we appreciate your taking the time to meet with us. It won’t take long.”

Sean said, “I’ve got an email account here that I’m hoping you can hack into. We need to see some of the most recent flow.”

Edgar looked at the email address. Sean knew that he had instantly memorized it. He sat down with his laptop on a nearby bench, opened it, and started hitting keys.

“You don’t have to do it now, Edgar,” said Sean. “When you get a break from whatever it is you do in there, you can work on it, not sit out here in the cold. And then–”

“Here,” said Edgar.

He had turned the laptop around so that they could see the screen. On it were Tyler Wingo’s email postings.

“How did you do that so fast?” asked an amazed Sean.

“I’m not sure you would understand,” said Edgar politely.

“You’re right there,” said Michelle. She sat down next to Edgar while Sean perched on the other side of the bench. They ran their eyes down the screen. There weren’t many emails.