Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

“We haven’t gotten a cent from Tyler.”

“You mean not yet? But you would have billed him, right?”

“Have you really checked us out?” asked Michelle. “I’m assuming you have. So you have to know that we’re legit. We don’t run around like ambulance chasers trying to get money out of grieving teenagers. We found Tyler running down the street in the middle of a storm. He was upset. We took him back home. He contacted me and said he wanted us to look into his father’s death. We told him there wasn’t much we could do.”

“And so why didn’t it end right there?” interjected McKinney.

“Because he was insistent. We really didn’t want to take the case,” said Sean. “But at the same time, if he was going to pursue it, I would rather it be people like us than others who might take advantage of him.”

“What more did you possibly think you could learn about his father’s death? It occurred in Kandahar in combat, for God’s sake.”

Michelle said, “On the surface it seemed like nothing. His father was dead. Small-arms fire. Coffin was supposed to arrive at Dover.” She paused and looked at Sean. “But then things started getting a little squirrelly.”

“Squirrelly how?” asked McKinney.

“For starters, now the Army is telling him that his father was also hit by a mortar shell and there is really nothing left of the body. So no Dover.”

“So what?” asked McKinney. “Combat is not neat and tidy. The man is still dead. He’s certainly not the first casualty, nor will he be the last unfortunately.”

“Right,” said Sean. “So why is the Army and now DHS so interested? You said this was a national security issue. How?”

“You really think I can answer that?”

“Well, if it is a national security issue then you’ve just as good as told us this situation is different, because most soldiers who get killed in combat are not normally at the epicenter of a DHS matter. You can’t have it both ways, Agent McKinney.”

“On the contrary, I can have it any way I want. What I’m telling you is to back off and stay away from Tyler Wingo.”

“So the kid is not going to be told the truth?”

“His father is dead. That’s all he needs to know. Now let him grieve properly.”

“But is his father really dead?” asked Michelle. The statement drew a warning glance from Sean that she ignored.

“What the hell do you mean by that?” snapped McKinney.

Michelle leaned forward and went eye-to-eye with him. “Well, national security claims are so often accompanied by bullshit that I was just wondering. Are you guys going back to the daily color updates anytime soon? What was orange for again, imminent annihilation or perilous peril? I could never keep them straight.”

“Do you know how miserable I can make your life?” said McKinney, pointing a finger at her.

“Pretty miserable,” replied Sean as he hooked Michelle’s arm. “We’ll be going now unless you have any more questions or objections.”

McKinney glared at Michelle. “I do not want to see you again. If I do, it will not be pleasant for you. That’s a promise and I always keep my word.”

“Is that it?” asked Sean.

McKinney leaned forward. “This is your last warning. You’re at the edge of the cliff. Don’t take the next step.”

A minute later Sean and Michelle were being escorted out of the building.

They were dropped off at the Panera. The black SUV roared away, leaving them staring at each other in the parking lot.

Michelle folded her arms over her chest and leaned against her Land Cruiser.

“I am officially and majorly pissed off,” she exclaimed.

Sean wearily rubbed his temples. “Why did you think it was smart to let him know we doubt Sam Wingo is dead?”

“Because I was unofficially pissed off back then and he was acting like such a smug bastard. I lost control.”

“You need to control your emotions better, Michelle, or we’re going to get our asses handed to us. This is DHS and DoD we’re facing. Together they are the one-ton gorilla that stomps on anyone it wants to.”

She pushed off from the truck. “How can we leave this alone now? There is something going on, Sean. You know it and I know it.”

“I’m not disputing that. The question is how do we keep going and stay out of jail at the same time.”

“We haven’t done anything wrong.”

“Do you think they need a real reason to stick us away somewhere? He as good as told us that. National security, Michelle. Like McKinney said, it trumps the Constitution. Hell, they might even send us to Gitmo. No one would ever find us.”

“Well, I’m not giving up.”

“I didn’t say anything about giving up. I just meant we had to do it smart.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Oh, don’t worry. When I think of one you’ll be the first to know.”

TYLER WINGO SAT ON HIS BED in his room and studied the piece of paper. He’d written down the message he’d received from his father before deleting it. Not that he could ever forget it. But he’d written it down because that made it seem more real than if it was just in his head.

His father’s message was both straightforward and puzzling.

I am sorry. Please forgive me.

Sorry for what, Dad? What do you want me to forgive you for? Dying? But you can’t be dead. You aren’t dead.

Tyler folded the paper twice and slipped it into the front pocket of his jeans. He lay back on his bed and gazed around his room. Every surface carried memories of his father, from the sports and music posters on the walls, to the baseball glove and football gathering dust on a shelf, to the framed photo of the two of them at a swim meet where his father had been a timer.

Tyler snaked a hand inside his T-shirt and pulled out the pair of official dog tags his father had had made for him. He rubbed the flat metal between his fingers and wondered where his dad might be right now. Did he have his dog tags? Was he safe? Was the email sent after he was supposedly dead really from him? Or was it somehow a big mistake? He knew his father had written it, because it had been in their special code.

He rolled over onto his stomach and stared at the raindrops on his window. It had been a gloomy day and now a cold overcast night and thus a perfect match for what he was feeling. He had always thought that he would know if his dad had been injured over there. He thought he would just feel it. But then again he thought he would be able to tell that about his mom. And he and his dad had found her on the floor of her bathroom with a bullet in her head and the gun beside her. Her suicide note had been neatly folded and on the counter next to the sink. Its contents had been terse.

I can’t do this anymore. I’m sorry. I’ll miss you.

He shook his head to rid himself of the image of this final message from her. But it was always there, just in the back of his mind, ready to poke out when he least expected it. It could drive the smile off his face in a split second or drown a laugh in his throat.

He rose and walked over to his desk, an old-style military metal model that his father had gotten when the Army had cleaned out some surplus inventory during the expansion of Fort Belvoir in Alexandria.

He sat down, slid open the top drawer, and pulled the photo out.

He traced the faces of his father, his mom, and him. They had been at the Army 5K [18] Army 5K – a long-distance road running competition over a distance of five kilometers for servicemen. that he had run with his dad. They were happy, all smiles; the sun was shining and they were celebrating with ice cream cones after the run. Hugs, smiles, and ice cream barely five years ago. Then less than a year later everything had changed. No, everything had collapsed. His life became something else entirely. It was as though this room, this photo even, didn’t belong to him. As though it were telling the history of someone else, because Tyler really no longer recognized the person that used to be him.