Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

“I appreciate that.” Sean handed him his card.

Brown took it and started to walk off but then stopped and turned back.

“When I put on the uniform, I did put on a sense of honor. And duty. Not just to the Army. But to my country.”

“I felt the same way in the Service.”

Brown twirled Sean’s card between his fingers. “I’ll be in touch.”

He walked off to Dana’s room.

As Sean left the hospital his phone buzzed.

It was Michelle. She spoke in terse, energetic sentences.

Sean listened and then ran flat-out to his car.

MICHELLE MAXWELL WAS NOT GOOD at waiting. In the Secret Service that had been one of the things that had most irritated her – the tedium.

She drummed her fingers on her steering wheel while she eyed the horseshoe-shaped motor court in south Alexandria, Virginia, right off Route 1, or Jeff Davis Highway, as it was known here. The area had once been nice but no longer was. And it was no longer that safe, either. The homes, strip malls, and other businesses around here had all seen better times. They were tired, used up, and, in some cases, abandoned and falling down.

Michelle was focused on the motor court. Specifically, room 14 at the Green Hills Motor Court. The name had made her smile when she’d first seen it since there were no hills, green or otherwise, around here. There was trash in the parking lot, mostly consisting of beer cans, used needles, empty condom packs, and smashed bottles of Jack and Black and gin. The paint on the doors and walls was peeling. The neon sign had long since lost its neon.

And yet Jean Wingo, or Shepherd, or whoever she really was, had letters addressed to her here. So presumably she had stayed here. Michelle kept drumming her fingers but the itch in her brain was telling her to act, to move, to knock down a door, to take somebody prisoner, or to kick someone’s ass.

When the other car pulled into the parking lot she got out at the same time Sean did. They met in the middle of the nearly empty lot. She showed him the envelope with the address of the motor court and explained in more detail how she had discovered it.

“Really, really good work, Michelle,” he said earnestly.

“And I really, really thank you,” she said back jokingly until she noticed his still-serious expression.

“Is it Dana?”

“I saw her. She gripped my hand.”

“Sean, that’s great. Right?”

“Yes, it is. Really great.”

“And yet you look so down.”

“I ran into the general again.”

“Did he take another swing at you? I hope this time you kicked his ass and–”

He put a hand to her mouth to stop her.

“Nobody kicked anybody’s ass. No punches were thrown.”

“So what happened?”

“He’s agreed to help us.”

Michelle looked dumbstruck. “Well, that’s great too. So, why don’t you look happy?”

“Because it might cost him his career.”

“But it’s his choice.”

“I actually might have shamed him into doing it. And there’s something else.”

“What?”

“The Pentagon. They can come down on us like a ton of bricks.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve ticked off the high and mighty, Sean.”

“This time might be different.”

“What do you want to do then? Cut and run?”

He started to walk toward the building. “Not a chance. Just wanted full disclosure in case you wanted to call it a day.”

She fell into step beside him. “You really think I’d just walk and leave you solo on this?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Then why the little lecture?”

“Maybe it was for my benefit. To show that when it all goes to hell I had thought it through.”

The rooms here were accessed directly from the outside. They walked up a set of rusty steps to a balcony that ran around the front and sides of the second floor. They turned to the left, and then turned right as it wrapped around the outside of the motor court’s upper floor.

“Number fourteen is right down here,” said Michelle.

They reached a wooden door that was badly in need of fresh paint.

Sean knocked.

“I didn’t see Jean’s car here,” Michelle said.

“Just being sure,” replied Sean.

He waited a few more moments then said, “Got your pick tools?”

Sean stood behind Michelle to cover her breaking and entering. Thirty seconds later she swung the door open with one hand. In her other was her pistol.

She entered, followed by Sean. He closed the door behind them. Michelle checked the small attached bathroom while Sean opened the tiny closet and then looked under the bed. There were no other places someone could be concealed.

Michelle was holstering her gun as she came back out of the bathroom. “All clear.”

“She didn’t leave much,” he said as he opened a few drawers, revealing various articles of clothing. “There’re a few hanging things in the closet.”

Michelle flipped up the mattress and then checked the box spring for anything hidden there. Wiping the dust off her hands, she rose. “I doubt she left anything of significance.”

“Yet her having this place is significant in itself,” he replied.

She said, “How hard do you want us to look? We can tear up carpet, peel off wallpaper, and dig the backing off the cheap prints on the wall. Check the toilet, the pipes, and the bath drain. The list goes on and on.”

“Why have a second address at a place like this?”

Michelle perched on the edge of the bed. “As opposed to what?”

“Let’s assume she was a DoD plant. Presumably Wingo would have known that.”

Michelle saw where he was going. “So why a crash pad? If she was brought in from out of the area, the military had to have a better place for her to stay than this dump. I mean, the Pentagon has a lot of facilities up here. You can’t turn around without bumping into space with their prints all over it.”

Sean leaned against the wall. “Based on that, what’s the logical conclusion?”

Michelle flicked her gaze around the room as she thought about this. When the answer dawned on her she said, “If you’re right, this sucker just got really complicated.”

“Because maybe Jean Wingo was playing a two-sided game. Working for DoD and pretending to be Wingo’s wife.”

Michelle picked up this thread. “And also working for the other side. The side that got the billion euros Wingo was supposed to deliver. So she’s a spy?”

“I don’t know what she is. A spy. A criminal. Both.”

“But who would she be spying for?”

“Even our allies spy on us.”

“Granted. But we have to make some progress on that question if we want to get any traction on this case.”

“I’m hoping General Brown will come through for us there. And we might get really lucky and Sam Wingo will email his son back.”

“Do you think Wingo went over to the dark side?”

“For Tyler’s sake I hope not,” replied Sean.

Michelle glanced toward the door. “Did you hear something?”

Sean ran to the window where he could see outside through a gap in the drapes. Whatever he saw made him leap across the room and push Michelle into the bathroom. He grabbed the mattress and threw himself through the doorway into the same bathroom, where Michelle was now lying on the floor.

“What the hell is going on?” she hissed.

In response he pulled her into the bathtub with him and threw the mattress over them both.

She didn’t have time to ask her question again because the bedroom they had just been in disappeared in a vortex of shock waves, choking fire, and flying debris.

SAM WINGO WAS WALKING FAST.