Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

“That narrows the choices,” said Sean. “To some really bad ones.”

“And if that became public? And the identity of the country?” said Michelle.

“Not good,” answered Sean.

Littlefield said, “We’ve been known to send aid to the enemies of our enemies before. But we do try to keep it on the QT [32] QT – quiet (the state of being secret or confidential). . In this situation that’s not a can of worms anyone wants to open. Unfortunately, this can has been partially opened. Somehow the story about the money and Sam Wingo made it to the press. That’s another reason we need to keep a tight lid on the kid. The press will be all over him otherwise. We have an agent with eyes on the Wingo house. There are media trucks all over the place. It’s all starting, and once the press is on the hunt they don’t quit until a bigger story comes along. And I don’t see that happening.”

“Good thing we got Tyler out of there when we did,” noted Sean.

“But the money never made it to where it was supposed to go?” said Michelle.

“Apparently not. Either Sam Wingo stole it or somebody took it from him.”

“And why are you really looping us in on all this?” said Sean. “I doubt it was my partner’s eloquence about sticking something up your, well, you get the point.”

“It wasn’t her eloquence, although it was good, I have to admit. It was the kid.”

“What about him?” said Sean.

“The only people he’ll talk to are you two. And we need him. Or at least the Bureau believes we do, to get to the bottom of all this, because he’s the only connection we have to his old man. And the Bureau doesn’t want to be seen as manhandling a kid who might have lost his soldier dad in combat.”

“All of which means you need us,” said Michelle.

“For now,” replied Littlefield, who then smiled stiffly at her. “Until we stop needing you.”

He rose. “Now let’s go.”

“Where?” asked Sean.

“To see the man.”

“FBI director?” said Michelle.

“Aim higher,” said Littlefield cryptically. “A lot higher.”

“CONGRATULATIONS, IT’S ALL YOURS,” said the man.

Alan Grant shook the man’s hand and looked up at the building he had just purchased. It was an old AM radio station in rural western Fairfax County complete with a two-hundred-foot-high transmission tower. It had once broadcast crop and farm animal prices along with local news and weather on weak AM frequencies, but it had been unused for years.

The man looked at Grant. “This thing is sort of a historical landmark around these parts.”

“I’m sure,” said Grant.

“Hope you’re not going to tear it down.”

“Wouldn’t think of it,” said Grant.

“Going to run your own station? You’ll need to jump through lots of hoops with the FCC. [33] FCC – Federal Communications Commission. ”

“Got it all covered, thanks.”

The man walked to his car and drove off, leaving Grant alone with his unusual purchase. He walked the perimeter and then stopped at the tower, gazing up at its two-hundred-foot height. Parts of it were rusty and some cross members needed repair. He had been inside the building, which was brick with few windows and a partially rotted front door. There was lead paint and asbestos ceiling panels, but that was okay, too. He didn’t need to make structural changes to the place, but there would be changes, lots of them. And they needed to be done quickly.

He checked his watch and then sent a text.

Five minutes later the two tractor-trailers came rolling up the winding road to the building. Three men sat in the front seat of each rig. The trucks stopped and the men got out. They opened the rear doors of the trailers, and five more men jumped down from each one. With sixteen men in total working, it wouldn’t take them long.

A ramp was dropped from each trailer, and the men started offloading building materials.

Grant unlocked the door to the station and the men began carrying in all the materials, including twin gas-powered generators.

Grant consulted with his foreman and then walked around inside the station directing the placement of the materials. Some of the other men began collecting junk and other debris from inside the old radio station and carrying it out to the trucks. The men worked steadily and methodically, and hours later what had been in the station was now in the trucks and what had been in the trucks was now in the station.

Grant studied some plans that had been set up on a long piece of plywood laid on sawhorses in what had once been the lobby of the radio station. He consulted with the foreman, made notations on the construction plans, and gave some suggestions.

They were on a tight schedule, and Grant was pleased to already hear the whine of power tools as the men commenced preparing the building for the required rehab.

He again walked the interior with the foreman, pointing out where he wanted the vestibule walls to be.

“Five layers of SID,” he said, referring to “security in depth.” “From the controlled perimeter of the guts to layer five.”

The other man nodded and pointed to various spots. “Intrusion detection points.”

Grant nodded and pointed out spots for more. They would be taking a six-sided approach to this project, meaning all four walls, the ceiling, and the floor. Construction would be from true floor to true ceiling. There would be special insulation and slip-proof acoustic fill between the first and second layers of gypsum board, with fire-rated plywood over that.

Every penetration into the secure space, whether it was ductwork, utility lines, or any others, would be sealed off with acoustical foam. All ductwork would have metal bars to prevent access. All penetration lines would be configured to come in at only one juncture point and be properly sealed off to prevent unauthorized entry or electronic surveillance.

The windows would be covered and sealed and would not open. They would be alarmed and outfitted to pass TEMPEST certification, as would the entire facility. There would be one rear emergency exit with no external hardware on the door; it would carry deadlocked panic hardware and be alarmed 24/7 with local annunciation.

All doors would be nearly two inches thick, made of eighteen-gauge steel, have acoustic sweeps and seals, be self-closing and locking, have RF [34] RF – radio frequency. shielding, and be connected to alarms. The door hinges would be reinforced to seven-gauge steel, lock areas predrilled to ten-gauge steel, and the door closure to twelve-gauge.

Grant continued to walk the interior, seeing in his mind all that would be there very soon. Motion sensors, emergency backup power, access control. No one without a key card, a PIN, and the requisite biometrics on the security checklist would be admitted. Anyone else approaching the building would not have a pleasant time.

A perimeter gate would be set up two hundred yards down the road and a guard stationed there. For five hundred yards on all sides of the building there would be sensors implanted in the ground, laser lines, observation posts, and every other intrusion detection device that Grant could reasonably deploy here.

The exterior of the building would have enhanced noise generators and sound-masking devices that would defeat any attempts to capture sensitive information.

Grant ventured to the very center of the building and visualized where the vault would go. It would be a steel-lined modular room with a Class 6 entry door. This was the guts of the operation, an operation that would be taking place fairly soon.

He walked outside and studied the perimeter. The best place for these types of facilities was on a military base where you could have a dedicated response force. However, Grant did not have that option. He needed to work with what he did have, and an army he did not.