Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

Michelle smiled. “That one was free of charge.”

An hour later Sean and Michelle were sitting in front of a bank of computer screens.

“Which airport first?” said Michelle.

“Let’s dial up Dulles. It’s closest. And Reagan doesn’t handle international flights from the places Wingo would be coming from.”

Six hours and three cups of coffee each later they sat back looking defeated.

Michelle said, “Without facial recognition software this is going to take forever. There are just too many faces to do manually.”

Sean nodded in agreement, thinking hard.

“Let’s focus on cargo. Even with his new look I don’t think Wingo would chance flying commercial.”

They dialed up that segment of the footage.

They started watching when Sean realized something. “This footage is probably too recent. Wingo was probably already back in the country by then.”

Michelle grabbed his arm. “Wait. Check out the car.”

Sean sat back and focused on a car that was parked outside one of the cargo terminals. “That’s Wingo,” exclaimed Sean.

“And it looks like he’s watching someone. Can you adjust the angle?”

Sean hit some keys and the screen changed to show Wingo’s sight lines. A man was coming out of a building. He got into a car and drove off. Sean hit some more keys and they watched as Wingo pulled onto the road and started following the other man’s car.

“He’s tailing the guy,” observed Sean.

Michelle was typing in something in her phone. “License plate of both cars,” she explained.

Sean nodded while he again changed the footage angle. “Heron Air Service,” he said, reading the sign on the side of the building from where the man had come.

Michelle saw this and hit some more keys on her phone. “You think that’s the folks he rode back in on? I just Googled them. Among other things they run an international cargo service.”

“But if he’d gotten a ride with them, why tail them?”

“That’s true.”

“Maybe he was running down a lead on the money,” said Sean. “Maybe Heron had something to do with transporting the billion euros.”

“We need to run down the same lead then. How do you want to go about it?”

“Deceit and lies, the usual template,” replied Sean.

“I could go on bended knee to Edgar and see if he can run these plates for us.”

“Good idea. And I’ll find out all I can on Heron Air Service.”

“And the Feds?” asked Michelle.

“We tell them we found nothing on the footage and we eat our humble pie.”

“Not in a trusting mood?”

“I haven’t been in a trusting mood for twenty-five years.” He leaned back in his chair. “But we have to keep in mind that those guys followed us to Wingo, Michelle. They’re still gunning for us. Which means we have to take evasive action.”

“Tough to do while we’re investigating this,” she noted.

“But we have to. Unless and until Sam Wingo wises up, we have to follow up everything solo.”

“And wall the Feds off at the same time. And the president. Tall order, Sean.”

“Where’s your usual can-do spirit that I know and love?” he said with a smile.

“I think I left it back at either the blown-up motel room or the woods where we nearly got shot.”

He shrugged. “You were the one who got us involved in this sucker. So, in for a dime, in for a dollar.”

She drew a long breath. “Yeah, I know. I’m just wondering when we’re going to run out of change.”

MICHELLE SAT IN THE PASSENGER seat of the car staring down at her phone.

Sean was in the driver’s seat. It was a vehicle they had borrowed from a friend. They had stayed the night at a motel, paying in cash.

“And?” he asked expectantly, looking at her.

“Edgar came through. The plates on Wingo’s car belong to a vehicle that was impounded by the D.C. cops about a month ago.”

“He stole the plates off it to replace the ones on his. Probably a rental. He’s using a fake ID and didn’t want anyone to be able to trace it back and blow his cover.”

“That’s right,” said Michelle absently. “He’s probably only got one ID and a credit card pack based on that. That gets blown, he’s out of resources.”

“What about the other vehicle?”

“Registered to a Vista Trading Group, LLC, based in D.C. Their office is over off L Street, Northwest.”

“And what do we know about Vista Trading Group?”

“Consultants in the defense contracting arena. They operate in lots of countries but they seem to have a specialty in the Middle East.”

“Special enough to steal a billion euros?” asked Sean.

“Maybe.”

“Connection to Heron Air Service?”

“Nothing mentioned on the site.”

“Did you dig deeper on Heron?”

“They’re a private charter service. They’ve got ten aircraft. All have the capability to fly across the pond and then beyond with a jet fuel fill-up.”

“And the guy driving?”

“No clue. His photo wasn’t on any screen page. The president of Vista is someone named Alan Grant. His bio’s on here. Late thirties. Family man. Former military. MBA [39] MBA – Master of Business Administration. from Wharton.” She held up her phone. “Here’s his picture. Nice-looking guy.”

Sean glanced at it. “But no picture of the guy in the car we saw?”

She shook her head. “Nothing on Vista’s website. And Heron didn’t have a site, which seems odd.”

“Well, if he is involved in this, his mug shot will soon be posted in lots of places.”

“How do we hit Vista?”

“Tricky because some of them might have already seen us. So my usual plan of hitting them head-on is probably out.”

“We can establish an op post and see what falls out.”

“Or we can do some digging on this Grant guy. Background, business associates. What he’s done in the past. You said he was former military?”

She nodded. “Doesn’t say where or what on the bio, though.”

“The Pentagon keeps meticulous records. I can check on that discreetly.”

“So, they took the money why?”

“Well, a billion in cash has its own built-in motive, doesn’t it?”

“But what about the blogger that dropped the bombshell on the money being funneled to Muslim rebels?”

“That does make it more complicated, I grant you.”

“The White House is taking it on the chin. I don’t think this is just about stealing money, Sean.”

“Maybe we should follow up with the blogger. What was his name again?”

“George Carlton. Address in Reston. But you said he might be lying low.”

“Well, then we’ll just have to dig deep. But if he’s getting his info from a source, we need to find that source. And the most direct way to do that is to get to Carlton.”

“Do you want me to get Edgar to dig into Grant and Vista?”

“Do you think he will? He got in trouble last time.”

Michelle looked at him. “I think he will if we both ask him.”

“Both of us. Why?”

“He looks up to you, Sean.”

“He’s six foot nine. He doesn’t look up to anyone except NBA centers.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I’m surprised Bunting will let us near him after what happened.”

“Well, we saved Edgar’s life. And Edgar is a very special and good person. He will never forget that.”

Sean glanced out the window. “Okay. Call him and see if he has time to meet. Maybe we can very discreetly involve him in this. But he needs to understand he can leave no trail. I don’t want Bunting jumping down my throat again.”

“Well, we have the president behind us now. That trumps DoD and Peter Bunting, doesn’t it?”