Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

Sean looked at him curiously. “Which means Langley would be the boss in any future operations?”

“Probably.”

“So they have a motive to blow this up?”

Marshall shook his head. “I highly doubt that. Before this is over everybody will have egg on their faces. And if they did and the truth came out, the CIA would be emasculated for decades to come. Far too risky.”

“What steps have you taken to track Wingo?” asked Michelle.

“Every step we could think of,” said South.

“And you think Wingo is a lone wolf on this?”

“Yes.”

“Then we know he’s innocent,” said Sean.

“How?”

“There’re quite a few people involved in this, actually. Several of them have tried to kill my partner and me. And not one of them was Sam Wingo.”

“Well, with the money he has now he can hire whoever he wants to do his dirty work,” replied South.

“My gut is telling me otherwise,” Sean said.

“Oh, well, that makes all the difference to me,” said South sarcastically.

Marshall said, “Do you think you can find Sam Wingo?”

“We’re going to do our best. And we have great incentive.”

“You mean because the president is counting on you?” said Marshall.

“No,” said Sean. “Because it means we’ll probably get to keep living.”

SEAN SAT IN HIS CAR and gazed over at the building. A voice crackled in his earwig.

“Vista Trading Group is on the sixth floor,” said Michelle, who was sitting at an outdoor café near the next intersection.

“Got it.”

“Edgar was very helpful in getting us so much information so fast.”

“Yeah, but it wasn’t all that helpful,” said Sean. “Vista is a legit business. Alan Grant comes from a good family. His dad was in the military, then in civilian government. And Grant doesn’t have a blemish on his record. Former soldier too. Now a successful businessman. Not even any parking tickets.”

“Yeah, he’s clean. Too clean in my opinion.”

“Can’t convict a guy for being too law abiding.”

“But one of the men who works there has Sam Wingo’s interest for some reason.”

“We don’t know what that interest is. It would be nice to ask Wingo directly.”

“Have you emailed Tyler?” she asked.

“Twice. No response yet.”

“Someone might be monitoring the new Gmail account.”

“I used his code. Just asked if he was okay. That we wanted to be in touch.”

“Wingo might not be letting him respond. He might not trust us.”

“If I were him, I wouldn’t trust anyone,” replied Sean.

“So what do we do about Vista?”

“We wait.”

Four hours later, when Michelle had ordered but not touched her fourth cup of coffee, their patience was rewarded.

Sean’s voice crackled in her ear. “Alan Grant and our bogie on your three.”

Michelle imperceptibly turned to look in that direction. She had on a ball cap pulled low with her long hair bundled up inside it. Wide sunglasses covered the top half of her face.

“Eyeballs on,” she replied.

Grant and his colleague looked like young, successful businessmen having a quick meeting on the street. Michelle couldn’t hear what they were saying, and she didn’t want to risk getting up and crossing the street to get closer. If they spotted her, it might blow their only chance to advance the investigation.

“Plan?” she whispered.

“If they split up, I’ll take Grant, you take the bogie. If they both go inside the office building, follow them in, see and hear what you can. Same if the bogie goes in alone.”

“What if they ID me?”

“You’re pretty well disguised, and there are a lot of people around. I think we just have to risk it.”

“And you?”

“If one or both leave in a car, I’ll follow Grant while you’re on the bogie. You got your wheels nearby?”

“Around the corner. But I miss my Land Cruiser.”

“Look, just throw some trash around the car’s interior and you’ll feel right at home.”

“God, you are so funny you could go into stand-up,” she snapped.

“Everyone needs to have a backup career.”

“You really think this is going to lead somewhere?”

“If Wingo is interested in these folks, then we are too.”

“They’re heading into the building.”

“Good luck.”

“Roger that.”

Michelle rose and took up the tail. She wedged herself in with a group of people who were entering the building after Grant and his colleague.

She just managed to jump onto the elevator with Grant, the other man, and ten more people. She pushed to the back, keeping Grant and his companion in front of her. She caught snatches of their conversation but doubted they would be discussing anything sensitive in public.

They got off, as she knew they would, on the sixth floor. Four other people exited the elevator car there, so she decided to chance it. She followed them down the hall and passed by them as they entered the offices of Vista Trading Group. It was a double-door entry and looked impressive. Grant must be pretty successful because this was a Class A building and rents were not cheap in this area of D.C.

She slipped around the corner and then doubled back.

And got the shock of her life.

She darted back around the corner before the man could see her.

“I just saw a guy going into Vista,” she said to Sean through her comm pack.

“Okay, who was it?”

“You are not going to believe this.”

“With this case I’m starting to believe anything is possible. Who did you see?”

“The guy we met with earlier at the Pentagon.”

“Colonel Leon South?”

“No, the other one. Dan Marshall, assistant secretary for acquisition, logistics, and technology. The same guy who lost a billion euros of taxpayer money.”

“Holy shit.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“What’s the connection with Vista?”

“Coincidence?” said Michelle.

“If it is, it’s the size of Texas. We need to dig a lot deeper.”

“Edgar?”

“He already dug into Grant’s background. I’m surprised he didn’t find the Dan Marshall connection.”

“Even geniuses miss things.”

“Or maybe he’s losing a few brain cells too.”

“Don’t worry, he has tons to spare.”

MICHELLE CONTACTED EDGAR AND CONVEYED the particulars on what they needed. He promised to get right on it and call her back with his results. In the meantime Sean and Michelle headed over in Sean’s car to Reston, Virginia, to meet with the blogger, George Carlton.

Sean phoned ahead and Carlton met them outside his town house – which was also his office, he told them, as he escorted them inside.

“I’m surprised there aren’t news trucks parked out here,” said Sean. “After your big scoop.”

Carlton was short and portly and around fifty. His beard was trimmed close to his chin and his mustache drooped partially over his upper lip. He looked at them strangely and then apologized.

“My right contact has a scratch. Trying to get in to see the eye doctor.”

He showed them into his office, a small room off the foyer. It was piled high with books, newspaper articles, magazines, and DVD cases. A large computer sat on the top of his desk while a server hummed below in the kneehole.

They all sat. Carlton rubbed his mustache and looked at them thoughtfully. “Media trucks here would validate the world of the blogger, so that will never happen.”

“The two worlds don’t get along?” said Michelle as she perched in a chair, sharing space with a stack of magazines.

“The two worlds don’t recognize each other. I’m about the truth. They’re about entertainment, ratings, and the almighty dollar.”