Дэвид Балдаччи - King and Maxwell

“And our watching his house?” asked Michelle.

“To see if something pops. He’s divorced and his two kids are grown and gone. So we see if someone comes by on this dark and stormy night who might lead us where we need to go.”

Two hours later no one had come or gone. The house lights were on and they had seen movement inside, but it was only one person, presumably South, whose government car was parked in the driveway.

Sean stretched. “You want to call it a night? Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.”

Michelle was about to say something when headlights broke the night.

Sean checked his watch. “Nearly midnight. Maybe it’s a neighbor coming home.”

They both ducked down in the car as the vehicle passed by slowly.

Michelle pressed her optics to her eyes and did a sweep.

“Shit!”

“What?”

“That’s the guy from Heron Air Service.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty damn sure.”

“But he’s not stopping at South’s.”

“Sean, it’s him.”

Sean started the car, eased out, and took up the tail.

He said, “We’re the only two rides out here. He’s bound to spot us.”

“Just keep it up a bit. There’s a major intersection coming up. There should be some traffic there we can hide in. I don’t want to lose this guy.”

He did as she asked.

“He’s making a left.”

“Got it.”

They reached the intersection. Luckily the light was green and they didn’t have to stop behind him where he might have gotten an eyeball on them despite their headlights boring into his line of vision. Both cars turned right and Sean backed off, sliding in behind a green Chevy to give himself some distance but keeping the other car in sight.

Michelle put down the optics and opened her laptop. She started fiercely clicking keys.

“What are you doing?” asked Sean, glancing over at her.

“Hacking into the DMV. [42] DMV – Department of Motor Vehicles. ”

“You can do that?” he said, looking surprised.

“Edgar showed me recently how to do it. I know, I know, it’s not exactly legal.”

“Actually, legally speaking, it’s not legal at all.”

“Look, I’m just trying to get some traction on this case. So don’t read me the riot act.”

“No. I think it’s very cool. Can you show me how to do it?”

She shot him a look. “Show you , Mr. Computer Illiterate?”

He scowled. “I know my way around Internet… stuff.”

“Sean, you just discovered emoticons last week.”

She continued clicking, and then a page opened up. “Trevor Jenkins, age forty-one. He lives in Vienna.”

“Can you do a Google-thingy and find out more about him?”

“A Google-thingy?”

“Just do it, Michelle. I’m following a suspect here. That’s apparently all my shrinking brain can handle.”

She clicked more keys. “Not finding much. Guy’s not a celebrity with his own website and Twitter account. Hold on, he does have an account with LinkedIn, of which I’m a proud member.”

She accessed that and read down the page.

“Well?” said Sean expectantly.

“Former military. West Point. Hundred and First Airborne. He’s now president and CEO [43] CEO – Chief Executive Officer. of Heron Air Service. Single. No kids. Has a commercial pilot’s license. He belongs to a number of industry trade groups. Spent time in the Middle East, presumably during combat tours.”

“Alan Grant is also former military. I wonder if he was in the Hundred and First?”

Michelle hit more keys and found that Grant also had a LinkedIn page. “Nope. Grant was infantry. But soldiers in the air and soldiers on the ground could still know each other. It’s still the Army.”

“True. Okay, he’s turning.”

Sean hooked the same left as Jenkins had.

Michelle looked around. “I think he’s heading home, Sean. The address in his DMV file is right around here.”

“I’ll pull off the tail and come back around, then, so he won’t get suspicious.”

Sean backtracked to the address in the DMV file and got there in time to see Jenkins’s car pull into the garage of a fairly new home with older houses on either side.

They passed by and kept going.

“What did we learn from that?” asked Michelle. “Besides Jenkins’s identity, background, and where he lives?”

“He was in South’s neighborhood.”

“But he didn’t go to see South. He drove right by it.”

“That is a puzzler. Maybe he was just keeping eyes on it.”

“Maybe,” said Michelle doubtfully.

“Yeah, I don’t believe that either,” said Sean, noting her dubious look.

“But we know there’s a connection between Jenkins and Vista and presumably Alan Grant. They’re both former military.”

“And Wingo identified Jenkins as one of the guys in Afghanistan who took the euros from him.”

“And a Heron Air Service plane might have brought that cash back here.”

“Not sure. I guess one of their bigger jets could carry over two tons’ worth of cash. You think the whole company is in on it?”

“Jenkins is the top guy. He could have flown the sucker in himself. He has his pilot’s license. And what better way to get something like that through customs? The guy probably knows a million ways to hide stuff coming in.”

“But this is getting us no closer to finding Tyler and Kathy.”

Sean said, “It’s a mosaic. We have to find all the pieces and then we can see the whole picture.”

“I’m not sure we have time to find all the mosaic tiles, Sean.”

“Do we sit on Jenkins all night and see where he goes tomorrow? He might lead us to the kids.”

“Or it might be a big waste of time.”

He glanced at her. “You got another idea?”

She sighed and shook her head. “No. There’s an all-night Dunkin’ Donuts two blocks over. I can run and get us some coffee and food while you stay here and keep eyes on Jenkins.”

“Okay,” Sean said absently.

She undid her seat belt and looked at him. “What?”

“Don’t know. Just something back there.”

“Back where?”

“Back at South’s. No, before South’s neighborhood.”

“What about it?”

“I just felt like I knew the area. Been there before.”

“When? Why?”

Sean shook his head. “Can’t think of it.” He smiled resignedly. “Brain cell loss. Maybe it’s for real.”

“Well, stick your fingers in your ears and try not to let any more out. We’re going to need all the thinking we can muster to get to the bottom of this sucker.”

SEAN FELT THE NUDGE AGAINST his shoulder. His brain misfired for a second as his mind toggled between sleep and consciousness. Another nudge and he was awake. He looked around and saw Michelle next to him, her camera with long-range lens in hand.

She said, “Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Ready to go to work?”

They had taken shifts, two hours on, two hours asleep.

“What time is it?” asked Sean as he blinked, yawned, and sat up straight.

“A few minutes after eight.”

Sean gazed outside. The rain and gloom were still with them. It still felt dark.

“Any movement on Jenkins?”

“Not yet. Lights went on at seven sharp. Probably had his alarm set. I’ve been snapping pictures of anything relevant.”

“Action on the street?”

“Early-morning commuters, sleepy kids straggling to bus stops. Couple of joggers running in the rain to stay healthy before they drop dead from pneumonia.”

Michelle reached into the console, took out a protein bar, ripped off the cover, dropped the plastic on the floorboard, and bit into the chocolate. She eyed Sean, who was staring at the trash on the floor. She held out the protein bar.