Дэвид Балдаччи - The Sixth Man

Sean grabbed some coffee and an egg sandwich. He remembered something, reached in his pocket, and turned his phone on. He immediately saw that Michelle had called numerous times. He quickly phoned her.

When she heard his voice she said, “Thank God. I tried calling you before, but it wouldn’t go through. Lots to fill you in on.”

“Don’t tell me – someone else is dead,” he said in a joking tone.

“How the hell did you know that?”

Sean’s face fell. “What? I wasn’t being serious. Who is it?”

“Carla Dukes. Dobkin came by the inn a little while after I got back and told me.”

“In the middle of the night? Why would he do that?” Sean said suspiciously.

“I’m not sure. Maybe he thinks he still owes us for covering for his guys with Murdock. Whatever the case, she’s dead and they have no leads. The FBI is handling it.”

Sean sipped his coffee and bit off a chunk of his sandwich. There had been no food service on either flight. He wasn’t sure when he had eaten last but it had been a while. The grease and fatty calories felt spectacular going down. “Did you tell Dobkin about what we saw last night?”

“What, are you drunk? Of course I didn’t. Not without talking to you first.”

Sean frowned. “I don’t want to get hit with an obstruction charge, but I’m also not ready to commit us to anything.”

“So we say nothing for now?”

“Right. Nothing.”

“If Dukes was killed because she talked to the guy you’re following, things might get really hairy really fast.”

“But if I can crack who he’s with, we might just take a giant leap forward.”

“You also might end up getting yourself killed. ”

“I’ll be careful. You watch out for yourself and Megan.”

“How are you going to follow him once you get into D.C.?”

Sean glanced across at a gift shop located a little down the concourse from his gate. “I think I see an answer. I’ll call you when I run this guy to his base.”

He clicked off, checked to make sure the fellow was still sitting and working on his laptop, and walked quickly to the gift shop. It took him a couple of minutes but he finally saw what he needed.

A toy fireman’s hat. And a small bottle of glue. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed an empty stall, opened the box, and pried the piece of gold plastic off the front of the hat. He opened the glue, pulled out his private investigator’s credentials and, using the glue, he attached the plastic piece inside a leaf of his ID. He slipped it back in his pocket, discarded the box, the hat, and the glue in the trash can, washed his hands and face, and stepped back out.

The flight to Dulles Airport was on a Canadian Regional twin-engine jet operated by United Express. Sean got on ahead of the man he was following. He settled in the back in an aisle seat and opened a newspaper someone had left in the seat pocket. He alternated between reading the paper and eyeing his target as the man took off his jacket, folded it quite deliberately, placed it in the overhead bin, and sat down. He had his phone out and was talking to someone, but there was no way for Sean to hear any part of the conversation. When the jet door closed and the flight attendants made their announcements about electronic devices, the man turned off his phone. A minute later the jet pushed back and the man gripped his armrest as they began to taxi to the runway.

Nervous flyer, thought Sean.

They lifted off into the airspace over New York City. They turned south, accelerating on the climb out, and once they hit their cruising altitude the onboard computer punched the throttles forward and they were soon soaring along at nearly 550 miles per hour.

Thirty minutes later they began their descent into Dulles through quite a bit of cloud cover. They raced along, fighting a decent headwind and changing altitudes. Sean watched the man’s right hand tighten on the armrest with every little interruption of the relatively smooth flight path.

The guy would never have cut it in the Secret Service, thought Sean.

They landed and taxied to the gate. The passengers deplaned and headed to the main terminal. They had come in through Terminal B, so they didn’t need to use the people movers that transported passengers to and from the more distant terminals.

Sean followed the guy down moving walkways and up and down escalators until they came out into the main terminal. When the guy headed to the baggage claim Sean knew what to expect next. The guy had had no baggage. He must be meeting his driver.

And so here comes the dicey part.

As they approached the baggage area, the limo drivers were lined up holding white placards with names written on them. Sean tensed when the man he was following pointed at one of the drivers. Sean eyed the sign the burly driver held.

Mr. Avery?

Sean followed them through the airport and out the exit. He eyed the Dulles Flyer taxi lines. Pretty full. He watched as Avery and the driver headed to the area across from the terminal where the car services routinely parked.

Sean made his move.

He butted in front of the people waiting in line for taxis. When they complained and an airport employee whose job it was to get folks in and out of cabs approached, Sean pulled his ID and flashed his gold plastic badge and identification card. He did so quickly but confidently, giving none of them time to focus on it.

“FBI. I need to commandeer this taxi. I’ve got a suspect under surveillance.”

The people in line backed off when they glimpsed the badge, and the airport employee even held the door open for him.

“Go get him,” he told Sean.

Feeling a little guilty, Sean managed a smile. “I will.”

The cab headed off and Sean gave the driver instructions. They exited the airport and pulled in behind the Lincoln Town Car. He wrote down the license plate number just in case he might need it later. They drove along the Dulles Toll Road, which was also known as Silicon Valley East because of the large number of tech companies headquartered along it. There were also numerous defense contractors and companies working in the intelligence field located here, Sean knew. Several former Secret Service agents he’d worked with now made far more money on the private side toiling away at some of these for-profit outfits.

The car ahead turned off at an exit and proceeded west. The cab followed. When the Town Car pulled into an office complex, Sean told the taxi driver to stop. He got out and handed a twenty to the man, who refused to accept it.

“Just keep us safe,” the guy said before driving off.

A little embarrassed, Sean put the cash away and looked at the office building. He quickly discovered that it didn’t belong to simply one company. It housed a number of firms. That was problematic, but he had to keep going. You typically got only one true break on any case, and this might be it.

He watched as the Town Car driver headed off. Sean watched Avery walk into the building. He reached the lobby at about the time the elevator arrived to take Avery up. A quick glance allowed Sean to see that Avery was the only one in the car. There was a security guard in the lobby behind a marble console, and he glanced at Sean.

“Visitors sign in over here, sir.”

Sean walked over and pulled out his wallet. He dropped it and took his time picking it back up and pushing some cards back into place in their respective slots. When he stood and turned he saw that the elevator carrying Avery had stopped on the sixth floor.

Then the car began to descend. Avery must’ve gotten off.

He turned to the guard.

“You may not believe this, but I’m from out of town and I’m a little lost.”

“It happens,” said the guard, though he didn’t look pleased by Sean’s confession.