Джеймс Паттерсон - The 13-Minute Murder

The police were arguing among themselves now. Beck, carefully and quietly, stood up, and Susan followed.

They walked away.

The entire time, Beck felt an itching between his shoulder blades, just waiting for someone to shout for him to stop.

Or a bullet.

But they made it around the corner to Susan’s car and got inside without getting caught or shot.

Beck collapsed into the passenger seat and sighed deeply.

Susan did the same. “They knew where we were,” she said numbly. “It’s like they were tracking down terrorists or something.”

“For all we know, that’s what they were told,” Beck said.

“I take back anything I told you about being paranoid.”

Beck chuckled a little at that. Then he sat straight up as he remembered.

“The laptop!” he said.

Susan put a hand on his arm. She opened her bag. The laptop was inside.

Beck sighed again, in relief. She’d remembered it. Thank God.

“I can’t believe I forgot it.”

“You’ve got a few other things on your mind,” Susan said.

“Including a tumor,” he muttered. He took the laptop from her bag and opened it. Maybe there were some answers in here. If he could only get to them.

There was the log-in screen. Beck thought hard. What would Kevin Scott use as a password? What mattered to him?

He’d barely met the man. But he was an Army Ranger. He valued duty. Loyalty. Honor.

Beck entered the Latin motto of the Rangers: Sua Sponte, which meant “Of Their Own Accord.” It symbolized the Rangers’ willingness to volunteer for the toughest missions.

And it didn’t work. The screen blurred and shook, and then reset itself.

TWO ATTEMPTS REMAINING.

“Still looking for clues?” Susan asked.

“I’m out of ideas.”

The screen saver kicked in again. Kevin Scott’s photos began to roll across the laptop once more.

Beck was only halfway paying attention. Then he saw something that made him stare.

He looked at the picture on the screen. It showed Kevin Scott with a bunch of other men and women, all in business attire, in front of a big corporate logo. Beck remembered that from the case history. Scott had been working as a contractor with a private security firm, like a lot of ex–Special Forces who’d come back home. The pay was decent, and it was usually nothing more strenuous than looking after a CEO or billionaire with delusions of importance.

The case history didn’t include the name of his employer. It wasn’t relevant to Scott’s problems.

Except that it was.

Beck looked at the logo on the screen. It was a sword hanging over a stylized graphic of the globe. And across the globe was the name of the company:

THE DAMOCLES GROUP

“Randall?” Susan said. “Randall, are you all right?”

Beck didn’t seem to hear her. He looked at the picture and the logo.

Then he nodded, making a decision.

“I think you’re right,” he said. “We should go to the police.”

Not for the first time that day, Susan looked at him like he was insane.

Chapter 21

Sergeant Todd Graham of the Metro PD wasn’t expecting to see his psychiatrist show up at his home. That much was obvious from the look on his face when he opened the door.

But Graham didn’t hesitate. He grabbed Beck and Susan and hustled them inside. “Get in here, for Christ’s sake,” he said, “before someone sees you.”

It confirmed Beck’s intuition about Graham: he was a good cop, and he could be trusted.

It also confirmed something else: Beck was a wanted man.

But Graham was still willing to help him.

Graham slammed the door behind them, then turned and faced Beck and Susan. “What are you doing here? Do you have any idea the shitstorm you could bring down on my head?”

Beck decided to be honest. “No,” he said. “I’m hoping you can tell me.”

For a moment, Graham looked like he was going to hit Beck. Then he shook it off. “You really don’t know?”

“All I know is that people are out to kill me. And I need help. That’s why I came to you.”

Graham scowled and crossed his arms. He turned away from Beck, clearly thinking. He knew what his duty was, but he was obviously conflicted.

Susan chose that moment to speak up.

“I’m Susan,” she said. “We haven’t met.”

It was just the right oasis of normalcy in the desert of insanity all around them. Graham was forced to turn to her and acknowledge her. It took some of the anger out of him.

“Yeah. I know. You’re on the warrant, too.”

“What warrant?” Beck asked.

“The arrest warrant. The one issued by the Secret Service.” Graham smiled, as if he were joking, but there was no real humor in it.

“Congratulations, Dr. Beck. Apparently you’re plotting to kill the president of the United States.”

Chapter 22

“That’s crazy,” Susan said. Shock was etched on her face.

“I know,” Graham replied. “You think I’d even be talking to you if I believed it?” He looked back at Beck. “You’re crazy, but you’re not that crazy. Nobody who’d work that hard with me would do something like that. I know.”

Beck stayed quiet. For the first time, he was beginning to figure out what was going on. Things were starting to come together. He just had to think.

“What are they saying?” Susan asked.

“I don’t have a lot of detail, but there’s an APB out for you both. The Service says you’ve been implicated in a homegrown terrorist plot to kill President Martin. You’re the highest priority in the Washington, DC, area. They thought they had you in a car an hour ago, but that turned out to be a false alarm. They’re keeping it quiet for now, but if they don’t find you soon, they’re going to go public. You’ll be the most wanted people in America.”

“That’s insane,” Susan said. “We’ve done nothing wrong. People have tried to kill us, and we have no idea why. And now you tell us we’re supposed to be assassins? It’s unbelievable!”

But Beck shook his head. “No,” he said. “It makes sense.”

That stopped both Susan and Graham in their tracks. “You’re going to have to explain that,” Graham finally said, his voice very serious.

“Sorry,” Beck said, dragging himself back from his thoughts. He could see it very clearly, like a chain, one link after another. But he needed some confirmation. “I mean, I think I have an idea of what’s going on. Can we please sit down and I’ll explain?”

Graham made a face, but he led them further inside his house to a breakfast nook that he’d also set up as a workspace. Beck took Scott’s laptop from Susan’s bag and opened it, showing the display to Graham.

The screen saver kicked on again. “Look,” Beck said.

Graham watched the pictures of Kevin Scott scroll past. “Who’s that?”

“That’s the man who was killed in front of my office today.”

Graham grunted. “Yeah. I heard something about that. That’s supposed to be what tipped the feds off to you.”

You ever done anything really bad, Dr. Beck? Kevin Scott had asked him.

“No,” Beck said. “He was killed by the people working with him. They were afraid he’d had a change of heart, or a guilty conscience. They murdered him. But they were too late to stop him from talking to me, and they wanted to know what he’d said. So they arrested me.”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Graham demanded.

The group photo came up on the screen saver again. Kevin Scott with his coworkers.

“Them,” Beck said. “That was all he said to me. He said the word, ‘Damocles.’ I didn’t know what it meant. But now I do. He was naming his killers.”

“Damocles?” Graham said. “Dr. Beck, do you know who you’re dealing with here?”