Rick Mofina - Six Seconds

A man barely out of his teens, who was about six foot seven and wearing a loose-fitting dark suit, white shirt, tie and ID badge that said T. Simms, came for him. Graham figured him for an intern. Simms smiled at Graham in the elevator as the car ascended several floors before it stopped.

They stepped into a carpeted corridor dividing highwalled cubicles from closed offices. Tension was evi dent in the sober faces of people working at terminals and talking on phones in muted tones.

Graham’s escort delivered him to Walker’s office then left.

The door was open.

Walker was in mid-phone conversation, standing at his desk, kneading the back of his neck. He seemed to fill the room as he waved Graham in, held up two fingers, mouthing two minutes, then indicated the guest chair.

A good-size office window offered a slice of down town Washington. On the far wall, Walker was every where in framed photographs with several presidents, even the new one. And there was Walker with the CIA director, the FBI director, the UN secretary. There he was again with colleagues standing before Bucking ham Palace, in Red Square, in front of the Eiffel Tower, the Vatican and other capitals.

Two young girls grinned from the gold-framed pho tograph beside his monitor.

Walker finished his call.

“Sorry for that. Blake Walker.”

Graham shook his hand.

“Dan Graham.”

“I was dealing with my ex. You married?”

His personal question came without warning.

“No. I was. But, no, not anymore.”

“Good. Stay single. Enjoy life the way God had origi nally intended. Paradise before Eve came along.” Walker smiled, pointed to the mug on his desk. “Coffee?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Okay, let’s get to it. You’re here on the deaths of Ray Tarver’s family.”

“Yes. Just checking background, regarding the insur ance and trying to clear it.”

“No, no. Stop right there. First, why come to me?” Walker said. “How did my name come up in this?”

Graham passed a sheet of paper to Walker, who glanced at his watch before reading the document.

“I photocopied this from Tarver’s notebook,” Gra ham said. “It’s from a series of cryptic notations. This was one of his last entries. A handwritten note that says, See S.A. Blake Walker at SS on H again. ”

Walker took a deep breath then cursed under it.

“What is it?” Graham asked.

“This was not in the summary you’d sent me in your meeting request. Matter of fact, your summary was a tad short on details. Let me get my head around this. You still insist on me believing that you’re here solely to snoop around on Tarver for insurance purposes?”

“Checking his background, so I can clear it. Tying up loose ends for the file, yes.”

“Bull. Shit.”

“Pardon me?”

Walker threw Graham’s paper down on his desk.

“What the hell’s going on with you guys up there?”

“I don’t follow you.”

“What happened to the Tarver family is tragic. Sure, Ray Tarver was a bit of a wild-card reporter, but the family’s drowning was not suspicious.”

“And how would you know that?”

“Everyone knows it. Don’t you guys talk to each other up there?”

“You’ve lost me. Who’s everyone?”

“You’re familiar with your Canadian Security Intel ligence Service?”

Graham’s pulse quickened at Walker’s condescension.

“Of course.”

“I’m sure you’re aware that our security agencies talk to your security agencies.”

Walker continued but Graham didn’t like where he was going.

“Four American citizens from the district die on foreign soil, one of them being a former D.C. wire service reporter known to write about U.S. geopolitics and security issues. It’s a given we’d make a routine check into anything remotely untoward. You with me so far, buddy?”

Graham held his tongue as Walker went on.

“We’ve been advised that the deaths have been clas sified as accidental and the case is cleared. I don’t think we’ve got much to discuss.”

“Really?”

Walker put his files down. His dark eyes drilled into Graham.

“Over the years Ray Tarver would come to me,” Walker said. “He went to a lot of people in the intelli gence community. He’d call, he’d want to meet in some dive. He’d claim he had sources who’d fed him intel on grand conspiracies.

“He’d say, I think this is going to happen or that will take place. But when it came to providing a shred of cor roboration he had nothing. I would then attempt to confirm his so-called leads, which turned out to be ‘jackass theories.’

“In Washington, there’s no shortage of people like Ray Tarver. People who take a slender thread of hearsay and twist it into a full-blown conspiracy. You understand what I’m saying?”

Graham said nothing.

“Now, I am sorry for what happened to the family. It’s a tragedy. But in life, Ray Tarver lived in a fantasy world with other conspiracy nuts. The fact you’re here, convinced you’re onto something because of some note, is not only sad but a further waste of my time.

“Don’t get me wrong, it’s part of my job to investi gate crackpots like Ray Tarver, so why don’t you leave it to the experts and head back home. In case you missed it, the pope’s arriving soon, and I’m kind of preoccu pied. Now, I’m sure you’ve got better things to do up there. Okay?”

Walker looked at his watch, then other files.

Maybe it was jet lag, or his grief, his self-doubt, or the fact Walker’s arrogance pissed him off, but Graham decided he’d swallowed enough.

“Agent Walker. Special Agent Walker, I don’t know where you’re getting your information about my case being cleared, but to use your term, it’s bullshit.”

Walker’s jaw pulsed.

“That a fact?”

“It is a fact,” Graham said. “It’s true, the deaths of Anita Tarver and her two children are believed to have been accidental. The fact is, and it is a fact, their deaths remain unclassified. How you, sir, are able to conclude the cause of Ray Tarver’s death as accidental right here in this very office, when we’ve yet to locate his body, is miraculous. I applaud your supernatural skill.” Graham nodded to Walker’s wall of glory. “Must be why you’re special and all these important people want to shake your hand.

“You must be aware then that Ray Tarver’s laptop appears to be the only item missing from his family’s inventory. And you must also be aware that in the hours before his family’s deaths were discovered, Tarver was seen in a local restaurant showing data on a laptop to an unidentified stranger.

“Now what amazes me, is the fact that it is about twenty-four, twenty-five hundred miles from the chair where your special ass is parked and the Faust River where I held Emily Tarver as she took her last breaths, where I felt her heart beating against mine. Yet you, sir, have all the answers. All of them. But what disturbs me, about this uncleared, unclassified case concerning the deaths of three U.S. citizens, possibly four, is that your name is among the last entries Ray Tarver made in his notebook. That would make you a person of interest, wouldn’t it?”

Walker’s eyes burned into Graham’s in a mounting standoff that was interrupted by Walker’s phone. He hit a button, activating the speaker.

“Blake, they’re waiting for you on the call with Seattle and Vatican security. Are you joining them in the big room or do you want the call code?”

Graham left.

“Tell them I’ll be there in two minutes.”

Graham was at the elevator when Walker caught up to him.

“Dan.” Walker ensured they were alone and lowered his voice. “I was a jerk back there. The stress of the papal visit, and we’ve got to advance a presidential visit to Canada next month, and my ex. You took the brunt of it. I was out of line. You know how things can get to you.”