David Baldacci - The Whole Truth

Right at midnight the phone rang. Shaw started videotaping the clock as Katie answered.

“Right on time,” she said into the phone.

“How much do you know?” the voice said tersely.

“More than you want me to.”

“How much do you want?”

Shaw motioned to Katie. “Keep him talking,” he mouthed as he listened to the man on the other end of the headset phone.

“Don’t you want to know how I figured it out?” she said. “I mean in case next time you want to avoid something like this happening again.”

“Okay, how?” Pender asked.

Katie took her time explaining about Lesnik, the broken loo, the inconsistencies in his story, and finally the impossibility of him doing what he said he’d done. “You should have just taken him in the place with you,” she advised. “Instead of briefing him on it later.”

“So why’d you write the story then if you knew it wasn’t true?”

“I just found out.”

Shaw jerked his head up as Frank’s voice came through the headset. He pointed at her. “He’s in a moving car. Tell him to pull off the road! Now!”

Katie immediately barked, “Pull your car off the road!”

Pender was so astonished by her observation and demand that he nearly swerved his big Mercedes off the road before regaining control. “How the hell did you know I’m in a car?” he hissed suspiciously.

Thinking fast, Katie said, “You were breaking up. I’m not moving, so you must be. And besides, I can hear the traffic noise in the background. Now pull off so I can hear you clearly. We don’t want any misunderstandings, do we?”

“Give me a minute.” Pender still sounded wary. He pulled off at the next exit and said, “Okay, how much?”

“Twenty million dollars and consider it a gimme.”

“That’s not a gimme. It’s a helluva lot of cash.”

“Well, it’s a helluva big thing you’re involved in. But if you don’t want to pay, fine. I’ll retract my story and tell the real one.”

“Which is?”

“You can read about it along with everyone else. But the world will know that the Russians did not do the London Massacre and the Chinese are not behind the Red Menace. And this whole war thing goes right down the tubes. That’s what this is about, right? War?”

Pender was really sweating now. Twenty million dollars .

“It’ll take me a little time to raise the cash.”

“No it won’t, I want it in twenty-four hours. I have, big surprise, an offshore account. You can write down the wiring instructions. I know you’ll send it in a way that can’t be traced, but that doesn’t matter to me. I just want the cash.”

“I can’t do it that fast. I need more time.”

“How much more time?”

“A week.”

“Seventy-two hours. And consider yourself lucky. I really want to start my vacation.”

“Tired of being a reporter?” Pender sneered.

“I’d much rather be rich.”

“Five days,” he retorted.

“The negotiations are closed! Three days or your plan goes down the tubes.”

“I doubt one story from you will turn such an overwhelming global tide.”

“Fine, then don’t pay and we’ll see what happens. Good-bye.”

“Wait, wait!”

“I’m listening.”

“All right. Three days. But a piece of advice, Ms. James. If you do something as incredibly stupid as double-crossing us-”

“I know, I know. It won’t be pretty. Don’t worry. I’ve already got my Pulitzers. All I want now are the good things in life.”

She gave him the bank information and glanced at Shaw. He was making a slashing motion against his neck.

“Nice doing business with you,” Katie remarked before clicking off.

She looked at Shaw, who turned off the video camera.

“Well?” she asked.

“Western suburbs of Washington, D.C.; the Dulles Toll Road.

“They know that fast?”

“There’re two cell towers right there. It was easy to trace the signal. He would’ve been far safer sitting in a crowded hotel. Too many signals there to narrow down to one person.”

“Okay, but what about just tracing the number the man used?”

“We did. He tried to block the number, that’s why it didn’t pop up on your screen, but we had a wireless intercept on the phone you used. It overrode his block, snagged the number, and sixty seconds later we had our phone number owner.”

“Who was it?”

“According to Frank, an eighty-six-year-old priest in Boston who I’m reasonably sure is not running around the world starting wars, and has no idea someone stole his phone number.”

“So how does knowing that this guy was driving on that road help us? Could they tell which car?”

He shook his head. “Technology’s not there yet. Same as trying to pinpoint a person.”

“So how do we trace the guy, Shaw?” she said, exasperated.

He patted the video camera. “By using this.”

“That? You’ve been taking a video of me and a clock.”

“That’s right.”

“So now what?”

“Now we fly to D.C.”

THEY SNAGGED A RIDE TO AMERICA on a private wing that Frank managed to get hold of. The plane had enough range to make it to D.C. without refueling so they settled in for the seven-hour-plus flight from London.

Ed Royce from MI5 was with them. Shaw and Katie strapped into their seats in the back while Frank and Royce went over some details up front.

Katie pulled a blanket snugly around her. She sipped on some club soda and stared over at Shaw as they rode a smooth flight path across the Atlantic.

“This beats the hell out of the trip across the Irish Sea on that roller coaster, doesn’t it?” she said.

Shaw nodded, but kept staring at the seat in front of him.

“Do you really think we’re going to find out who’s behind it?” she asked.

He glanced at her. “If we’re lucky, maybe. But finding out and then doing something about it are two different things.”

“Evidence that’ll stand up in court, you mean?”

Shaw didn’t say what he meant. He turned away from her again.

“You okay?” she asked, touching his shoulder. It was his bad arm, so she did it very gently.

“Yeah, I’m good,” he said unconvincingly.

“When we get this all figured out and the bad guys are put away, I think I’m going to go see my parents.”

“Where are they?”

“In Vermont, at least they were the last time I checked. They like to move around. I think that’s where I got the wanderlust.”

“What do they do?’

“My father’s a professor of English. He teaches creative writing. That’s why my middle name is Wharton. Edith is one of his favorite writers. I was actually named after Katherine Chopin, but people have always just called me Katie. My dad grew up in D.C. but went to college at Stanford. That’s where he met my mom. He got his Ph.D. and started teaching at Harvard. Mom taught there too until the kids started coming.”

“How many?”

“Including me, four. I’m the youngest. I was born in Harvard Square. Literally. After three kids I guess Mom figured she could wait to the very last second before heading to the hospital. She and Dad were running to the car when her water broke. I ended up being born in a spare classroom. How about you?”

“How about me what?”

“I just divulged some details of my earth-shattering past. Now it’s your turn.”

“No, thanks.”

“Oh, come on, Shaw, it’s not like I’m going to run out and write a story about it. Just tell me something about your family.”

“Okay. I have no memory of my mother other than imagined because she got rid of me when I was about two, at least that’s what I was told later. I never knew my father. I lived in an orphanage until I got kicked out at age six. The next dozen years I spent with people I have no reason to remember. I have no brothers or sisters, at least that I’m aware of. So now you know all about me.”