Дэвид Балдаччи - The Fix

“You mean because of the possibility of money laundering?”

Decker nodded. “So she presumably passed the smell test with her current management firm. At least according to Todd. All of her records seemed to be in order. But when he checked into the background of those records — her old address, for instance — it didn’t pan out.”

“And the financial management firm didn’t discover that?”

“I don’t think they looked as hard as the FBI did. I mean, come on, it’s not like they were going to work very hard to turn down a ten-million-dollar account.”

“Right. But did they say where she told them the money came from?”

“Yes. Savings, investments, and a small inheritance.”

“Okay.”

“She bought the condo in Reston four years ago. The car was purchased a year after that. She lived in Atlanta previously and Seattle before that. At least we think she did. But we only have her past going back ten years. Before that, nothing. It’s like she didn’t exist. But then she has a résumé stretching back to college that passed the muster of the school’s background check.”

The dinner bill came and Decker paid it, refusing Jamison’s offer to chip in.

“I corrupted you tonight,” he said. “Let me pay for the privilege.”

She smiled, a smile that faded as someone approached their table.

Harper Brown looked directly at Decker. She was dressed in jeans, a leather jacket, and a white blouse. Narrow-toed boots raised her height a few inches.

“Mr. Decker, I wonder if I could speak with you.” She glanced at Jamison for an instant before staring back at Decker. “Alone.”

“I can wait outside,” said Jamison, not looking very happy.

“You can head on, Ms. Jamison. I can drive your friend home.”

“I don’t mind—”

Decker said, “I’m sure that’ll be fine. And I probably won’t even have to give directions, since I’m pretty sure you know exactly where I live.”

Brown took a step back, smiled, and gestured to the door. “Shall we, then?” She glanced at Jamison. “Don’t worry. I’ll take exceptional care of your colleague.”

“You better,” said Jamison grimly.

They drove in silence for five minutes.

She glanced at him. “You don’t talk much, do you?”

“You said you wanted to talk to me . I’m waiting.”

She smiled and looked ahead.

Brown’s ride was a late-model BMW 7 Series sedan. He looked at the car’s interior. “Nice car. This would be like almost two years’ salary for me.”

“I lease. It’s a lot less financially onerous.”

“I guess.”

“And I tend to get tired of things after a few years.”

“Then never get married.”

“Are you still working the Dabney/Berkshire case?”

“You mean you haven’t cracked it yet? What’s taking DIA so long?”

She pulled to the curb and put the car in park. She turned to look at him.

“One of my assignments was to liaison with the Bureau. I’m trying my best to do that.”

“I was under the impression that being a liaison involved more than kicking a ‘sister’ agency off a case.”

“Is that what Agent Bogart thinks?”

“I don’t know because I haven’t asked him. I’m just telling you what I think.”

“These are very delicate matters, Decker. We all must tread extremely carefully.”

“Well, according to you, we can’t tread any longer.”

“I was speaking generally.”

“Then let me speak specifically. Does DIA use guys who can shoot long-distance?”

She looked puzzled. “Out of all the possible questions I thought I might get from you, that was not one of them. Why in the world would you want to know that?”

“Let’s chalk it up to my being a very curious guy. So does it?”

“We’re a military support organization.”

“So I’ll take that as a yes.”

She gazed at him curiously for a few moments. “I’ve read your file.”

“I didn’t know I had one.”

“The moment you step on the federal playing field, you have a file. You have a fascinating background, what with the hyperthymesia and synesthesia.”

“Some might call it fascinating, I wouldn’t.”

“What would you call it?”

“Different. Painfully different.”

Brown’s features lost some of their cocksure manner. “I know about your family. I’m very sorry. I’ve never been married or had children, so I could only imagine how devastating that had to have been for you.”

Decker looked out the window. “All of this is pretty far afield from the matter at hand.”

“Granted. But you still haven’t answered my question about working on the case or not.”

“And if I refuse to answer? Which I guess I’m entitled to do.”

“Then I may take that as an answer in the affirmative.”

“I wasn’t aware that the DIA could tell the FBI to stop work on a case. Maybe I’m wrong.”

“No, I doubt that you are wrong. At least technically. But other channels can be employed to make the directive more authoritative.”

“You’re speaking a different language. What the hell does that mean?”

“SecDef is cabinet-level. He makes a call to someone, and that party leans hard on the FBI director.”

“So that’s how it works in D.C.?”

“Pretty much. You’re from Ohio.”

“I know I am. The flyover land between the coasts.”

“The land of deep mistrust in government.”

“Well, can you blame us, when you pull shit like you’re pulling now?”

“Don’t think that we don’t want to get to the truth, Decker. We do.”

“So in order to do that you kick out an agency when they’re trying to solve a murder right on their doorstep? And you’re the one who said the outcome could be far worse than 9/11. What did you expect us to do with that? Sit on our hands and play nice?”

“I see your argument, I really do.”

“But that’s as far as you’ll go?”

“Orders are orders. Don’t you have to follow orders?”

“No,” Decker said bluntly. “Not if it goes against my instincts or my ethics.”

“Then I don’t see you having a long career in the federal space.”

“Then I’ll take that as a good thing.”

“Are you always so cavalier about things?”

“I do my job and let the chips fall.”

“So you’re not into CYA?”

“My butt is way too big to cover,” Decker replied.

“You just want to get to the truth?”

“Yeah. How about you?”

“I already told you that we do.”

“So what progress have you made?”

She seemed surprised by the question. “It’s an ongoing investigation.”

“It sure as shit is, which is why I’m asking.”

“I mean I can’t discuss it with you.”

“Okay, then I’ll discuss it from my end. Berkshire has a secret past. A past where she came into a great deal of money. She bought a fancy-ass condo and car but she drove an old Honda to work. She used an old farmhouse as a switching spot for the cars. And maybe for other things too.”

“I’m finding this highly interesting.”

“So we have mystery behind Berkshire, or whoever she really is. And on the Dabney end we have a woman helping him clean out his safe deposit box after he sent a key to his daughter, presumably so she would open it after his death and the contents would provide answers. And you told us that Dabney allegedly sold secrets to pay for an alleged gambling habit. So we have mystery at that end. And a few mornings ago those twin mysteries met in the middle of Washington, D.C. with the result that two people died. So the question becomes why?”