Дэвид Балдаччи: The Fix

“But some of them were Middle Eastern, Ross. And the chatter was in Arabic. You think the Russians have teamed up with jihadists?”

“I’ve found in this job that anything is possible.”

“But we still don’t know where the strike is coming from,” pointed out Decker.

“No. But if we let it be known that we have their agents, then they might just call off whatever they’re thinking about doing.”

“We can’t count on that,” said Decker.

“We absolutely can’t.”

Mars said, “So what the hell do we do?”

“Figure out what they’re planning to do and stop it,” said Decker.

Milligan came into the room and sat down next to Bogart.

“Okay, the State Department has been on the horn to their counterparts in Moscow. They are disavowing all knowledge of any of this.”

“That’s no surprise,” said Bogart.

“None at all.”

“But this is a surprise.”

They looked up to see Brown stride into the room. She had caught a ride on the FBI jet with Bogart, Mars, and Milligan.

“What is?” asked Bogart.

“Folks at DIA just got off a secure communication with Moscow. It seems the Russians have also received similar threats through chatter.”

“Similar threats?” said Milligan. “And you believe them?”

“We never believe anyone a hundred percent, but our folks think they’re actually being straight with us. They know that relations are delicate right now between Washington and Moscow. They have regional aspirations for sure, but it’s not like they want to be drawn into a direct confrontation with us. That would only end badly for them. Their Achilles’ heel is their economy. It’s nearly all fossil-fuel-based, and the world’s supply far exceeds demand. Because of that Russia’s economy is in free fall. They already have sanctions on them for the shit they pulled in Ukraine and Crimea. Another round of sanctions and you might be talking revolution over there.”

“So what does that mean for our situation?” asked Bogart.

“Because of all that, they were more forthcoming than they otherwise would be. They told us some things that jibed with things we’d previously discovered.” She paused and drew an anxious breath. “Bottom line, it might be a worst-case scenario.”

“How so?” asked Milligan.

“We might be looking at a rogue third party. Berkshire’s spy ring might have gone mercenary. If so, the traditional restraints that would keep Russia in check are not going to apply. We’re totally in uncharted territory now.”

“Shit,” muttered Bogart.

Milligan added, “Maybe someone’s trying to start something between Russia and us. Two superpowers going at it, it might leave an opening for another organization to gain an advantage somewhere.”

“And there are certainly enough mercenary players out there where they could recruit talent,” opined Bogart. “And that would explain the presence of the Middle Easterners and the chatter in Arabic.”

Decker said, “So Berkshire might not have been working for her country any longer.”

“Maybe she hasn’t for a while,” said Bogart.

Decker said, “That might explain the million-dollar condo and the expensive car. Rogues get paid in cash, not medals. She might have gotten tired of simply serving her country.”

Mars looked at each of them before his gaze settled on Decker. “So you guys are really gonna have to solve this thing. And fast!”

Decker groaned and rubbed his head. “It would help if it didn’t feel like Big Ben was pounding in my brain.”

“Like you said, man, flash-bangs suck,” said Mars.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Decker was sitting next to Jamison on her bed back at their apartment.

“I’m good, Decker, just tired. They roughed me up some before they drugged me. I don’t know what they used, but it kicked the crap out of me.”

“I’m sorry this happened.”

“It’s not your fault, Decker. You’re the reason why I’m back here and not dead.”

She suddenly sat up in bed and hugged him.

Decker looked surprised by this, but finally patted Jamison on the back.

She released him and said, “Bogart told me how things stand. This rogue organization. We don’t know what they’re targeting.”

“No, we don’t. And whatever it is will happen soon.”

“Even though you captured some of their people?”

“We can’t assume it won’t happen. By default rogues are unpredictable.”

“What are you going to do?”

Decker gazed over her shoulder out the window where it was raining again.

“I’m going to go for a walk.”

His hood up, Decker trudged along in the rain. He didn’t know why he liked bad weather.

Well, maybe he did.

On the day he’d found his family dead it had been gloriously beautiful, not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze, the sun shining like a beacon. And he’d come home that night to find the two people he loved most in the world murdered.

I’ll take the gloom.

He reached the river and paralleled it on his walk. The windswept water was churning up whitecaps and seagulls were doing barrel rolls in the air.

He found the same bench and sat down, oblivious to the rain pelting him and soaking his pants and shoes.

Decker would never admit this to anyone, maybe not even to himself. He was terrified that there would come a day when he closed his eyes and flipped through his extraordinary memory and the only thing that came out would be... nothing.

For that reason he was now avoiding even doing it. This wasn’t some secret weapon, like waving a magic wand that would produce exactly the answer you needed. Much of Decker’s success in the past he could put down to simple, basic investigative legwork. Asking questions, looking at evidence, pondering how it all fit together, and finding in a quagmire of fact and fiction a lead that might take you where you needed to go.

He had a lot to ponder this time. Maybe too much. But he had found out a lot too.

They had uncovered and busted up the spy ring’s use of Dominion Hospice.

They had discovered that it was Eleanor Dabney and Anne Berkshire who had worked together all that time as spies.

They had found the truth behind Natalie’s “gambling debts” and with it the impetus for Walter Dabney to do what he had done.

They knew why he had killed Anne Berkshire.

And that his wife had, dressed as a clown, served as the signal that Berkshire was on her way.

They had most likely found out what had happened to Cecilia Randall and the secret behind the dolls.

They had, thankfully, rescued Jamison and captured members of the spy operation. Maybe they would eventually get some answers from those people.

Yes, all those were good, positive things.

But what they really had not determined was why Walter Dabney had chosen to shoot Anne Berkshire dead outside the Hoover Building. Despite what Ellie had told them about her husband wanting to send a message, Decker wasn’t convinced.

Then, just as the word athlete had popped into his head previously, another word did too.

Literal.

He jumped up and raced back to the apartment, changed into dry clothes, and checked on Jamison. She was sleeping soundly, and he grabbed her keys and went to her car, pointing it in the direction of where all this had happened.

Along the way he called Mars and then stopped to pick him up. As it turned out, Harper Brown was with him, so Decker left his car at the hotel where Mars was staying and they drove together to the place where it had all started for Decker.

“What’s in your head, Decker?” asked Brown.

“Too many things.”