Дэвид Балдаччи: The Fix

In a calming voice Mars said, “Decker, what else do you remember from that day?”

Decker focused on him. “I remember a utility truck going into the FBI building. And the guard told me that most of the exterior surveillance cameras are out of order.”

“Anything else?”

Decker glanced sharply at the building across from the Hoover.

“There were workmen carrying materials into that building.”

He led them over to it and they tried to peer through the windows, but they were taped over with thick paper on the inside. Decker tried the door. It was locked. He stepped back and looked up. “I don’t think there’s anyone in this building.”

“It’s being renovated,” said Brown, pointing at a sign on one of the windows.

“Then you think people would be here working, wouldn’t you?”

She looked confused. “Do you think there’s a sniper’s nest in there? But the motorcade is on the next street over. They’d have no shot from here.”

Decker said, “Call the gas company and find out if they had a team out here working on any lines under that manhole on the day Berkshire was killed.”

“That might take some time.”

“Just do it!” snapped Decker.

Decker pulled his phone and called Bogart. The FBI agent answered and, speaking in a low voice, said, “Decker, I already told Brown, I can’t evacuate. The ceremony just started. But—”

Decker interrupted: “What was the meeting about that Dabney was supposed to attend at the FBI when he shot Berkshire?”

“What?”

“The meeting! What was it for?”

“Why does it matter? He obviously never intended to be there.”

“But he picked that day to kill Berkshire, Ross, so just tell me!” snapped Decker.

“Okay, okay. Dabney’s firm was consulting on some renovation work here. As you know, a new building is a long way off so they have to do work on myriad systems here — security, electrical, and other infrastructure—”

Decker clicked off.

He glanced around and then hustled to an alley and turned down it.

Mars and Brown, her phone to her ear, ran after him.

Decker reached an exterior door to the building. He tried the knob but it was locked.

Brown and Mars reached him and she said, “Decker, what the hell is going on?”

“Ellie Dabney said Berkshire’s spy ring wanted her husband to work for them.”

“But he refused.”

“I think he was smarter than that. He did that video, right? I think he met with them, pretended to be interested, and felt them out for what they were interested in. And what they were interested in was his work with the FBI on renovating their building. That was the meeting he was going to when he shot Berkshire. That was his second message to us, after the location of the attack.”

“You mean the President is the target?” said Mars.

Decker didn’t answer.

“But why not just tell us directly before he shot Berkshire?” said Brown.

“Probably because he didn’t know their exact plan. And they found out about the video and removed it, which probably told him that they were watching his every move, monitoring his every communication. They probably threatened him and his family: He does anything else to thwart them, they’re all dead. This was probably the only way he could see to do it.”

“But why didn’t they kill him after they found out what he did with the video?” asked Brown.

“Because that might have drawn suspicion to him at a time when they couldn’t afford it. They probably decided it was smarter to keep a close watch on him and then strike if he showed any signs of trying to go around them again. They didn’t know the Dabneys were planning to kill Berkshire.”

He looked at Mars. “Want to pretend that door is a blocking sled?”

Mars smiled and nodded. “I feel like I wanna hit something.”

They backed up and charged forward. Nearly six hundred pounds of flesh and bone hit the door at speed.

And the door lost.

They fell to the floor on top of it but were quickly on their feet. Brown hurried in after them. Decker raced forward with the two on his heels.

The interior of the building was a shell, with cables and electrical lines dangling from the ceiling, a set of scaffolding set up in one corner, some buckets with mops in them, and a few hand tools and power saws on workbenches. And a couple of sets of working lights.

The only thing missing was anyone actually working.

“Where are the workers?” said Mars.

“Maybe because the President is here?” said Brown doubtfully.

Decker said, “This all looks staged, in case anyone bothered to look.”

“Wait a minute, what are you saying?” said Brown.

“The woman who kidnapped Alex? I told her that even if she killed us, the FBI was a big organization and would keep after her. She said, No one knows what the future will bring .”

“You’re not saying?” gasped Brown.

“The target isn’t just the President and the two other leaders. They’re just the bonus. They told us the target might be symbolic? Well, the Hoover Building is pretty symbolic.”

“There are over eleven thousand people in that building,” Brown exclaimed.

“This way!” Decker barked. He was pointing to a set of stairs leading down. As they raced down the steps he said, “Anything from the gas company?”

“You won’t be surprised to learn that they put me on hold. I’m currently listening to the Bee Gees.”

They raced down two flights until they reached the basement. This too was an open shell. They looked around until Mars said, “Over here.”

They joined him at the spot.

They were staring at a huge spool of cable against one wall. It was taller than Decker.

“What would this be doing down here?” asked Brown.

Decker peered through the opening in the middle of the spool where ordinarily a forklift’s tines would be inserted to lift it. “I can’t see through.” He stuck his arm in and felt around. “It’s been filled with something. It feels like concrete.”

“Why would they have done that?” asked Brown.

Decker tried to look behind it, but the spool was set right against the wall. “One reason would be to completely cover up whatever might be behind it,” he replied. He looked at Mars. “Ready?”

He and Mars put their shoulders against one side of the spool, squatted down, and started pushing. The spool was immensely heavy, but the two men were enormously strong and, at least in their youths, accustomed to pushing large objects around. They strained and their feet slipped against the floor, and they swore and sweated and their veins bulged, but inch by inch the spool rolled.

Finally, a hole in the wall was revealed. It had been punched right through the concrete.

Decker peered into the dark tunnel that stretched ahead.

“Anybody got a flashlight?”

Brown held up her phone and clicked on its light. Then she pulled her gun. Decker did the same.

She led the way.

Mars looked at Decker. “You got any idea what’s going on here, Decker?”

Decker glanced at him, his expression probably as serious as Mars had ever seen on the man.

“The end of the chatter, Melvin. And maybe the end of everything else along with it.”

They worked their way down the tunnel, finally coming to a junction where they saw a single beam of light from far above them.

Brown pointed her phone light that way. “It’s the underside of the manhole,” she hissed. “The light is coming from the grab hole in the plate.”

“Which means we’re under the street,” said Decker. “Way under the street.”