Дэвид Балдаччи - Walk the Wire

“We built those other tract neighborhoods for your workers as fast as we could.”

Stuart laughed, pulled a short cigarillo from his pocket, and stuck it in his mouth unlit. “Your old man went cheap on the materials like he always does. I’ve had complaints from my workers. That’s why I’m starting to build my own.”

Dawson looked at him sternly. “If they have complaints, they should take them up with us, not you. We have an entire department that focuses solely on matters like that.”

Stuart rolled his eyes. “Sure, sure, I bet that’s a priority for you all.”

Dawson apparently had had enough. She looked at Decker and Jamison. “Well, I hope you find who you’re looking for. If you’ll excuse me.”

As she turned to leave, Shane called out, “Bye, Caroline. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

She didn’t look back but merely waved.

Decker noted that Stuart McClellan eyed her every step of the way.

After she was gone, Stuart said, “That girl has some issues. Anger issues.”

“She seemed perfectly reasonable to me,” said Jamison.

Shane said, “She works hard, Dad, you have to admit that.”

“I do admit that. And I wish you worked just as hard.”

“Well, work’s not everything in life.” Shane turned and gazed in the direction where Caroline had gone.

Stuart followed this and then stuck a finger in his son’s broad chest. “You work for your family. You work for me. Your loyalties lie there, son, no room for anything else. And if you make work everything in your life for a long enough time then you’ll find you have the means to do what you want when your work is done.” He glanced at Decker. “Do you not agree?”

“I think everybody’s different. So one-size advice doesn’t fit all.”

“Well, with that perspective it’s a wonder we ever liberated ourselves from the British or won World War II. I wish you luck with your investigation, and with that attitude I think you’re going to need all the luck you can get.”

He turned and strode off.

Shane looked at them sheepishly. “He... gets on his soapbox a lot.”

“I’m sure,” said Jamison.

“Nice meeting you,” said Shane, and then he hurried after his father.

Jamison looked at Decker. “I couldn’t stand being around his father for five seconds.”

When Decker didn’t answer she looked at him. He was staring pensively at the ceiling.

“What are the McClellans doing here?” he said.

“Why is that our concern?”

“Because you never know how things will pan out, Alex, that’s why.”

“That is one of the most unusual buildings I think I’ve ever seen, especially in a place like this,” said Jamison as she, Decker, and Kelly drew closer to the chopped-off pyramid representing the centerpiece of the Douglas S. George Defense Complex. They could see now that it was surrounded by other far-more-ordinary-looking buildings.

Kelly said, “I remember as a kid seeing it and imagining all sorts of things going on inside there. We pretended that it was a castle with a damsel in distress inside that we were going to rescue. We would charge it on our bicycles and minibikes.”

Jamison glanced at him with an amused look. “And did you ever rescue her?”

Kelly grinned sheepishly. “Only in our dreams. The fact was you couldn’t get near this place. As kids we did come close sometimes. Even once ran into a soldier carrying a big-ass gun. I think we all wet our pants when he suddenly appeared out of nowhere. But he was nice. Didn’t give us a hard time. We were just dumb boys messing around. He gave us some gum and a warning and sent us on our way.”

“You said there were some incidents here before?” noted Decker.

“Just stupid stuff. Couple of drunken fights.”

“Anything else?” Decker persisted.

“Not really.”

“Okay,” said Decker, looking thoughtful.

They were cleared through a security post manned by a quartet of very serious looking men wearing Level 2 body armor and holding combat weapons. They were dressed all in black with SECURITY stenciled on the backs of their vests.

“Vector?” said Decker, reading this name off the label on one of the guard’s sleeves.

Kelly said, “Vector is the contractor that runs this place. They’re the subsidiary of some big player in the arena. Least that’s what I heard.”

They drove to a one-story brick building. It was within walking distance of the pyramid.

Decker eyed the line of ambulances parked in a row next to the pyramid.

They were escorted inside by a uniformed guard and led down a short corridor to a large office. The guard left and Kelly introduced them to Colonel Mark Sumter. He was medium height, about fifty, trim with a bald head and intense blue eyes. He was dressed in an ABU, or Airman Battle Uniform, that carried a camouflage design.

He invited them to sit down across from his desk in three straight-back chairs. “Good to see you, Joe.” He looked at Decker and Jamison. “So you’re the FBI? How can I help?”

Decker said, “There’s been a murder. A young woman named Irene Cramer.”

“Yes, I heard about that.”

“She taught school at the Brothers’ Colony,” added Kelly.

“Did she?” Sumter looked interested. “Do you suspect someone from there might have been involved? They’re very religious folks, from what I understand. Pacifists, in fact.”

Decker shrugged. “We’re just gathering facts, conducting interviews, nailing down timelines.”

Jamison interjected, “I guess it’s unusual to be sharing property lines with a religious organization.”

Sumter bristled a bit. “The DoD, with all its money, somehow found it imperative to sell off most of the land surrounding this installation. Now, I have no problem with the Brothers. I’m just not used to being on base and seeing a tractor plowing a field in the distance. Or oil rigs pumping up crude from the earth. I’m one who likes more buffer, particularly with what we do here.”

“And what is that?” asked Decker. “Kelly just gave us a thumbnail sketch.”

Sumter instantly adopted a more guarded look. “Much of what we do is classified.”

“Just the nonclassified parts then,” said Decker. “Kelly here said you watch the sky for nukes?”

“In part. Have you ever heard of PARCS?”

“As in like parks people visit?” said Jamison.

Sumter smiled. “No. It’s an acronym, just like everything else in the military. It stands for Perimeter Acquisition Radar Attack Characterization System.”

“Long name.”

“And it’s justified. Along with watching for nuclear weapons, we also track earth-orbiting objects.”

“Why’s that?” asked Decker.

“We’re sort of like air traffic control for outer space. We analyze and track about twenty thousand objects per day, from giant satellites to small space debris. We can spot something the size of a soccer ball at a distance of two thousand miles.”

“Expensive pair of binoculars,” commented Decker, drawing a sharp and somewhat unfriendly glance from Sumter.

Jamison said in a more casual tone, “I understand you have a bar and even a bowling alley on-site.”

Sumter smiled. “Yes. Drinking and bowling, not the best of combinations, but still, it allows people to wind down.”

“How long has Vector been running this place?” asked Decker.

“The United States Air Force runs this place,” said Sumter firmly. “But Vector’s involvement is fairly recent. I can’t give you the exact date because that’s classified.”

“So getting back to Irene Cramer. Has she ever been here?” asked Decker.

“No. And she wouldn’t have the clearance to get on the installation.”