Дэвид Балдаччи - The Collectors

He turned right at the next corner and prayed that the van didn’t follow. Although the area was crawling with feds, he could not assume that would protect him. The FBI might very well toss him in the van with the torturers and wave a hearty good-bye. He walked two more blocks before slowing down and letting Goff fuss at a bush while he slowly glanced behind him. No sign of the van. Yet it could’ve been a ruse, distracting him while they came at Stone from another direction. With this thought he called Reuben on his cell phone. The big man had just punched out at the loading dock.

“I’ll be there in five minutes, Oliver,” he said. “There’s a police substation two blocks from where you are. Start heading that way. If the bastards make a move, you start screaming like bloody murder.”

Stone walked in that direction. Reuben, for all his faults, was as loyal and as brave a friend as Stone could possibly want.

True to his word, Reuben came roaring down the road in his pickup truck, and Stone and Goff climbed in.

“Where’s your motorcycle?” Stone asked.

“Jerk-offs have seen it. Figured I’d keep it on the q.t.”

When they were far away from the area, Reuben slowed and then stopped.

“I’ve been checking the side mirror, Oliver,” he reported. “I didn’t see anything.”

Stone didn’t look convinced. “They must have seen me on the street.”

“Your disguise fooled them.”

Stone shook his head. “People like that aren’t fooled so easily.”

“Well, maybe they’re keeping you on a short leash, hoping you’ll lead them to the pot of gold.”

“I’m afraid it’ll be a long wait, then.”

“Meant to tell you, buddy of mine from the Pentagon called me back. He didn’t have a lot to say about Behan and that military contract, but he did tell me something interesting. I know some things have been reported in the press about secrets being stolen and leaks occurring. But it’s a lot worse than the papers have reported. From what my friend said, there’re some moles selling this country down the river to our enemies in the Middle East and Asia, among others.”

Stone fiddled with Goff’s leash and said, “Reuben, have your friends at D.C. Homicide or the FBI gotten back to you?”

“You know, that’s really strange. Not one of them has called back. I don’t get it.”

Oh, I get it, Stone thought. I get it loud and clear.

They met at Stone’s cottage later that evening, and Annabelle and Milton reported on their session with the architects. Relying on his astonishing memory, Milton had drawn out a detailed plan of the locations of both the fire room and the HVAC line.

Caleb studied the drawings. “I know exactly where that is. I thought it was just a storage room.”

“Is it locked?” Stone asked.

“I suppose it might be.”

“I’m sure I have some keys that will probably fit it,” Stone said.

Caleb looked startled. “Keys? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I think it means he’s planning on breaking into the room,” Annabelle said.

“Oliver, you can’t be serious. Against my better judgment I let you impersonate a German scholar to get into the vault, but I absolutely draw the line on burglarizing the Library of Congress.”

Annabelle looked at Stone with new respect. “You played a German scholar? That’s impressive.”

“Please do not encourage him,” Caleb snapped. “Oliver, I am a federal employee.”

“And have we ever held that against you?” Reuben quipped.

Stone said, “Caleb, if we don’t get into that room, all the risk in getting the plan details will have been for nothing.” He pointed at the drawing. “And you can see that the HVAC line running to the vault is also located in the fire suppression room. We can check both out at the same time.”

Caleb shook his head. “That room is located off the main basement corridor. There are usually lots of people walking along there. We’ll get caught.”

“If we act like we’re supposed to be there, no one will challenge us.”

“He’s right, Caleb,” Annabelle said.

“I’m going too,” Reuben added. “I’m tired of being left out of all the fun.”

Milton piped in, “What about us?”

“I can’t walk in with an army of people,” Caleb wailed.

Annabelle said, “We can be backup, Milton. Every plan needs to allow for contingencies.”

Stone looked at her strangely. “Fine, you can be our backup. We’ll go tonight.”

“Tonight!” Caleb exclaimed. “I’ll need at least a week to work up the nerve. I’m a wimp. I started out as a librarian at an elementary school, but I couldn’t take the pressure.”

“You can do it, Caleb,” Milton advised. “I felt the same way today, but it’s not that hard to fool people. If I can do it to some architects, you can do it at the place where you work. What could they possibly ask you that you wouldn’t have an answer for?”

“Oh, I don’t know, how about where’s my brain for agreeing to do this in the first place?” Caleb shot back. “And besides, the building will be closing by the time we get there.”

“Can you still get us in with your library badge?”

“I don’t know. Maybe, maybe not,” he said evasively.

“Caleb,” Stone said calmly. “We have to do this.”

Caleb sighed. “I know. I know.” He added sharply, “At least allow me the satisfaction of pretending I’m putting up a fight.”

Annabelle put a hand on his shoulder and smiled. “Caleb, you remind me of somebody I know. His name’s Leo. He likes to bitch and moan and act like a weenie, but in the end he always comes through.”

“I guess I’ll take that as a compliment,” Caleb said stiffly.

Stone cleared his throat and opened one of the journals he’d brought with him. “I think I’ve discovered at least partly what it is we’re up against.”

They all turned their attention to him. Before he started speaking, he switched on his portable radio and classical music filtered into the room. “Just in case the cottage is being bugged,” he explained. He cleared his throat again and told them about his trip to Bradley’s destroyed house. “They killed the man and blew up his house. At first I thought it was to keep up the terrorist group subterfuge. Now I think there could be another reason: namely, that in spite of his reputation as an honest man, Bob Bradley was corrupt. And the evidence of that corruption disappeared in the explosion.”

“That’s not possible,” Caleb said. “His predecessor was a crook, not Bradley. They elevated Bradley to the top spot to clean things up.”

Stone shook his head. “In my experience in Washington one does not capture the Speaker’s chair on an agenda of anticorruption. One gets there by building up powerful support and cultivating alliances over the years. Still, Bradley’s ascension was out of the ordinary. If the majority leader hadn’t been indicted along with the former Speaker, the job would’ve gone to him. And after him the party whip. But the leadership was so tainted that Bradley was brought in like the proverbial out-of-town sheriff to clean up the town. But I’m not talking about that sort of corruption.

“Bradley’s role as Speaker obscures the other significant title he held: that of chairman of the House Intelligence Committee. In that role Bradley would have been briefed on virtually every covert operation going on in every American intelligence agency, including the CIA, NSA and the Pentagon. He and his staff would have been privy to secrets and classified documents worth a great deal to our enemies.” Stone leafed through his journal. “Over the last several years there have been numerous accounts of espionage against American intelligence agencies, some of which have resulted in the deaths of undercover agents, four in the most recent instance that the press identified as State Department liaisons. And according to Reuben’s sources, it’s even worse than the media have reported.”