David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“And then we have Charles Montgomery in Alabama,” said Decker.

“Exactly.”

Davenport said, “Can we learn anything about this guy before we go to see him? Is there any possible connection between Mars and this Montgomery person?”

“Well, that’s what the police are no doubt trying to determine,” said Bogart. “And let me tell all of you right off the bat, this will be very delicate. The state of Texas will not look kindly on federal intervention at this moment. Frankly, they may well question why we’re even involved. And I can’t promise that if pushback comes we can stick it out.” He looked at Decker. “The cases in the binder were all preapproved for our involvement, Amos. The Mars case obviously is not.”

“But we can still look into it,” said Decker.

“Yes. But I’ve found that as a general rule Texans do not like people from Washington, D.C., messing in their affairs.”

“Can you access all the records on the case?” said Jamison. “We should really go through all of that first. All we have is what Amos found online.”

“I can definitely make calls and see what I can do,” replied Bogart.

“Then we need to get in to see Mars,” added Davenport. “Meeting with him I can give you a better insight as to his psychological makeup.”

“Agreed,” said Bogart. He glanced at Decker. “That was a good job back there on the Morillo case, Amos. You picked up on stuff again that everyone else missed.”

Decker had been staring off and not really following the conversation. He came out of his musings and said, “We need to find out if Charles Montgomery has any family.”

“What? Why?” asked Davenport.

Decker didn’t answer her. He just stared off again, thinking.

After they finished at the bar, Jamison and Decker were dropped off at his place, where Jamison had left her car.

“So, that went reasonably well,” she said. “Although Milligan is a bit of a jerk.” She glanced at him. “What did you think?”

“I get where he’s coming from.”

“And Davenport?”

“I’m sure she’s competent.”

“But?”

“But she has her own agenda.”

“Meaning you.”

“Maybe.”

She looked him over. “There’s a men’s shop about a mile from here. It’s open until ten. I checked.”

Decker shot her a glance. “Do I really look that bad?”

“Clothes make the man.”

“I’m pretty sure whoever said that did not have me in mind.”

“Shopping always makes me think better,” she said hopefully.

“And how exactly do I pay for new clothes?”

She held up a credit card. “Bogart gave me this. For essentials. Which I confirmed includes clothes for you,” she added quickly. “And you’ll have your salary.”

Decker looked over at her. “Salary?”

“I don’t know about you, but I can’t do this for free. Didn’t you discuss money with Bogart?”

Decker let out a sigh.

“I’ll take that as a no. But I can tell you that it’s a lot more than either of us were making back in Burlington.”

“Really?” said Decker.

“Really. And if this thing works out we’ll have to get our own housing. Can’t stay on the base permanently. And you’ll need a car to replace the rental.”

“I hadn’t given any of that much thought.”

“Trust me, I could tell.”

Three hours later they walked out of the men’s clothing store with numerous outfits for Decker. Nothing had to be altered. They had mainly just bought the biggest sizes the store had — pants, shirts, shoes, socks, underwear, and a couple of jackets that were large enough to use as sails if need be.

Jamison had helped coordinate the colors and accessories and commented on all the pieces that Decker tried on. As he stood in front of the tri-mirror he had said, “I look like a whale in a two-piece suit.”

“It’s nothing you can’t work on. There’s a gym a two-minute walk from where you’re staying. And a track right next to it.”

When he came out of the dressing room in his old duds she held up a stack of workout clothes she had gathered for him, along with size fourteen tennis shoes. “Does quadruple-X work for you?” she asked.

“If they stretch enough, yeah.”

She drove Decker back to his place and helped him carry in the packages.

“I appreciate the help,” he said.

“I appreciate your giving me the opportunity.”

“What, to be my personal shopper?”

“No, to have this shot with the FBI. Bogart never would’ve extended the invitation just to me. He let me tag along so you’d come too.”

“Give yourself some credit.”

“Oh, I plan to work my ass off proving myself. But you got me in the door.”

“You really think this will work out?”

“Who knows? That’s part of the excitement.”

“I’m not sure I need any more excitement in my life.”

“Then I think you came to the wrong place.”

Six a.m.

Decker blinked awake and sat up in his bed. He looked around, for a few moments unsure of where he was.

Virginia.

Quantico.

The FBI gig.

Right. He got up and padded to the bathroom.

After that he walked into the kitchen and looked out the window. It was still well dark.

He slid out the coffeepot with the intent to make and drink a pot while he went over case notes. Then he looked down at his massive gut and the slight wheezing apparently caused by merely getting out of bed and taking a leak, and sighed.

“Shit,” he muttered.

He went back into his bedroom and pulled out the exercise clothes Jamison had bought for him. He put them on — thankful they had some give — and then bent down and tugged on his tennis shoes, which were each about the size of a newborn.

He walked outside and down the steps of the apartment complex where he was staying. He looked left and saw the gym that Jamison was referring to. The lights were on and he could hear sounds coming from within.

Of course. Type A’s are already at it. And this place is full of Type A’s.

He trudged slowly to the building and went in. He’d remembered to bring his ID. The young attendant at the front desk gave him a towel and a locker key. He returned the latter but kept the towel.

“You look like you could squat an Abrams,” said the young man, eyeing Decker’s enormous girth.

“I do, every time I stand,” replied Decker with another sigh tacked on as he took in the large exercise area where amazingly fit people of both genders were grinding it out with enviable ease.

Decker found one corner, put down his towel, looked in the mirror once, and decided not to do so again. He did a little cardiovascular warm-up before stretching and found himself winded. He pushed on and performed his stretching. His years of doing this as a football player had made him more supple than he looked. But he was still pretty stiff right now. Places in his spine he hadn’t felt in a long time started talking to him. But he was beginning to warm up.

A young woman walked by. She had an FBI ID badge clipped to her Lycra shorts. She was pretty and supremely fit, and looked like fat would not dare attach itself to her body. When she saw Decker bend down and touch his toes and then lay his palms flat to the floor she said, “Impressive.”

“Well, then I’d suggest you look away. Because it’s all downhill from here.”

She laughed and moved on.

After limbering up, Decker hit the weights, did what he could until his muscles screamed at him, and then grabbed a medicine ball and did some core. He was really starting to sweat and it actually felt good.

“Okay, I am totally impressed beyond belief.”