David Baldacci - The Last Mile

“But Decker, Davenport didn’t know anybody in this town,” noted Jamison.

“Well, obviously she did. And it was someone she trusted.”

Mars said, “So it comes back to why take her?”

Jamison leaned back against the wall and said, “Do you think they’ll try to find out what we’ve learned by...”

Decker stared at her. “Beating her? Torturing her?”

Jamison paled but nodded.

“I think it far more likely that they’ll use her as a bargaining chip,” observed Decker.

Mars looked puzzled. “Bargaining chip? For what?”

“For you.”

I should never have left.”

Bogart stared across the table at Decker.

The men were sitting inside an office of a small building the FBI had turned into a makeshift command center.

Bogart and Milligan had flown in with a half dozen other agents. They were in the other part of the building working away on trying to locate Lisa Davenport.

“You had no choice,” said Decker.

“Everybody has a choice,” retorted Bogart, who was looking distraught. His tie was unknotted, his shirt wrinkled, and his hair mussed.

“ Realistic choice, then,” countered Decker. “And even if you had been here, the same thing probably would have happened.”

“We can’t find anyone here that she would have known well enough to let into her room at that hour. Any ideas on that?”

“It’s possible that she knew someone that we didn’t know she knew.”

“If they are using her as leverage we can expect a communication.”

Decker nodded. “The problem will be the exchange. That’s always the problem with scenarios like this.”

Bogart said, “You don’t think we’ll get her back alive?”

“She saw who took her. She knew the person.”

Bogart sighed and slumped back in his chair. “And she can’t be allowed to tell us who that is.”

“The odds are certainly against it.”

“Who do you think is behind this?”

“There’s more than one.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“Motivations and actions tell us a lot. We have irreconcilable motivations and actions. That means there’s more than one player out there.”

“Something changed,” said Bogart. “Mars was in prison for twenty years and nothing happened.”

“What changed was he was going to be executed. He had never gotten that close to the death chamber before. That was the catalyst for them to act.”

“To pay off Montgomery?”

“Yes.”

“So which ‘faction’ did that?”

“I don’t know. It could be one or the other at this point.”

“They want what they think he knows. The stuff in the safe deposit box that his father took.”

“That’s the golden ring. His father took it and put it somewhere. They may think the son knows.”

Bogart said, “What are the irreconcilable motives and actions?”

“The party that wants the information could have let Melvin be executed. The information hadn’t surfaced for twenty years. They could assume it was lost. By getting Melvin out of jail they gave him an opportunity to go get it, assuming he knows where it is. Then they hope to be there when he does and grab it?” Decker shook his head. “That’s a huge risk. So huge that they wouldn’t have done it. They would have let sleeping dogs lie.”

“But then who got Mars out of prison?”

“The other party.”

“But why?”

“That’s the irreconcilable issue, Ross. And I haven’t gotten it figured out yet.”

Bogart rubbed a hand through his hair. “We will figure it out, Amos. We have to. Failure is not an option.”

Decker looked him over. “I appreciate you covering for me with the court.”

“The court called. I told them what they needed to hear.”

“Are things square back in D.C.?”

“I’m back on the case, so I guess that means the higher-ups saw the error of their ways.”

“And the divorce?”

“Not much of a silver lining there. But I’m getting to the point where I don’t care. I’ve got my work. That’s enough.”

“You sure about that?”

“No, but it’s my story and I’m sticking to it.” He looked over some files on his desk. “We don’t have very many leads.”

“No, we don’t. I’m getting Jamison a gun and showing her how to use it.”

Bogart looked at him in surprise. “You think they might try another kidnapping?”

“No, but I’ve been wrong before.”

“Join the club.”

Decker rose.

“Where are you going?”

“To get Jamison her weapon, and then I’m going to the doctor’s.”

“Are you sick?”

“No. Keep an eye on Melvin.”

He walked out, leaving Bogart to stare after him.

Decker selected a compact nine-millimeter for Jamison. Texas had a concealed handgun permit requirement, but when Jamison showed the store owner her FBI credentials and Bogart emailed him an official letter from the Bureau detailing her membership in an FBI task force along with the authority to carry such a weapon, the owner skipped those steps and handed the gun over.

When Jamison used her personal card to pay for it the man said, “Damn federal government so hard up for cash you got to buy your own guns now?”

“No, just the bullets,” shot back Jamison.

The shop had a gun range in the back. Decker showed her how to properly load, handle, and aim the weapon. Then he had her fire about a hundred rounds until he was satisfied.

She holstered the weapon and they left together.

“It feels funny carrying a gun,” she said.

“It’s better than not carrying a gun when you need it.”

They got back into their rental and drove off.

“Where to?”

“The doctor’s.”

“Is this about the Marses?”

“Yes.”

“Decker, we should be back there helping the others to find Davenport.”

“What we can do is solve this thing. That might be the best way to find out who took her and where she is.”

They pulled into the parking lot of a small brick office building. The office directory inside the lobby showed that all of the tenants were medical practices. It took nearly an hour and many exploratory questions until they arrived at the right one.

The nurse, in her late sixties, and nearly as wide as she was tall, nodded. “Yes, the Marses were patients here.”

Decker said, “Can you tell us about them?”

“It was twenty years ago.”

“Anything?” said Decker.

The woman sat down behind her metal desk. “Well, they sort of stood out because they were the first mixed-race couple I’d ever seen. First one in town in all probability. Back then lot of folks didn’t care for that, I can tell you.”

“Did a doctor from this practice deliver Melvin Mars?”

“Yes. Doc Turner. He’s been dead, oh, about seven years now.”

“Was he delivered at the local hospital?” asked Jamison.

“That’s right. I actually assisted. We’re a small town. Doc Turner was a general practitioner, but here you do what needs doing. There aren’t enough people living here to justify a practice devoted only to ob-gyn.” She looked wistful. “I remember that Lucinda Mars was probably the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. Her face was flawless. Her body, well, let me tell you, I wish I’d had one like hers. Her legs were longer than my whole body.”

“Did they start coming here when she got pregnant?” asked Decker.

“Oh, she was about five months along when they moved to town. I remember because I’d just come here about a year before and she was asking me where I shopped and what kind of jobs were available.”

Decker glanced at Jamison and then back at the nurse. “So she was already pregnant when they came here?”