Harlan Coben - Fool Me Once

“That was fast,” she said when he came back down.

“Part of my plan.”

“What was?”

“Having her drag me up the stairs. It tired her out.”

“Clever.”

“Yeah, well.”

They both grabbed cold beers from the fridge and headed into the backyard. Night had fallen. The humidity weighed them down, but after you experienced desert heat wearing forty pounds of gear on your back, nothing else in the hot family really bothered you.

“Nice night,” Shane said.

They sat by the swimming pool and started to drink. There was something there, some sort of chasm, and Maya didn’t like it.

“Stop it,” she said.

“Stop what?”

“You’re treating me like...”

“Like?”

“Like a widow. Cut it out.”

Shane nodded. “Yeah, okay, my bad.”

“So what did you want to talk to me about?” she asked.

He took a swig of beer. “It may be nothing.”

“But?”

“There’s an intelligence report floating around.” Shane was still in the military, heading up the local branch of the military police. “Seems Corey Rudzinski may be back in the United States.”

Shane waited for her reaction. Maya took a deep, long sip of the beer and said nothing.

“We think he came across the Canadian border two weeks ago.”

“Is there an arrest warrant out on him?”

“Technically, no.”

Corey Rudzinski was the founder of CoreyTheWhistle, a website where whistle-blowers could safely post information in a confidential manner. The idea was to disclose illegal activities by government and big business. Remember that story about the South American government official who had been taking kickbacks from the oil companies? A leak to CoreyTheWhistle. That police corruption case with the racist emails? CoreyTheWhistle. The abusive prisoner treatment in Idaho, the covered-up nuclear accident in Asia, the security forces hiring escort services? CoreyTheWhistle.

And, of course, the civilian deaths due to an overzealous female Army helicopter pilot?

Yep, you guessed it.

All those “scoops” were courtesy of Corey’s confidential whistle-blowers.

“Maya?”

“He can’t hurt me anymore.”

Shane tilted his head.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“He can’t hurt me,” she said. “He already released that tape.”

“Not all of it.”

She took a slug of beer. “I don’t care, Shane.”

He leaned back. “Okay.” Then: “Why do you think he didn’t?”

“Didn’t what?”

“Release the audio.”

It was a question that haunted her more than Shane would ever know.

“He’s a whistle-blower,” Shane said. “So why didn’t he air it?”

“Don’t know.”

Shane looked out. Maya knew that look.

“I assume you have a theory?” she said.

“I do.”

“Let’s hear it.”

“Corey has been saving it for the right time,” Shane said.

Maya frowned.

“First he gets the big press hit off the initial release. Then, when he needs fresh publicity, he releases the rest of it.”

She shook her head.

“He’s a shark,” Shane said. “You have to constantly feed a shark.”

“Meaning?”

“For his operation to be a success, Corey Rudzinski needs to not only take down those he believes are corrupt, but he has to do it in a way that will maximize publicity.”

“Shane?”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t really care. I’m out of the military. I’m even — gasp — a widow. Let him do his worst.”

She wondered whether Shane would buy the bravado, but then again, he didn’t know the full truth, did he?

“Okeydokey.” Shane finished the beer. “So are you going to tell me what’s really going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“I ran that test for you, no questions asked.”

She nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’m not here for gratitude, you know that.”

She did.

“Running that test was a violation of my oath. It was, not to put too fine a point on it, against the law. You know that, right?”

“Let it go, Shane.”

“Did you know Joe was in danger?”

“Shane—”

“Or were you the real target?”

Maya closed her eyes for a moment. The sounds were raging toward her.

“Maya?”

She opened her eyes and turned toward him slowly. “Do you trust me?”

“Don’t insult me like that. You saved my life. You’re the best and bravest soldier I’ve ever known.”

She shook her head. “The best and bravest came home in a box.”

“No, Maya, they didn’t. They paid the biggest price, yes. Mostly, they were the unluckiest. We both know that. They were just standing in the wrong spot at the wrong time.”

It was true. It isn’t as though the more competent warriors had a better chance of surviving. It was a crapshoot. War is never a meritocracy for the casualties.

Shane’s voice was soft in the darkness. “You’re going to try to do this on your own, aren’t you?”

She didn’t reply.

“You’re going to take down Joe’s killers by yourself.”

It wasn’t a question. The silence hung there for a while, just like the humidity.

“I’m here if you need help. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Then: “Do you trust me, Shane?”

“With my life.”

“Then leave it alone.”

Shane finished his beer and headed for the door.

“I need one more thing,” Maya said.

She handed him a piece of paper.

“What’s this?”

“A license plate for a red Buick Verano. I need to know who the car belongs to.”

Shane made a face. “I won’t insult either of us by asking why you want this,” he said. “But this is the last freebie.”

He kissed her on the top of the head, fatherlike, and left.

Maya looked in on her sleeping daughter. Then she padded down the corridor to the high-tech workout room Joe had built when they first moved in. She did some light weights — squats, bench, curls — and then hit the treadmill. The house had always felt too big for her, too fancy. Her family hadn’t been poor by any stretch, but this kind of wealth didn’t sit well with her. Maya didn’t feel comfortable here, hadn’t ever, but that was the way the Burketts were. No one really left the family’s environs — their compound just spread out.

She worked up a good sweat. Exercising always made her feel better. When she was done, Maya threw a towel around her neck and grabbed a frosty Bud. She pressed the bottle against her forehead. Nice and cold.

She moved the mouse, waking up the computer, and jumped on the web. She typed in the URL for the CoreyTheWhistle website and waited for it to load. Other similar sites like WikiLeaks had no-nonsense layouts — very cookie-cutter, monochromatic, informational. Corey had gone for a far more stimulating visual. The motto, written in alternating fonts across the top, was simple and crude: “We Provide The Whistle, But You Provide The, Uh, Blow.”

There were bursts of color. There were thumbnails of videos. And while rival sites downplayed any hyperbole, Corey’s had brought all the best and cheesiest click-bait terminology: “Top Ten Ways The Government Is Watching — Number 7 Will Blow Your Mind!” “Wall Street Goes For Your Green... and You Won’t Believe What Happens Next.” “Think the Cops Are There to Protect You? Think Again.” “We Kill Civilians. Why the Four-Star Generals Hate Us.” “Twenty Signs You’re Being Robbed By Your Bank.” “The Wealthiest Men in the World Pay No Taxes — How You Can Too.” “Which Despot Are You Most Like? Take Our Test.”

She hit the archive and found the old video. She wasn’t sure why she went to Corey’s site to get it. YouTube had a dozen variations of it up. She could have easily just gone there, but somehow it felt right to go to the source.