David Baldacci - The Sixth Man

“I caught a glimpse of his tickets. He’s in the third row on both legs. I snagged a seat in the back on both flights. The first is a Delta, the second a United. I’ll call you when we get in a little before noon.”

“Did you see the name on the ticket?”

“Unfortunately, no.”

He’d clicked off and Michelle had continued her drive. Around four in the morning she pulled into the dark parking lot of Martha’s Inn. Guests had a key that opened the outer door. She stopped in the kitchen and got a snack, then headed up the stairs. She stopped on the second landing when she saw a light on in Megan’s room. She knocked on the door. “Megan?”

The door opened a crack and Michelle eyed her. “Anything wrong?” she asked.

“I heard you drive up. I thought we could talk.”

“Okay.” Michelle parked herself in a chair by a small pine bureau. “What’s up?” she asked.

Megan was in green surgical scrubs, which she obviously used as pajamas. “Where were you guys? You just disappeared after we spoke this afternoon.”

“We had some sleuthing to do.”

“I thought you said you were going to protect me, but all you do is go off and I don’t hear anything until you come back.”

“Look, Megan, you have a point, but we’re doing the best we can with the limited resources we have. In fact, Sean is running down a lead now, but he sent me back here to keep an eye on you.”

“A lead where?”

“D.C., apparently.”

Megan sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I know you all are doing the best you can. It’s just…”

“Scary?”

“I didn’t really intend to do any criminal defense work when I came to work for Mr. Bergin. This case just got dropped in my lap.”

“But Sean is a terrific lawyer and he’s done lots of criminal cases.”

“But he’s not here right now. I’m trying to draft these motions but it’s not easy.”

“Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you there.”

“Murdock came by to see me again.”

“What the hell did he want?”

“He seemed particularly interested in what you and Sean were up to.”

“I bet.”

“It seems with every step we take we get farther away from the truth.”

Michelle said, “But then one little piece falls into place and it’s off to the races.”

“You can’t count on that happening.”

“We try to make our own luck.”

“I guess.”

“Get some sleep. And how about we grab some breakfast around nine? We can talk more then. But right now I need some sleep.”

“Okay, but I’m going to lock my door and then slide the bureau against it.”

“Not a bad idea, actually.”

Michelle left the room and headed to her own. She yawned and stretched some kinks out, and then became fully awake. There was someone moving downstairs. At first she thought it might be Mrs. Burke, but the elderly landlady undoubtedly would have turned on a light in her own inn. Michelle crouched low and slipped over to the staircase, her pistol out. She focused on the movements downstairs.

It actually took a lot of energy to tread quietly. One had to hold his position, shift, and balance at optimal points.

Young. Fit. Trained.

Definitely not Mrs. Burke.

“Maxwell? Is that you?”

“Dobkin?”

“If you have your gun out, put it away. I don’t want to get shot accidentally.”

“Then stop breaking into places in the middle of the night.”

“I have a key. And I’m the police. I’m allowed.”

She holstered her weapon and came down the steps.

“Over here.”

He stepped in front of a window where the moonlight was coming through. Eric Dobkin was in uniform and looked anxious.

“Where’s your partner?” he said. “Upstairs?”

“No, he went out of town. What’s up?”

“Have you heard?”

“Heard what?”

“They found Carla Dukes dead about an hour ago in her home.”

CHAPTER

40

THE PILOT EASILY HANDLED the swirling winds off the East River, and the plane touched down on the runway at LaGuardia right on time. Sean was one of the last passengers off but picked up his pace once he left the jetway and entered the airport. The man he was tailing was up ahead, walking at a leisurely pace. Sean slowed but kept him in sight. The flight attendant on the Bangor-to-New York leg had announced the number of their next gate, and the connecting passengers headed to it. They reached it; the flight was not yet up on the marquee because they had a three-hour layover before the short hop to Virginia.

Sean grabbed some coffee and an egg sandwich. He remembered something, reached in his pocket, and turned his phone on. He immediately saw that Michelle had called numerous times. He quickly phoned her.

When she heard his voice she said, “Thank God. I tried calling you before, but it wouldn’t go through. Lots to fill you in on.”

“Don’t tell me—someone else is dead,” he said in a joking tone.

“How the hell did you know that?”

Sean’s face fell. “What? I wasn’t being serious. Who is it?”

“Carla Dukes. Dobkin came by the inn a little while after I got back and told me.”

“In the middle of the night? Why would he do that?” Sean said suspiciously.

“I’m not sure. Maybe he thinks he still owes us for covering for his guys with Murdock. Whatever the case, she’s dead and they have no leads. The FBI is handling it.”

Sean sipped his coffee and bit off a chunk of his sandwich. There had been no food service on either flight. He wasn’t sure when he had eaten last but it had been a while. The grease and fatty calories felt spectacular going down. “Did you tell Dobkin about what we saw last night?”

“What, are you drunk? Of course I didn’t. Not without talking to you first.”

Sean frowned. “I don’t want to get hit with an obstruction charge, but I’m also not ready to commit us to anything.”

“So we say nothing for now?”

“Right. Nothing.”

“If Dukes was killed because she talked to the guy you’re following, things might get really hairy really fast.”

“But if I can crack who he’s with, we might just take a giant leap forward.”

“You also might end up getting yourself killed. ”

“I’ll be careful. You watch out for yourself and Megan.”

“How are you going to follow him once you get into D.C.?”

Sean glanced across at a gift shop located a little down the concourse from his gate. “I think I see an answer. I’ll call you when I run this guy to his base.”

He clicked off, checked to make sure the fellow was still sitting and working on his laptop, and walked quickly to the gift shop. It took him a couple of minutes but he finally saw what he needed.

A toy fireman’s hat. And a small bottle of glue. He ducked into the bathroom, grabbed an empty stall, opened the box, and pried the piece of gold plastic off the front of the hat. He opened the glue, pulled out his private investigator’s credentials and, using the glue, he attached the plastic piece inside a leaf of his ID. He slipped it back in his pocket, discarded the box, the hat, and the glue in the trash can, washed his hands and face, and stepped back out.

The flight to Dulles Airport was on a Canadian Regional twin-engine jet operated by United Express. Sean got on ahead of the man he was following. He settled in the back in an aisle seat and opened a newspaper someone had left in the seat pocket. He alternated between reading the paper and eyeing his target as the man took off his jacket, folded it quite deliberately, placed it in the overhead bin, and sat down. He had his phone out and was talking to someone, but there was no way for Sean to hear any part of the conversation. When the jet door closed and the flight attendants made their announcements about electronic devices, the man turned off his phone. A minute later the jet pushed back and the man gripped his armrest as they began to taxi to the runway.