The Fix, Page 47

  “No. But if we let it be known that we have their agents, then they might just call off whatever they’re thinking about doing.”

  “We can’t count on that,” said Decker.

  “We absolutely can’t.”

  Mars said, “So what the hell do we do?”

  “Figure out what they’re planning to do and stop it,” said Decker.

  Milligan came into the room and sat down next to Bogart.

  “Okay, the State Department has been on the horn to their counterparts in Moscow. They are disavowing all knowledge of any of this.”

  “That’s no surprise,” said Bogart.

  “None at all.”

  “But this is a surprise.”

  They looked up to see Brown stride into the room. She had caught a ride on the FBI jet with Bogart, Mars, and Milligan.

  “What is?” asked Bogart.

  “Folks at DIA just got off a secure communication with Moscow. It seems the Russians have also received similar threats through chatter.”

  “Similar threats?” said Milligan. “And you believe them?”

  “We never believe anyone a hundred percent, but our folks think they’re actually being straight with us. They know that relations are delicate right now between Washington and Moscow. They have regional aspirations for sure, but it’s not like they want to be drawn into a direct confrontation with us. That would only end badly for them. Their Achilles’ heel is their economy. It’s nearly all fossil-fuel-based, and the world’s supply far exceeds demand. Because of that Russia’s economy is in free fall. They already have sanctions on them for the shit they pulled in Ukraine and Crimea. Another round of sanctions and you might be talking revolution over there.”

  “So what does that mean for our situation?” asked Bogart.

  “Because of all that, they were more forthcoming than they otherwise would be. They told us some things that jibed with things we’d previously discovered.” She paused and drew an anxious breath. “Bottom line, it might be a worst-case scenario.”

  “How so?” asked Milligan.

  “We might be looking at a rogue third party. Berkshire’s spy ring might have gone mercenary. If so, the traditional restraints that would keep Russia in check are not going to apply. We’re totally in uncharted territory now.”

  “Shit,” muttered Bogart.

  Milligan added, “Maybe someone’s trying to start something between Russia and us. Two superpowers going at it, it might leave an opening for another organization to gain an advantage somewhere.”

  “And there are certainly enough mercenary players out there where they could recruit talent,” opined Bogart. “And that would explain the presence of the Middle Easterners and the chatter in Arabic.”

  Decker said, “So Berkshire might not have been working for her country any longer.”

  “Maybe she hasn’t for a while,” said Bogart.

  Decker said, “That might explain the million-dollar condo and the expensive car. Rogues get paid in cash, not medals. She might have gotten tired of simply serving her country.”

  Mars looked at each of them before his gaze settled on Decker. “So you guys are really gonna have to solve this thing. And fast!”

  Decker groaned and rubbed his head. “It would help if it didn’t feel like Big Ben was pounding in my brain.”

  “Like you said, man, flash-bangs suck,” said Mars.

  CHAPTER

  78

  “YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY?”

  Decker was sitting next to Jamison on her bed back at their apartment.

  “I’m good, Decker, just tired. They roughed me up some before they drugged me. I don’t know what they used, but it kicked the crap out of me.”

  “I’m sorry this happened.”

  “It’s not your fault, Decker. You’re the reason why I’m back here and not dead.”

  She suddenly sat up in bed and hugged him.

  Decker looked surprised by this, but finally patted Jamison on the back.

  She released him and said, “Bogart told me how things stand. This rogue organization. We don’t know what they’re targeting.”

  “No, we don’t. And whatever it is will happen soon.”

  “Even though you captured some of their people?”

  “We can’t assume it won’t happen. By default rogues are unpredictable.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Decker gazed over her shoulder out the window where it was raining again.

  “I’m going to go for a walk.”

  * * *

  His hood up, Decker trudged along in the rain. He didn’t know why he liked bad weather.

  Well, maybe he did.

  On the day he’d found his family dead it had been gloriously beautiful, not a cloud in the sky, a gentle breeze, the sun shining like a beacon. And he’d come home that night to find the two people he loved most in the world murdered.

  I’ll take the gloom.

  He reached the river and paralleled it on his walk. The windswept water was churning up whitecaps and seagulls were doing barrel rolls in the air.

  He found the same bench and sat down, oblivious to the rain pelting him and soaking his pants and shoes.

  Decker would never admit this to anyone, maybe not even to himself. He was terrified that there would come a day when he closed his eyes and flipped through his extraordinary memory and the only thing that came out would be…nothing.

  For that reason he was now avoiding even doing it. This wasn’t some secret weapon, like waving a magic wand that would produce exactly the answer you needed. Much of Decker’s success in the past he could put down to simple, basic investigative legwork. Asking questions, looking at evidence, pondering how it all fit together, and finding in a quagmire of fact and fiction a lead that might take you where you needed to go.

  He had a lot to ponder this time. Maybe too much. But he had found out a lot too.

  They had uncovered and busted up the spy ring’s use of Dominion Hospice.

  They had discovered that it was Eleanor Dabney and Anne Berkshire who had worked together all that time as spies.

  They had found the truth behind Natalie’s “gambling debts” and with it the impetus for Walter Dabney to do what he had done.

  They knew why he had killed Anne Berkshire.

  And that his wife had, dressed as a clown, served as the signal that Berkshire was on her way.

  They had most likely found out what had happened to Cecilia Randall and the secret behind the dolls.

  They had, thankfully, rescued Jamison and captured members of the spy operation. Maybe they would eventually get some answers from those people.

  Yes, all those were good, positive things.

  But what they really had not determined was why Walter Dabney had chosen to shoot Anne Berkshire dead outside the Hoover Building. Despite what Ellie had told them about her husband wanting to send a message, Decker wasn’t convinced.

  Then, just as the word athlete had popped into his head previously, another word did too.

  Literal.

  He jumped up and raced back to the apartment, changed into dry clothes, and checked on Jamison. She was sleeping soundly, and he grabbed her keys and went to her car, pointing it in the direction of where all this had happened.

  Along the way he called Mars and then stopped to pick him up. As it turned out, Harper Brown was with him, so Decker left his car at the hotel where Mars was staying and they drove together to the place where it had all started for Decker.

  “What’s in your head, Decker?” asked Brown.

  “Too many things.”

  “Come on, you need to give me more than that.”

  “I told you before that I thought Walter Dabney was being quite literal when he did something?”

  “Yeah, I remember that.”

  “Well, I think he was being quite literal when he killed Berkshire where he did.”

  Brown exchanged a curious glance with Mars. “I’m not following,�
� she said to Decker.

  Only Decker wasn’t listening.

  Traffic was a bear. Sirens were screeching all over and they caught sight of a motorcade thundering through cleared lanes.

  Brown turned away from Decker and said to Mars, “I hate it when we have visiting dignitaries. Screws traffic royally.”

  “We never worried about that in West Texas,” said Mars. “If you got behind another car on the road that was a traffic jam.”

  Brown rolled her eyes at this comment and said, “Funny.”

  The traffic got so bad that they finally parked in a garage and hoofed it the rest of the way. The rain had let up some, but it was still a nasty, gloomy day.

  Her jacket hood up against the drizzle, Brown said, “Okay, here we are near the Hoover Building. Now what?”

  Decker was walking along slowly, covering the same route he’d taken on the morning that Dabney had shot Berkshire. He had done this so many times before that he had no idea what he thought he could possibly discover now.

  Possibly nothing.

  Probably nothing.

  But he had come here for a particular reason. He had thought of it when he’d been sitting on the bench by the river. It wasn’t because his memory had served him particularly well. This was based on something far more simple—an educated hunch. He’d long relied on them when he’d been a detective back in Ohio.

  Now, this was where having perfect recall might really come in handy. He looked at everything in front of him, both sides of the street. Up, down, left, right.

  While he was doing that Brown was saying to Mars, “This is one interesting town. You might enjoy living here.”

  He eyed her. “Is that an invitation?”

  “I make no commitments,” she said coyly. “And expect none in return. But I do enjoy your company.”

  “Thought you wanted to cool it after what happened at your house. Then you showed up out of the blue.”

  “Well, after some serious deliberation I thought it might be safer if I were there to protect you.”

  He laughed. “Okay, I have to admit that’s the first time I’ve heard that from a woman.”

  “Well, maybe you haven’t been hanging out with the right women,” she shot back.

  “I think you definitely have a point there.”

  Left, right, up, down. People, places, things.

  Decker closed his eyes and flipped back to that day, every frame, everything he’d seen.

  Okay, got it.

  Now he superimposed the template he’d just taken in over the scene as it existed on the day Dabney had shot Berkshire.

  He immediately noted that some things were different.

  The burrito food truck was gone.

  The guard was not in the shack.

  The construction going on in the building across the street had ceased.

  But, like the last time he’d been here, the manhole cover was replaced and the work site was gone.

  He looked up at the Hoover Building—squat, ugly, crumbling.

  Toilets that didn’t work.

  Fire alarms out of order.

  Nets to catch falling chunks of concrete.

  And surveillance cameras that didn’t work…

  He started running.

  Brown called after him, “Decker!”

  Mars said, “Hey, Amos!”

  They ran after him, easily catching up. Decker turned the corner and came to a stop on the street paralleling the one they’d been on.

  “What is that?” he asked as Brown stopped beside him, breathing a little bit hard.

  “What is what?”

  He pointed to the street. “That!”

  “Jesus, what do you think it is: It’s a motorcade.”

  “Whose?”

  “I don’t know whose.” She studied it more closely and then looked around at the tops of buildings. “Okay, judging by the motorcade’s length and the firepower with it, and the countersnipers on those rooftops, and all the suits with ear comms, I’d say VP on up. Maybe POTUS.”

  “So he’s at the Hoover Building today?”

  “He does go there from time to time.”

  Mars snapped his fingers. “Hey, I was watching TV in the hotel gym this morning when I was working out. And that’s when I saw it.”

  “Saw what?’ snapped Decker.

  “The President was coming here today to give out some award. It had to do with something we did with the Brits and the Germans. The prime minister and that lady’s who’s the head of Germany are there too.”

  Brown said, “The President mentioned that when we met him at the White House. He was giving out an award for some sort of joint mission that saved lots of lives. Bogart knew about it.”

  The blood slowly drained from Decker’s face. “And the British Prime Minister and the German Chancellor are in there.”

  Brown looked at him curiously. “Decker, what is it?”

  He turned to her. “Walter Dabney knew something, only I don’t think he knew exact details. Ellie Dabney said he was trying to send the terrorists a powerful message, she thought, to back off. She was right about him sending a message but wrong about the recipient. He was trying to give us a message.”

  “A message about what?”

  “A message with no words.”

  “You’re making no—”

  “A message with no words. He told us by his actions.”

  “His actions?”

  He looked at her. “He committed an act of violence at the Hoover Building!”

  Brown slowly turned and glanced at the standing motorcade, then at the Hoover Building, and finally back at Decker.

  And then the blood drained from her face too.

  “Oh my God.”