King and Maxwell

by David Baldacci

  said.

  Alan Grant smiled, hugged his father-in-law back, and said, “Interesting, Dan. Interesting but productive.”

  “Come in and tell me all about it,” said Marshall.

  Grant followed him into his office and shut the door.

  He would tell his father-in-law some, but of course not all.

  He looked over at the shelf that housed an array of photos. His gaze locked on one—it always did.

  Marshall followed his look and smiled sadly.

  “I still miss your father greatly even though it’s been so many years now. I was friends with your father long before you and my little girl were even born. He was the sharpest cadet in our West Point class.”

  Grant walked over to the photo and picked it up. His father was in his dress greens, his fresh oak clusters on his broad shoulders. He looked happy. That didn’t last. Not after he became a civilian and had gone to work in D.C.

  Grant put the photo back and turned to Marshall.

  “Yeah, I still miss him too. Maybe more than ever.”

  “At some point, Alan, you have to let it go. Leslie’s been telling me you’ve been on edge lately. Everything okay?”

  “Your daughter is a great wife, Dan. But she worries too much about me. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself.”

  “Well, you came back from Iraq alive. No one is questioning your toughness.”

  “Lots of very tough soldiers died over there. I was just one of the lucky ones.”

  “I thank the almighty you were. Don’t know what I’d do without you. And Leslie would be lost.”

  “She’s a strong woman. She’d be okay.”

  “Let’s get off this morbid talk, Alan. But you really do need to move on from what happened to your parents. It’s been over twenty years.”

  “Twenty-five,” said Grant quickly. In a calmer tone he added, “And I am getting over it, Dan. In fact, before long I think I’ll be completely over it.”

  “That’s good to hear.”

  Yes it is, thought Grant.

  CHAPTER

  28

  THE CARGO PLANE BUMPED AND bounced along crappy air at twenty thousand feet as it made its way over the Atlantic.

  Sam Wingo sat tethered to a canvas sling seat. It had proved impossible to obtain a ride on a commercial aircraft coming out of India. Once he had made his way to New Delhi, he had spent a day changing his appearance as much as possible and then had identification documents created with the new image on them in a back alley store full of computers and high-res printers. Still, making his way through airport security had been problematic. He had heard rumors on the street that there was an official search on for an American solider; it was believed that he might have sought refuge in Pakistan or India.

  Well, he hadn’t been seeking refuge. He was trying to get the hell out.

  After a day of trying every way he could think of to leave the country, an opportunity had presented itself. It had cost him some bribe money, but in Indian rupees the price was not bad. Thus, he was now sitting in his canvas sling seat trying to stop himself from being thrown into the sides of the fuselage and keep the little food in his belly from coming back up.

  Nothing made sense right now. He didn’t know who had taken his cargo or why. He didn’t know what the U.S. government knew about it. He did know that they blamed him and that he would be arrested on the spot if they could only find him.

  He didn’t know that he had just received an email on his phone, because he had turned it off when the cargo plane lifted into the air. The email would have no response from him. At least for the duration of the long flight.

  All the hours in the air would give Wingo some time to think about what he would do once he got back to the States. His options were limited. He had no doubt his son was being watched. They might have intercepted his email to Tyler. Hell, they might have his kid detained somewhere. That thought ate at Wingo so badly, he thought he might go berserk at twenty thousand feet. This mission had been a cock-up from the get-go. He had been in the crosshairs from the very first and he wondered how he had never seen it coming.

  His guilt would have been established by his decision not to come in as ordered by his superior. In their minds he was already court-martialed. They probably thought he had taken the cargo for himself. Well, part of him wished he had. He could use it right about now.

  But he didn’t have it. Tim Simons from Nebraska did, whoever the hell that bastard really was. He was fairly certain his name wasn’t Tim, and he seriously doubted he was actually a Cornhusker.

  Wingo knew he had to get into contact with his son at some point and explain what had happened. Then he had to get a line on the hijacked cargo. If he could recover it, then maybe he could save his reputation and avoid spending the rest of his life in a prison cell at the United States Disciplinary Barracks in Kansas.

  As the plane received a hard jolt from the turbulent air outside and dropped about a hundred feet, Wingo also received a jolt of sanity to his mind.

  Everything he had just envisioned doing was impossible. He would not be able to get anywhere near his son. He had no way to get a line on the cargo. It was probably worlds away by now, and he had no means to get to where it might be. For all he knew the police would be waiting for him when he landed in Atlanta.

  And he would spend the rest of his life in prison.

  He put a hand to his head, closed his eyes, and prayed. For a miracle.

  “Nothing,” said Tyler.

  He had been staring at the computer ever since he had sent an email to his dad. He had used a Gmail account set up by Michelle. While his dad wouldn’t recognize the account’s sender, Tyler had used their code to write the message. He hadn’t said much, though, in case others were somehow watching and had cracked the message.

  He looked up at Michelle. They were at Sean’s house in northern Virginia. Sean and Michelle had decided it was too risky to let Tyler go back to his home to get his things, so they had driven directly here. Sean had left to go to Tyler’s house and pack him a bag.

  Michelle had been constantly checking her watch for the last thirty minutes.

  Tyler said, “You can call or email him.”

  “No, then he’d think I was checking up on him.”

  “But you would be.”

  “Exactly. He can get prickly about that.”

  It was dark outside now, and Tyler’s belly was rumbling.

  Michelle must have heard it because she said, “I can whip up some dinner. Although I’m not much of a cook.”

  “I can help,” replied Tyler.

  “Wait a minute. Kathy told me that you can cook. That you taught her mom a few dishes, in fact.”

  “I used to help my mom. She was a great cook.”

  “I’m sure she was, Tyler,” said Michelle somberly. She brightened and said, “And for what it’s worth, when you get out into the real world the ladies will really appreciate that talent.”

  “You think so?”

  “Oh, trust me, I know so. There’s nothing more attractive than a man with a spatula and a plan.”

  Then something occurred to her as she looked out the window. “You missed swim practice.”

  “It’s okay. We don’t have any meets coming up. I can slide for a bit.”

  “But will your coach call your stepmom or anything like that?”

  “I already emailed him. Told him I was sick. He knows about my dad. He’ll cut me some slack.”

  They decided on breakfast for dinner. While Michelle tried not to burn the bacon, Tyler whipped up a complicated omelet with numerous ingredients, buttered grits, and rolls he made basically from scratch in under an hour.

  “Sean cooks too, right?” he asked her.

  “Yeah, he’s really good, which makes up for the fact that I can barely crack an egg properly. But how did you know?”

  “His pantry and fridge are full of some really cool ingredients. And the layout of the kitchen and the types of appli
ances and cutting knives he has shows it.” He held up a knife. “This is not for amateurs. And neither is that food processor over there.”

  “You’d make a good detective. Kathy said you were smart. Straight-A student.”

  “She did?” Tyler said, trying to hide a smile.

  “Yes, she did.”

  They sat at the kitchen table and ate. Michelle had coffee while Tyler drank orange juice. They finished, rinsed off their plates, glass, and cup, and loaded the dishwasher. Tyler cleaned the rest of the kitchen while Michelle checked her phone for messages.

  “Sean will be here shortly.”

  “Where has he been?” asked Tyler.

  “At the hospital to check on Dana, I suspect. And he was going to scope out a few things while I stayed here with you.”

  “I can skip school tomorrow.”

  “No. It’s better that you keep to your routine.”

  “And what about Jean? When people realize she’s gone?”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, Tyler.”

  “It might be soon.”

  “It might be,” she replied.

  Twenty minutes later headlights hit the front window.

  Michelle peeked out and saw that it was Sean getting out of his car.

  A few seconds later he came in looking disheveled and depressed. He was carrying a large duffel bag and handed it to Tyler.

  “I think I got everything you needed.”

  “Did anyone see you?” Michelle asked.

  “Don’t think so. Parked a block over and approached the house from the rear. Left the same way. I checked the front street for surveillance but didn’t see any.”

  “Did you go back to the hospital?”

  He shook his head. “I’m not family, not anymore. From what the surgeon said in the waiting room the next forty-eight hours will probably be critical.”

  “Well, there’s nothing more you can do about that,” said Michelle briskly.

  “I’ve certainly done enough with Dana, including almost killing her.”

  That statement hung in the air like a ball of concrete until Michelle said, “Did you eat?”

  “No, I’m not hungry.”

  “Tyler made a great dinner. We have some leftovers.”

  “I’m not hungry, Michelle,” he said firmly.

  She sat and stared up at him while Tyler hovered nervously in the background.

  “Okay. Tyler has heard nothing back from his email. So what now? Did you exercise your little brain cells while you were gone?”

  “I did. But I’m afraid not much came out of them.” He glanced over at Tyler. “I’m really hoping that your dad gets back to us, Tyler. Without that we don’t have much to go on.”

  “Anything on the three guys at the mall?” asked Michelle.

  “I’m sure there’s a lot, we’re just not privy to any of it.”

  “McKinney sure as hell won’t be keeping us in the loop,” said Michelle dryly.

  “All he wants to do is arrest us.”

  “Or shoot us,” added Michelle.

  “I’ve got a few contacts at the local police,” said Sean. “They might know something about it.”

  “Even a name would be helpful,” she said.

  “More than we have to go on right now,” added Sean.

  Tyler said, “But if my dad contacts me, we might have a lot more to work with.”

  Sean exchanged a glance with Michelle.

  Tyler saw this and said, “My dad didn’t do anything wrong. And he’s going to come back here and clear his name.”

  “I’m sure he would want to do that,” said Michelle quietly.

  Tyler scowled. “But you don’t think he’ll make it back. You think he’s dead, don’t you?”

  Sean said, “The answer is we don’t know, Tyler. We hope he’s not dead.”

  Tyler looked away.

  “I did get one bit of information,” said Sean.

  Michelle and Tyler perked up at this. “What?” they both said together.

  “The name of someone at DTI who your dad worked with.”

  “How did you score that?” asked Michelle.

  “Yeah,” added Tyler. “He never talked about his work to me.”

  “Friend of a friend.”

  Michelle eyed Tyler and said, smiling, “Sean has lots of friends of a friend. He’s very popular at parties.”

  Sean continued, “Your dad’s co-worker was a woman named Mary Hesse. You ever hear him mention her?”

  Tyler shook his head. “Like I said, he didn’t really talk about work.”

  Sean slowly nodded. “Right. Well, I’m going to see her tonight. She might be able to tell us something.”

  “I can go too,” said Michelle.

  “No, you have to stay here with Tyler.”

  “Why don’t we all go?” suggested Tyler.

  “No,” Sean said firmly. “I have no idea if Hesse will even give me five minutes. She sounded very reluctant over the phone. If we all show up, it might freak her out.”

  Michelle said, “Okay, that makes sense. I’ll play bodyguard. You play detective.”

  Tyler said nothing, but he didn’t look too happy.

  A bit later Michelle walked Sean out to his car.

  “I’m really sorry about Dana, Sean, but it wasn’t your fault.”

  “Of course it was, but I don’t want to get into that again.” He fumbled with his keys. Michelle put a calming hand over his shaky one.

  “You have to just let it go for now, Sean. If you keep up this way you’ll be no good to yourself or anyone else.”

  “I know,” he said resignedly. “It’s just hard to shut it off.”

  “Secret Service. Tunnel vision. Block everything else out. Like you said, these are dangerous waters. Bring your A-game all around. Right?”

  He nodded curtly. “A-game, right. Thanks, Michelle, for a gentle kick in the pants.”

  “Any time. I can also do the hard kick in the pants if necessary.”

  “And don’t I know it.” He got into the car. “I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.”

  “Okay.”

  He gazed at his house. “A-game all around,” he said. “Including you. You’ve got the precious cargo.”

  CHAPTER

  29

  AFTER SEAN DROVE OFF MICHELLE did a perimeter patrol then walked back to the house. She locked all the doors and made sure her pistol had a round in the chamber. She looked down at the kitchen table where Tyler sat with his schoolbooks piled everywhere.

  “Lots of homework?” she asked.