have the capability to fly across the pond and then beyond with a jet fuel fill-up.”
“And the guy driving?”
“No clue. His photo wasn’t on any screen page. The president of Vista is someone named Alan Grant. His bio’s on here. Late thirties. Family man. Former military. MBA from Wharton.” She held up her phone. “Here’s his picture. Nice-looking guy.”
Sean glanced at it. “But no picture of the guy in the car we saw?”
She shook her head. “Nothing on Vista’s website. And Heron didn’t have a site, which seems odd.”
“Well, if he is involved in this, his mug shot will soon be posted in lots of places.”
“How do we hit Vista?”
“Tricky because some of them might have already seen us. So my usual plan of hitting them head-on is probably out.”
“We can establish an op post and see what falls out.”
“Or we can do some digging on this Grant guy. Background, business associates. What he’s done in the past. You said he was former military?”
She nodded. “Doesn’t say where or what on the bio, though.”
“The Pentagon keeps meticulous records. I can check on that discreetly.”
“So, they took the money why?”
“Well, a billion in cash has its own built-in motive, doesn’t it?”
“But what about the blogger that dropped the bombshell on the money being funneled to Muslim rebels?”
“That does make it more complicated, I grant you.”
“The White House is taking it on the chin. I don’t think this is just about stealing money, Sean.”
“Maybe we should follow up with the blogger. What was his name again?”
“George Carlton. Address in Reston. But you said he might be lying low.”
“Well, then we’ll just have to dig deep. But if he’s getting his info from a source, we need to find that source. And the most direct way to do that is to get to Carlton.”
“Do you want me to get Edgar to dig into Grant and Vista?”
“Do you think he will? He got in trouble last time.”
Michelle looked at him. “I think he will if we both ask him.”
“Both of us. Why?”
“He looks up to you, Sean.”
“He’s six foot nine. He doesn’t look up to anyone except NBA centers.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m surprised Bunting will let us near him after what happened.”
“Well, we saved Edgar’s life. And Edgar is a very special and good person. He will never forget that.”
Sean glanced out the window. “Okay. Call him and see if he has time to meet. Maybe we can very discreetly involve him in this. But he needs to understand he can leave no trail. I don’t want Bunting jumping down my throat again.”
“Well, we have the president behind us now. That trumps DoD and Peter Bunting, doesn’t it?”
He smiled. “Good point.”
“Let’s just make sure we’re not followed.”
He put the car in drive while Michelle made the call to Edgar.
Two hours later they were staring across at Edgar Roy, who sat opposite them at an outdoor café many miles from where he labored on behalf of the U.S. government.
“We’re sorry about what happened before, Edgar,” began Michelle.
“Mr. Bunting was very upset,” said Edgar as he stared off. “I don’t like it when people scream like that.”
“Me either,” chimed in Sean. “And we appreciate your running down those plates for us. I hope Mr. Bunting doesn’t find out about that.”
“Mr. Bunting is very smart. But he’s not that smart,” replied Edgar.
“Meaning you covered your tracks well?” said Michelle.
“I like helping you both,” said Edgar. “I know you’re trying to help other people. Just like you helped me.”
Sean glanced at Michelle. “That’s right, Edgar. And we wouldn’t come to you unless we really needed the kind of help you can provide. It’s important. We’re actually working for the president of the United States on this.”
“Then I’m sure Mr. Bunting will have no problem at all with me helping you. What do you need?”
They explained about Vista Trading Group and Alan Grant.
Michelle added, “Really, all you can find out about the company and the man.”
“He’s mixed up in all this?” asked Edgar.
“We suspect he might be,” corrected Michelle.
“I can get to work on this today.”
“What about the Wall?” asked Sean.
“Maintenance issues, so I have some spare time.”
“A break from saving the world?” said Michelle, smiling.
“What?” said Edgar, looking at her strangely.
“It was just a little joke,” said Michelle, looking embarrassed.
“Oh, okay,” said Edgar, and he attempted a smile. “But it will probably take some time.”
Sean said, “That’s okay. We have some leads to follow up at the Pentagon. Whatever you find you can just email to us.”
“Do you have good encryption on your end?” asked Edgar.
“Uh, password-protected,” he replied.
“Your password is oh-five-oh-eight. That’s not very strong.”
A stunned Sean said, “How did you know my password?”
“It’s your date of birth backward. I got it on the third try when I hacked you a while back. I would have gotten it on the second attempt, but I didn’t think you would be so obvious.”
“Why did you hack me?”
“I didn’t know you as well back then. I didn’t know if you were my friend or not. I never hack my friends.”
“So did you hack Michelle too?” he asked.
Edgar glanced at Michelle. “No.”
“Why not?” demanded Sean.
“I knew right away that Ms. Maxwell was my friend.”
“Thanks, Edgar,” said Michelle, giving Sean a poke in the ribs with her elbow.
“I’ll change my password to something stronger,” groused Sean.
“All right. But don’t simply add your year of birth. That’s not good enough.”
Sean’s expression made clear that was precisely what he was planning to do.
“What exactly would you suggest then?” he asked in an exasperated tone.
“Random numbers and letters, uppercase/lowercase-sensitive, that do not correlate to any of your personal data in any way. Thirty-character minimum. And don’t write it down anywhere.”
Sean looked dumbstruck. “Great, but how exactly am I supposed to remember thirty random characters without writing it down, which sort of defeats the whole super-duper secret code thing?”
Edgar looked perplexed. “You can’t remember thirty random characters?”
“No, I can’t,” snapped Sean.
Michelle chimed in, “He’s older, Edgar. Losing brain cells at a daily rate you can’t even imagine.”
“I’m very sorry to hear that,” said Edgar somberly. “Then, if you really must, you can cut it to twenty-five characters but no less than that,” he suggested.
“Thanks,” said Sean curtly. “I’ll get right on it.”
CHAPTER
54
HE WAS AT THE CEMETERY again staring at the same two graves.
The inscription on the grave on the left said that Franklin Grant had been a wonderful husband, loving father, and true patriot.
“I miss you, Dad,” said Grant. “I miss you more every day. You should be here. You should be a grandfather to my kids.”
He turned to the other grave. Loving Wife and Mother, read the inscription.
He had tried to keep the image such inscriptions inspired in his head. But he had been unable to for a very good reason.
As a thirteen-year-old he had inadvertently seen a picture of his parents dead in their car, their asphyxiated features deadly pale, and their bulging eyes wide open as they sat slumpe
d against each other, their suicide pact complete.
“Miss you too, Mom,” Grant mumbled. And he did.
But his gaze and his thoughts turned back quickly to his father.
He had been a true patriot who had bled for his country. He had risen far. He had worked in the White House. As a boy Grant had gone there with his father, shaken the hand of the president of the United States at the time, seen the center of power of the strongest nation on earth. It had left an indelible impression on him. It had been a compelling reason he had joined the military. But the truth behind his father’s tragic end had left a far deeper mark, like a third-degree burn. He doubted it would ever fully heal.
The one thing that kept Grant going was that he had his plan. It was being executed and it was succeeding, albeit with some bumps along the way. He’d expected that. Plans this complex could not unfold free of problems. He had been ready for such an eventuality. And it was a good thing.
He placed the flowers on his parents’ graves, said a last goodbye, then turned and walked back to his car.
An hour later he was walking into his house and greeting his children. His seven-year-old son was in school, but his five-year-old daughter and two-year-old toddler came hurrying over to him. He scooped up his son in his arms, took his daughter by the hand, and walked into the kitchen, where his wife was making lunch.
Leslie Grant was in her middle thirties and as lovely as the day he had proposed to her. They kissed, then Grant snatched a cucumber from the salad she was preparing and walked into the adjacent living room carrying his son.
Dan Marshall was sitting in front of the large-screen TV dressed in khaki pants and a flannel shirt with tasseled loafers on his feet.
Grant put down his son, who quickly raced off to join his sister in the playroom. Grant turned to Marshall, who was cradling a beer and watching ESPN on the TV.
“How’re the Wizards doing?” asked Grant.
“Better. Nets drilled us last time. Hopefully, we can return the favor tonight.”
Marshall handed Grant a beer. Grant popped it and took a swig before sitting down in the recliner and studying his father-in-law.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Been better,” said Marshall.
“Work?”
Marshall sat back and turned his attention from the ball game to Grant.
“I’ve never stopped missing Maggie,” he said, speaking about his late wife. “But this is the first time I’m also glad she’s not around to see this.”
Grant put the beer down. “When we last spoke I didn’t take away from your comments that it was that bad.”
“Well, we were at the Pentagon. One has to watch what is said there.”
“So it’s worse?”
Marshall sighed, drained his beer, and put the empty bottle down. “It’s bad, Alan. I signed off on this mission. I had my doubts, but the orders from the top were crystal clear. It was going to happen, with my rubber stamp or without.”
“So why would the blame fall to you then?”
“You obviously don’t understand how government, and the DoD in particular, works.”
“I was in the military.”
“But never in the military bureaucracy. It has its own rules, and many of them don’t make sense. But one you can count on is that when the civilian leadership screws up a matter connected to the military, folks in uniform are going to be left holding a big part of the blame.”
“But you’re not technically in uniform.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ve got the office and the title and the ball weighs about one ton and is heading right for me. Worst case I’m squashed. Best case I’m severely wounded.”
“So what outcome do you really see?”
“I’ll spend my remaining days testifying in front of Congress. If I’m lucky I’m not indicted. If I’m not lucky we might be talking prison.”
“Jesus, Dan, I had no idea.”
Grant of course had every idea, but, still, he felt badly for the man. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
Marshall patted his arm. “Look, we all have troubles. Now, you’ve got a great family and you’ve made my little girl very happy. You just keep doing what you’re doing. Things will shake out one way or another.”
I plan to keep on doing what I’m doing, thought Grant.
They had lunch and neither of the men made any mention of Marshall’s dilemma in front of Leslie and the kids.
After the meal was over Marshall said his goodbyes. Grant gave him a handshake and a hug.
“I’m sorry, Dan,” he said. And he actually meant it. But when it came to avenging his father’s death, there was no one Grant was not willing to sacrifice. And that included himself.
He walked out into the backyard, sat in a lawn chair, and stared at the sky. He watched a plane begin its final descent into Dulles Airport.
He, too, felt as though he were in his final descent. The radio station was coming along. His itinerary seemed to be rock-solid and very promising. The satellite he had leased was perfectly situated to do what needed doing. And the fragments left on there would be very helpful in getting him to the necessary outcome.
And that necessary outcome was that someone had to pay for a wrongful act committed twenty-five years ago. That injustice had cost his father his life. His father was the only one who had really paid a price. Now it was time for others to do so. It had become the most compelling force of Grant’s life. It was not a goal of his. It was an obsession. And obsessions tended to blind one to all other things. Grant was aware of this, but he also found he could do nothing about it. That’s what an obsession was, after all.
Thus, he had chosen to risk his father-in-law’s career and perhaps his life to attain this goal. He would even sacrifice his family’s happiness if it came down to it. Because Grant could not be happy unless the wrong was righted. And he knew of only one way to do it. Nothing could get in the way of that. And if something did it would have to be removed, with force if necessary.
Just like he had done with Jean Shepherd and Milo Pratt. Just like he would have to do with Sam Wingo, and perhaps his son. And Sean King and Michelle Maxwell. He was pretty certain they would have to die before this was all over.
He drew his gaze from the plane overhead as it disappeared down past the trees. In a few seconds its wheels would hit the tarmac and the reverse thrusters and brakes would be applied. Another safe landing, just as happened millions of times a year.
His own landing would probably not be so smooth. But Grant had a chance, a real chance to make it all work, achieve his goal of justice, and then slip back into a normal life. That would be the ideal. With the burden gone he could live again.
Others were not to be so fortunate. More people were going to die before this was all over. And Grant knew exactly who most of them were. It would be a historical event in the eyes of the world.
But for him, it would just be avenging the memory of the man he held most dear.
CHAPTER
55
King and Maxwell Page 32
