King and Maxwell

by David Baldacci

  “What, no heaps of trash?”

  “You’re a riot.”

  They left that neighborhood and entered another.

  “It’s coming up on the left,” noted Michelle. “Third one down.”

  Sean eased his car to a stop at the curb behind a pickup truck and killed the engine and the lights. Michelle took out a pair of night-vision binoculars and pointed them across the street.

  “So Leon South’s house?” she said. “And what do you hope to find here?”

  “Hopefully, a clue that will take us where we need to go.”

  “I thought our leak was Dan Marshall, not South?”

  “The more I think about that, the more I think it’s too obvious. And we met with them both. You read the body language of each guy. What did you think?”

  “That Marshall was on the up-and-up. South was curled in. Gaze to the right and down. Arms folded. Too much posturing. Too much defensive blustering.”

  “That was my take too. The leak had to come from somewhere, and my money is on Colonel South.”

  “Motive?”

  “Marshall made his pile of money. He can retire anytime he wants. South is still on the ladder heading up. But he’s fifty-one so maybe he feels topped out rank-wise. Maybe he wants a better retirement plan than Uncle Sam is offering.”

  “And our watching his house?” asked Michelle.

  “To see if something pops. He’s divorced and his two kids are grown and gone. So we see if someone comes by on this dark and stormy night who might lead us where we need to go.”

  Two hours later no one had come or gone. The house lights were on and they had seen movement inside, but it was only one person, presumably South, whose government car was parked in the driveway.

  Sean stretched. “You want to call it a night? Doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.”

  Michelle was about to say something when headlights broke the night.

  Sean checked his watch. “Nearly midnight. Maybe it’s a neighbor coming home.”

  They both ducked down in the car as the vehicle passed by slowly.

  Michelle pressed her optics to her eyes and did a sweep.

  “Shit!”

  “What?”

  “That’s the guy from Heron Air Service.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Pretty damn sure.”

  “But he’s not stopping at South’s.”

  “Sean, it’s him.”

  Sean started the car, eased out, and took up the tail.

  He said, “We’re the only two rides out here. He’s bound to spot us.”

  “Just keep it up a bit. There’s a major intersection coming up. There should be some traffic there we can hide in. I don’t want to lose this guy.”

  He did as she asked.

  “He’s making a left.”

  “Got it.”

  They reached the intersection. Luckily the light was green and they didn’t have to stop behind him where he might have gotten an eyeball on them despite their headlights boring into his line of vision. Both cars turned right and Sean backed off, sliding in behind a green Chevy to give himself some distance but keeping the other car in sight.

  Michelle put down the optics and opened her laptop. She started fiercely clicking keys.

  “What are you doing?” asked Sean, glancing over at her.

  “Hacking into the DMV.”

  “You can do that?” he said, looking surprised.

  “Edgar showed me recently how to do it. I know, I know, it’s not exactly legal.”

  “Actually, legally speaking, it’s not legal at all.”

  “Look, I’m just trying to get some traction on this case. So don’t read me the riot act.”

  “No. I think it’s very cool. Can you show me how to do it?”

  She shot him a look. “Show you, Mr. Computer Illiterate?”

  He scowled. “I know my way around Internet… stuff.”

  “Sean, you just discovered emoticons last week.”

  She continued clicking, and then a page opened up. “Trevor Jenkins, age forty-one. He lives in Vienna.”

  “Can you do a Google-thingy and find out more about him?”

  “A Google-thingy?”

  “Just do it, Michelle. I’m following a suspect here. That’s apparently all my shrinking brain can handle.”

  She clicked more keys. “Not finding much. Guy’s not a celebrity with his own website and Twitter account. Hold on, he does have an account with LinkedIn, of which I’m a proud member.”

  She accessed that and read down the page.

  “Well?” said Sean expectantly.

  “Former military. West Point. Hundred and First Airborne. He’s now president and CEO of Heron Air Service. Single. No kids. Has a commercial pilot’s license. He belongs to a number of industry trade groups. Spent time in the Middle East, presumably during combat tours.”

  “Alan Grant is also former military. I wonder if he was in the Hundred and First?”

  Michelle hit more keys and found that Grant also had a LinkedIn page. “Nope. Grant was infantry. But soldiers in the air and soldiers on the ground could still know each other. It’s still the Army.”

  “True. Okay, he’s turning.”

  Sean hooked the same left as Jenkins had.

  Michelle looked around. “I think he’s heading home, Sean. The address in his DMV file is right around here.”

  “I’ll pull off the tail and come back around, then, so he won’t get suspicious.”

  Sean backtracked to the address in the DMV file and got there in time to see Jenkins’s car pull into the garage of a fairly new home with older houses on either side.

  They passed by and kept going.

  “What did we learn from that?” asked Michelle. “Besides Jenkins’s identity, background, and where he lives?”

  “He was in South’s neighborhood.”

  “But he didn’t go to see South. He drove right by it.”

  “That is a puzzler. Maybe he was just keeping eyes on it.”

  “Maybe,” said Michelle doubtfully.

  “Yeah, I don’t believe that either,” said Sean, noting her dubious look.

  “But we know there’s a connection between Jenkins and Vista and presumably Alan Grant. They’re both former military.”

  “And Wingo identified Jenkins as one of the guys in Afghanistan who took the euros from him.”

  “And a Heron Air Service plane might have brought that cash back here.”

  “Not sure. I guess one of their bigger jets could carry over two tons’ worth of cash. You think the whole company is in on it?”

  “Jenkins is the top guy. He could have flown the sucker in himself. He has his pilot’s license. And what better way to get something like that through customs? The guy probably knows a million ways to hide stuff coming in.”

  “But this is getting us no closer to finding Tyler and Kathy.”

  Sean said, “It’s a mosaic. We have to find all the pieces and then we can see the whole picture.”

  “I’m not sure we have time to find all the mosaic tiles, Sean.”

  “Do we sit on Jenkins all night and see where he goes tomorrow? He might lead us to the kids.”

  “Or it might be a big waste of time.”

  He glanced at her. “You got another idea?”

  She sighed and shook her head. “No. There’s an all-night Dunkin’ Donuts two blocks over. I can run and get us some coffee and food while you stay here and keep eyes on Jenkins.”

  “Okay,” Sean said absently.

  She undid her seat belt and looked at him. “What?”

  “Don’t know. Just something back there.”

  “Back where?”

  “Back at South’s. No, before South’s neighborhood.”

  “What about it?”

  “I just felt like I knew the area. Been there before.”

  “When? Why?”

  Sean shook his head. “Can’t think of it.” He smiled resignedly.
“Brain cell loss. Maybe it’s for real.”

  “Well, stick your fingers in your ears and try not to let any more out. We’re going to need all the thinking we can muster to get to the bottom of this sucker.”

  CHAPTER

  69

  SEAN FELT THE NUDGE AGAINST his shoulder. His brain misfired for a second as his mind toggled between sleep and consciousness. Another nudge and he was awake. He looked around and saw Michelle next to him, her camera with long-range lens in hand.

  She said, “Hello, Sleeping Beauty. Ready to go to work?”

  They had taken shifts, two hours on, two hours asleep.

  “What time is it?” asked Sean as he blinked, yawned, and sat up straight.

  “A few minutes after eight.”

  Sean gazed outside. The rain and gloom were still with them. It still felt dark.

  “Any movement on Jenkins?”

  “Not yet. Lights went on at seven sharp. Probably had his alarm set. I’ve been snapping pictures of anything relevant.”

  “Action on the street?”

  “Early-morning commuters, sleepy kids straggling to bus stops. Couple of joggers running in the rain to stay healthy before they drop dead from pneumonia.”

  Michelle reached into the console, took out a protein bar, ripped off the cover, dropped the plastic on the floorboard, and bit into the chocolate. She eyed Sean, who was staring at the trash on the floor. She held out the protein bar.

  “Want a bite?”

  “I’d rather eat mouse droppings. Actually, that’s probably what’s in there. Lots of protein in poop.”

  “What do we do when he comes out?”

  “Tail him.”

  “He might spot us.”

  “He might. But we have to risk it. He’s the only viable lead we have right now.”

  “Are we making a huge mistake by not calling in Littlefield and the FBI?”

  Sean rubbed the kinks out of his neck, slapped himself a few times in the face to come fully awake, and then leaned back against the seat. “Half of me says we’re idiots for not doing exactly that.”

  “And the other half?”

  “I haven’t figured the other half out yet.”

  “Here he comes.”

  They both slid down in their seats as Jenkins’s garage door rolled up and his car backed out. He passed by them and headed out of the neighborhood.

  “Hey, you have your pick gun?” Sean asked.

  “I have a pocket, so I have my pick gun.”

  “Hit the house, see what you can find. I’ll tail Jenkins and then we’ll hook back up.”

  “Okay, but how do I get back?”

  “Call a cab.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “And don’t get caught. Breaking and entering is very bad. It’s a felony, in fact.”

  Michelle climbed out of the Land Cruiser and watched for a moment as Sean sped off in pursuit of the other vehicle. She looked both ways and was pleased that the morning was gloomy and ill lit, with even tendrils of fog drifting through the trees that were spaced in between the houses. She walked up to the front stoop of Jenkins’s house and knocked, just in case anyone was watching her.

  She gazed through one of the side windows next to the door and saw the alarm pad on an interior wall. It was blinking red, which meant it was engaged.

  It can never be easy, can it?

  She slipped around the back, keeping to the shadows thrown by the house.

  Because of the alarm system the front and rear doors were out. Her pick gun was useless.

  That left one alternative.

  She eyed a small window that was reachable by the rear deck.

  Bathroom, she deduced.

  She looked behind her. No homes here. There were just stands of trees dense enough to provide good cover.

  Her knife made short work of the window lock. She slid it open, praying that the windows weren’t wired to the alarm system, and clambered inside, dropping quietly to the floor next to the toilet. She closed the window behind her and went to the doorway, peering out. She eyed the ceiling and the corners of the hallway, looking for motion detectors.

  Seeing none, she moved carefully out into the hall. She froze when she heard scurrying feet.

  The little dog scooted around the corner and came to a stop in front of her, yapping. Then it rolled over onto its belly and she knelt down to scratch its stomach.

  “Okay, little guy, want to tell me where all the deep, dark secrets are hidden?”

  She quickly searched the rooms on the main level and found nothing.

  It was on her search of the top floor that she found Jenkins’s home office.

  It was small, with a desk and chair and a shelf filled with books, mostly on planes and FAA requirements.

  An Apple computer sat on the desk. She sat and hit some keys but a password was required and she didn’t have one. She tried half a dozen based on Jenkins’s birth date and other personal data, which she had gotten from the DMV records. None of them worked, which didn’t surprise her.

  She tapped her fingers on the desktop. If she had her truck she could just sneak the whole computer out and let Edgar break into it. But she couldn’t walk down the street with a twenty-four-inch Apple computer under her arm and hail a cab.

  Edgar!

  She called him.

  She said, “I have a little problem. I’m house-sitting for a friend of mine and he said I could use his computer, but he forgot to give me the password. And he’s not answering phone or email. Anyway, can you help me out?”

  “What brand of computer is it?”

  “An Apple.”

  “It’ll take some time.”

  “Great,” she said despairingly. “How much time?”