King and Maxwell

by David Baldacci

  71

  ALAN GRANT WAS NOT PLEASED by the day’s developments.

  Sean King had been at Heron Air Service but had gotten away yet again.

  The home of Trevor Jenkins had been broken into, and while nothing appeared to be missing, he couldn’t be sure of that.

  He picked up the burn phone and made the call using an electronic filter to disguise his voice.

  Sam Wingo answered on the first ring.

  “Yes?”

  “We have a problem, Wingo.”

  “What is that?”

  “Two problems, actually. King and Maxwell.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I asked you to stand down.”

  “I am standing down. I haven’t moved since you called me last time.”

  “But your friends have.”

  “They are not my friends.”

  “Do you want me to send a body part from your son to get my point across?”

  “Listen, please, just don’t hurt him.”

  “I know that you’re working with King and Maxwell so don’t try to bullshit me. And if you think I’m going to stand by and do nothing while they seek to find me, then you’ve made an egregious miscalculation.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Put them out of commission.”

  “How?”

  “I’ll leave it to your imagination. You can kill them if you want. I don’t really care. If I find them interfering one more time, Tyler gets delivered to you in a body bag. Are we clear?”

  “Yes,” Wingo replied in a hushed voice.

  Sean and Michelle pulled into the parking lot and climbed out of the car.

  Sean said, “I’m really not sure how to approach Sam on this.”

  “Don’t ask me. I’m down there with the punk from Pyongyang on the diplomacy scale.”

  “Look, I didn’t mean it exactly like that.”

  “You meant it exactly like that.”

  Sean knocked on Wingo’s motel room door. “Sam, it’s us.”

  “Come on in, the door’s unlocked,” Wingo called out. They opened the door and walked in. Michelle closed it behind them.

  When she turned back around she saw that Sean had his hands in the air. She looked across the room.

  Wingo was standing there, his gun pointed at them.

  “Is there a problem?” asked Sean.

  “I got a call. You two have been snooping around. They said if you keep it up, Tyler comes back in a body bag.”

  Sean eyed the gun. “Sam, we told you what we were going to do. We agreed that was the best plan to get them back safely.”

  “No, you agreed that was the best way. I didn’t really have a say.” He flicked the gun. “Now I do.”

  Michelle said, “You’re playing right into their hands, Sam. If we all stand down, Tyler is never coming back.”

  “Let me tell you what I do know. If we don’t stop he’s dead. If we do stand down, he might have a chance.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” said Sean.

  “Don’t tell me what I believe or don’t believe,” barked Wingo. “I am not going to let you give my son a death sentence.”

  She said, “You already have, Sam, by doing what you’re doing.”

  “We have leads,” added Sean. “Good ones. We’re getting closer.”

  “You can say whatever you want to say. I have to think of my son.”

  “And you don’t think we are?” said Sean. “The only reason we took this case was because of your son.”

  Wingo glanced down for a moment. “Look, I’m not blaming you, okay? I know you’re trying to help. It’s just that I’m caught between a rock and a hard place.”

  Michelle said, “Well, you made that situation. Not us. And certainly not Tyler. It was your choice to take this mission.”

  Wingo’s features hardened. “You think I don’t know that? I’ve regretted that decision from the instant I made it.”

  Sean sat on the edge of the bed. “So the answer is to just sit here and wait and hope these people who have already killed will let your son free? Is that your strategy?”

  Wingo sat down heavily in a chair against the wall, but kept his gun on them.

  “What choice do I really have?”

  “What say we turn the tables on them.”

  “How?”

  “We’re sure Alan Grant is connected to this.”

  “Okay, how does that help?”

  “He has a family too.”

  “So?”

  Sean stared at him. “You’ve been pushed against the wall. You have no other way out. You’re a desperate man.”

  “I’m not following you.”

  “He’s threatened to kill your son.”

  “Yeah he has,” snapped Wingo. “But what do I do about it?”

  Sean said, “I’m tired of always reacting to these assholes. Let’s go on the offensive.”

  “How?” asked Michelle.

  Sean said, “Sam can threaten to kill Grant’s family.”

  Michelle froze. Wingo looked confused.

  “He’ll never believe that I would do that.”

  “Are you desperate?”

  “Of course I am.”

  “Then desperate times call for desperate measures.”

  “Even if I were inclined, how would I communicate with him?”

  Sean pointed to Wingo’s phone. “With that.”

  Michelle said, “Sean, we’re not harming Grant’s kids.”

  “Of course not. I said threaten. That’s all.”

  “But—” began Michelle.

  “Let’s send the threat,” interrupted Sean. “And see what happens.”

  Michelle got an understanding look on her face. She glanced at Wingo, who sat there still looking confused. But finally he put his gun away and held up his phone.

  “Tell me how to do this.”

  “First, we have to go somewhere,” replied Sean.

  CHAPTER

  72

  ALAN GRANT WAS STARING AT a computer screen inside the vault at the radio station when the burn phone in his pocket vibrated.

  He slid it out, glanced at it. Then his gaze became riveted to it.

  Child for a child. You take mine, I take yours. And, unlike me, you have three to choose from.

  Grant leapt up so quickly he banged his knee against the desk edge.

  Limping slightly he left the radio station and hurried to his car.

  He phoned home while he drove. There was no answer. He tried his wife’s cell phone. There was still no answer.

  He drove fast, but it still took more than two hours before he pulled into his driveway and jumped out of the car. He was heading to the house when he saw them.

  His wife had the two youngest kids and their black Lab. The youngest child was in his stroller. His five-year-old daughter was helping to push it. They had obviously been for a walk.

  When she saw her husband, Leslie Grant looked surprised. “Alan, what are you doing home?” She saw the concern on his face. “Is everything okay, honey?”

  “Where’s Danny?” he asked, referring to their oldest child.

  She looked confused. “He’s still in school. The bus will drop him off this afternoon.” She drew closer as their daughter ran forward to her dad.

  Grant rubbed his face and forced a smile as he picked her up.

  Leslie drew next to him. Grant patted the Lab and tried to look unconcerned.

  “Alan, is everything okay?” she said in a low voice.

  “Daddy’s okay,” said their daughter, whose name was Margaret, but who went by Maggie, after her grandmother. She cupped her dad’s face in her hands. “Daddy’s okay,” she said again.

  “Daddy is very okay,” said Grant, wrapping an arm around his wife as he held Maggie with the other.

  “Look,” he said. “How about I take you three out to lunch? Sound good?”

  “You’ll have to give me a few minutes
to put myself together,” said Leslie.

  “Okay. I’ve got some stuff to get from the car. Say twenty minutes?”

  “Fine.”

  She took the kids and the dog into the house but shot a nervous glance back at her husband before shutting the door.

  Grant was standing next to his car when he felt the burn phone vibrate.

  He looked at the text that had just appeared there.

  Nice-looking family, Alan. Let’s keep it that way. Don’t worry, I won’t hurt the pooch.

  Grant spun around in all directions, attempting to get eyes on the text sender.

  But he saw no one. He put the phone away.

  This complicated things. They had a stalemate on the kids, but that had no impact on his overall plan. All elements were in place. And even if Wingo had managed somehow to trace things back to him, he had no proof of anything that could stick. Grant could pull the trigger and there would be no evidence that he had done anything illegal.

  After it was all over he would figure out what to do about Wingo. And King and Maxwell.

  Far down the block, behind a line of parked cars, Michelle lowered her binoculars and glanced over at Sean, who sat in the driver’s seat. Wingo was in the backseat with optics on Grant as well.

  “You were right, Sean,” said Michelle. “That really flushed him out. Like a bird dog into the thicket and the quail spilling out.”

  “What I was hoping for,” said Sean with a pleased look.

  “You think he’s standing down on this?” asked Michelle.

  “He’s got a family, just like me,” said Wingo. “He doesn’t want anything to happen to them.”

  “That I get,” said Michelle.

  “But I doubt he’s standing down on his overall plan,” noted Sean. “That’s what you mean, right?”

  Michelle nodded. “So that means the hostage situation will have no impact on what he wants to do.”

  “Satellite, missing money, government conspiracy, leaks,” said Sean.

  “And the motive being his mother’s and father’s suicide after Iran-Contra,” added Michelle. “Seems like a lot.”

  “But there’s zip there we can take to the FBI,” said Sean. “Littlefield will look at us like we’re nuts. Or worse, he’ll make some inquiries and maybe blow everything up.”

  “This satellite,” said Wingo. “You trying to get a fix on it?”

  “Trying. We’re also trying to find the blogger’s source, but something tells me we’re staring right at his house. So that part is solved.”

  Michelle said, “But if Edgar can establish a link between Grant and George Carlton, that is evidence.”

  Sean said, “Evidence of a leak, not evidence of a major crime. And unless it can be proven that Grant stole classified information, his free speech rights might bar any prosecution.”

  “So what do we do?” asked Wingo.

  “We have to find out what the satellite is for. If we can do that, we might just be able to jump a few spaces and take his king.”

  “You’re mixing checkers and chess,” observed Michelle.

  “Yes I am, because I’m not yet sure what game Grant is playing.”

  “What can we do?” asked Wingo.

  Sean thought for a moment. “Satellite.”

  Michelle looked at him quizzically. “Yeah. We already covered that point.”

  “No, I’m not talking about that satellite. I’m talking about another one.”

  She touched his forehead. “Do you have a fever?”

  “I wonder where Grant just came in from? It wasn’t his office downtown. It took him well over two hours after we sent the text for him to get here. This time of day the trip out of D.C. would take him thirty minutes tops.”

  “That’s true,” said Michelle, looking thoughtful. “Well, he’s driving a pretty new Mercedes. GPS comes standard on those models.”

  “And GPS is controlled by satellite,” remarked Sean.

  “So how can we possibly get a satellite to follow his—?” Michelle stopped herself when Sean gave her a knowing look.

  “Edgar,” she said.

  “What is this Edgar you keep mentioning?” asked Wingo. “Is it an acronym for a computer system or something?”

  “Or something,” replied Sean.

  CHAPTER

  73

  THEY DROPPED WINGO OFF AT the motel and then drove out to Edgar’s farmhouse to meet with him. After coming to understand what they wanted, Edgar agreed to help.

  “You really should be on our payroll, Edgar,” Michelle joked. “I think we’re using you more than the U.S. government. What a team we’d make.”

  Edgar looked at her strangely. “How much do you pay?”

  Sean interjected, “I doubt we could match what you’re making. We don’t have Uncle Sam’s pocketbook.”

  “Or his debt, thankfully,” added Michelle dryly.

  “What benefits do you offer?” asked Edgar. “I get four weeks’ paid vacation and a 401(k) plan. And catered breakfast and lunch. And a rental apartment in the city with nice views.”

  “Uh, I think Michelle was just making a joke, Edgar,” added Sean, who looked perplexed.

  However, Edgar didn’t appear to be listening to him.

  “I’ll think about it,” said Edgar while Sean gave Michelle an anxious look.

  “What just happened?” he mumbled to her.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered back.