The Fix

by David Baldacci

  64

  DECKER WAS SITTING on the couch with his eyes closed and his head tilted down.

  Jamison had just walked out of the bathroom dressed in a long shirt with gym shorts. She was brushing her teeth with one hand and carrying a small plastic bag of trash with the other. She padded barefoot down the hall, glanced at Decker, shrugged, and dropped the plastic bag into a large trash receptacle located on one side of the kitchen island.

  That’s when the knock came at the door.

  Jamison looked around and observed that Decker did not appear to have heard the knock.

  She tried to speak and watery toothpaste dribbled out of her mouth. She caught it in one hand and hurried over to the sink. She rinsed out her mouth.

  The knock came again.

  “Decker, can you get the door?”

  He didn’t budge and his eyes didn’t open.

  “I’ll take that as a no!” exclaimed Jamison. She used a paper towel to wipe off her mouth and hurried over to the door. She looked through the peephole and her eyes widened.

  “Yes?” she said through the door.

  Four men stood outside, all dressed in suits. One of them held up his open cred pack to the peephole.

  “Holy shit,” Jamison muttered.

  She opened the door and stepped back.

  The four men didn’t move. The one in the lead looked her up and down, and then glanced over at Decker, who still sat on the couch.

  “Amos Decker?” he said.

  “Yes,” said Jamison. “I mean, that’s us. I…I mean…” Flustered, she drew a quick breath, composed herself, and said, “I’m Alex Jamison. And he’s Amos Decker.”

  “I’m Special Agent Nathan Deel, with the United States Secret Service. Mr. Decker, you need to come with us.”

  “When?” asked Jamison.

  “Now.”

  “Why?” she asked.

  “Now.”

  Decker opened his eyes and looked over at them. “You better go change, Alex.”

  “The invitation did not include your friend,” said Deel sharply.

  “Then I’m not going,” said Decker. He closed his eyes and settled back on the couch.

  Deel glanced at one of his men and then at Jamison. “Our orders are for him only.”

  “Decker,” said Jamison. “It’s the Secret Service, for Christ’s sake.”

  “Unless they have a warrant for my arrest, I don’t go unless you go. And if you guys want to try to carry me out of here, be advised that I’m a big load.”

  Deel frowned, took out his phone, and stepped down the hall.

  A minute went by before he rejoined them. Deel let out a long breath, glanced at Jamison, and nodded curtly. “Okay, you’re in.”

  She stared at him openmouthed for a long moment and then said, “Can you give me like ten minutes to change?”

  “Make it like five. We have people waiting.”

  She raced off down the hall into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  Deel stepped into the apartment, looked over at Decker, and took in his rumpled clothes and general dishevelment. “Do you need to change clothes and clean up too?”

  Decker stood, towering over the man. “There wouldn’t be much point.”

  “Why?” snapped Deel.

  “Because all of my clothes look just like these.”

  Surprisingly, Deel cracked a smile. “I was told you walked to the beat of a different drummer. It’s actually refreshing.”

  * * *

  “Oh my freaking God,” exclaimed Jamison.

  She had changed into slacks, a short-waisted jacket, and a white blouse with black boots. She’d done her hair up in the back and secured it there with a barrette. She and Decker were in the very back row of a big-ass GMC Yukon with tinted windows.

  She was staring up at the White House.

  “God doesn’t live there,” said Decker. “The president does.”

  “I can’t believe this is happening.”

  “I’ve been there before, actually.”

  She gaped. “The White House? How? When?”

  “The year the Buckeyes won the national championship. We had a booster who was rolling in money and had connections to the administration back then. He got us in. Met the President. Got the photo op. Pretty cool. I was only twenty.”

  “You never told me that.”

  “I guess not.”

  “Where’s the photo?”

  “It got lost over the years.”

  “You took a picture with the President and you lost it?”

  “Well, yeah,” he said indifferently.

  She shook her head. “Why am I not surprised?”

  They pulled through a side gate and the Yukon stopped at a doorway. The agents escorted them into the White House and down a hallway to a small room. Inside the room were Bogart and Brown.

  “Moving in exalted circles tonight,” said Bogart with a smile tacked on.

  “How exalted?” Jamison wanted to know.

  “National Security Council,” replied Brown. “Not the full Council, but enough.”

  Bogart said, “I didn’t expect to see you tonight, Alex. It wasn’t my call to leave you out of things, but I got overruled.”

  “Decker told them he wouldn’t come unless I came too.”

  Bogart grinned. “Can’t say I’m surprised. You guys are a team, after all.”

  A broad smile broke over Jamison’s face.

  Nathan Deel returned and said briskly, “Let’s go.”

  They were led through several long passageways until they arrived at a set of doors. Deel opened the doors and ushered them inside, before closing the doors behind them.

  The conference table was long and rectangular. There were TV screens on the wall, all dark and silent.

  Six people were seated around the table.

  Jamison recognized the Secretaries of State, Defense, and Homeland Security. Then her gaze alighted on a woman she did not know but would later learn was the National Security Advisor or NSA. There was a broad-shouldered gent in a naval full dress uniform—the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs. And finally, at the head of the table, was the President of the United States.

  Jamison took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves.

  In her ear Bogart whispered, “His being here tells you how serious this is.”

  The President asked them to sit. They all immediately did so.

  The President looked at Bogart. “Agent Bogart, I’m due to give out an award shortly to the FBI for a successful joint mission that saved a great many lives.”

  “Yes sir, I’m aware of that.”

  “Well, if your team can help us with this, I think another award will be in order.” The President turned to the woman. “Gail, you want to start this off?”

  “Thank you, Mr. President,” said Gail Charles, the NSA.

  She nodded at the visitors and said, “The Council has been briefed on the matter at hand and we want to ask some follow-up questions as well as impart some additional information that might be relevant to your investigation.”

  Bogart lifted his hand. “Ms. Charles, just so we’re crystal clear, while Agent Brown and I are cleared for any such discussion, Agents Decker and Jamison may not be.”

  Charles said, “We are aware of the pending security clearances, and we feel comfortable proceeding under the current scenario.”

  “Understood. Thank you.”

  Charles continued in a businesslike tone, “The latest development regarding the Gorskis? Has any information come to light after the search of their home?”

  Bogart said, “We are still searching, but we have found nothing that would tie them into a spy ring. I think it doubtful that we will, in fact.”

  “But you’re still confident that they are involved somehow in espionage?”

  “We are very confident. They provided financial assistance to a young boy at a hospice in Reston. A book being read to this young boy by Anne Berkshire, who we are certain
is a spy, contained coded classified information stolen from various agencies. In addition, on my way here tonight, I was informed that we traced a financial wire going from a Gorski corporate account to an account in Switzerland. From there the money went to Estonia and then disappeared en route to what we believe is an account in France. This, we think, was the payoff for the gambling debt that caused Walter Dabney to steal classified secrets.”

  The President cleared his throat and said, “So you think it’s the Russians behind this?”

  Bogart said, “Sir, let’s just say that while we’re considering all possible players, our investigations are pointing toward Russia being involved.”

  “Well, considering the hacking they’ve been doing to us, I guess we shouldn’t be surprised. They’re showing their muscle in the skies, on the seas, and in the cyber world.”

  Brown said, “As Admiral Howard here has been told, sir, the information most recently stolen from us has compromised our undercover operations overseas. As of two hours ago, we have now lost ten operatives. And while it may very well be Russia behind this, we can’t rule out the possibility that Russia is partnering with certain regional powers in the Middle East to carry this out. The majority of our lost operatives were in Syria, Libya, and Yemen. While Russia has strategic interests in that sector, so do several countries in the Middle East, Iran and Saudi Arabia included among them.”

  Charles said, “We are well aware that Moscow is aligning itself with certain regional powers, and I’m not simply talking about obvious ones like Assad. The loss of those operatives is unfortunate and can’t be allowed to stand without a response.”

  Admiral Howard interjected, “Knowing definitively who is involved in this would allow us to craft a precise response. No more and no less than is called for.”

  The President eyed Howard before focusing on Decker. “Agent Decker. I spent part of this afternoon being debriefed on you.”

  “I hope it wasn’t wasted time,” said Decker.

  Bogart gave a sharp intake of breath, but the President smiled. “On the contrary, it was very informative and interesting. We’re fortunate to have someone with your abilities working on our side.”

  “I just try to get to the truth.”

  “Well, you picked a challenging city in which to do that.”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Do you have theories on how we might get to that truth?”

  Decker looked down for a few moments.

  Bogart glanced at him, seemingly afraid that Decker was not going to respond. Just as he was about to speak, Decker stirred.

  “Most or all the facts we need to solve this, I think we have. We just have to put them in the right order. The key questions for me are, why did Walter Dabney kill Anne Berkshire, and why in front of the FBI building? Next, who assisted him that day dressed as a clown? How did Walter Dabney, who Agent Brown does not believe ever stole classified information before now, come to hook up with a longtime spy like Anne Berkshire in the first place? There had to be a catalyst. Last, what was in Dabney’s safe deposit box that he was forced to remove shortly before his death?”

  “All good questions and to which I hope you speedily find the correct answers,” said the President. He looked at his NSA. “And now we need to provide you some information which may prove germane to your investigation, and perhaps lend it even more urgency. It’s why we called you here tonight, in fact.”

  All eyes were fixed on Charles. She took out an electronic notebook and scrolled through some digital pages.

  “This just came in, which prompted our meeting tonight. The Joint Chiefs have been briefed, as has the full Council.” She paused to read down the lines on the page and continued, “As you probably know, the secrets stolen by Mr. Dabney may have allowed enemies of this country to hack into some of our more secure databases. That was worrisome enough. Now our colleagues over at Fort Meade have picked up chatter suggesting strongly that an attack on this country is imminent. We don’t know what shape or form the attack will take, but the quarters we’re receiving this from—though they have no idea we’re listening in—have been very reliable in the past.”

  “No idea as to the target?” asked Brown quickly.

  “Based on further analysis just completed, we believe that the target may be symbolic somehow. The world has become a very different place in a fairly short time. We have a new Cold War starting up at the same time we have hot spots erupting all over the Middle East. Fascist movements are taking root in some of the governments of allies of ours and much of the world is a tinderbox. So we can’t rule out any possibility, quite frankly. And if an attack does come and we identify its source, we will have no choice but to respond accordingly. And that could set in motion a chain of events that could have global repercussions of the most negative kind.”

  Admiral Howard cleared his throat and said, “The military agrees with that assessment.”

  “As does the State Department,” added the Secretary of State.

  The head of Homeland Security nodded in agreement.

  Decker voiced the obvious question. “You called us here tonight because you evidently believe your concerns are connected to our case. Why is that?”

  Charles glanced at the President, who nodded.

  She turned to Decker and said, “Because the chatter we intercepted was all Arabic, except for one word.”

  “What word?”

  “It was a name, rather.”

  “What name?” asked Bogart.

  “Dabney.”

  CHAPTER

  65

  “I’VE GOT TO CALL my mom,” said Jamison when they got back to their apartment.

  “Why?” asked Decker.

  “Do you really have to ask?” she said incredulously. “I just met the President.”

  “That meeting was classified, Alex. You can’t talk about it to anyone. You can’t even acknowledge it ever happened.”

  Jamison looked doubtfully at her phone. “Maybe I could tell a little white lie and say we just ran into each other?”

  “You just ran into the President of the United States? Where? At the gas station? Or a Starbucks?”

  She put her phone down. “I guess you’re right.”

  Decker took off his jacket and hung it up on a peg by the door. “Dabney,” he said.

  “I know. That’s really weird. To hear all these words in Arabic and then to hear that name? Freaky.”

  Decker sat down on the couch and put his feet up on the coffee table.

  Jamison perched on the arm of the couch. “I wonder if Melvin and Harper have gone on a second date yet?”

  “Yeah, I’m surprised she didn’t bring it up in the Situation Room at the White House. The President was probably wondering too.”