She told it all straight through, from the body in the Bainbridge Street house and the shootings at Dugan’s to her meetings with Devlin, what he’d told her.
“You’re confident this Roarke was targeted,” Siegel said.
“Yes.”
“And our source is this man”—he pulled the tablet closer to him, tilted it against the glare—“Raymond Devlin, who got shot yesterday, across the bridge.”
“He is,” she said.
“And he thinks Roarke’s death is connected to work the three of them used to do?”
“He does.”
“And what exactly was that?”
“Security contracting, military training, maybe arms dealing,” she said. “They went all over the world, but the last time the three were together was in San Marcos, during the coup. They were there to help destabilize the Herrera regime, give the opposition troops an advantage.”
“I saw something on the wire about San Marcos this morning,” Rick said.
“Ramírez, the president they helped put in power, is losing his grip,” she said. “He’s canceled elections and dissolved their congress. He also put thousands of protesters in prison via military courts. Human Rights Watch is investigating allegations of widespread torture.”
“How much of what Devlin told you is on record?”
“Not enough,” she said. “But the more we dig, the deeper the story gets. What he has told us, about Acheron and Unix, matches up with our reporting. How connected Unix is politically—and how far-reaching its influence is—we still don’t know.”
“It sounds like there’s a lot of things you don’t know,” Harris said.
Alysha cut him a glance. Tracy ignored him.
“Roland Kemper, who runs Unix, is a big-money political supporter,” she said. “He’s been a major contributor to Senator Harlin’s reelection campaign, that we know for sure. We have the records to prove it.”
“We’re still trying to put together a complete list of who else benefited, now and in the past,” Alysha said. “That’ll tell us more.”
“Where are the other outlets on this?” Siegel said.
“The Inky and Philly.com picked it up,” Tracy said. “But all they’ve got is what was in our story. Nothing new.”
“But they’ll be trying to find Devlin.”
“They will.”
“Any way we can keep him under wraps?”
She thought about last night, the man stirring in his sleep on her couch, the story he’d told her.
“We can try,” she said.
Siegel said, “Rick, what do you think?”
He tapped the pad. “I think it’s our story. We broke it, and we need to hold on to it, work it as hard as we can. The real question is how it all relates to this Unix—if it does. Someone needs to do a deep data dive on all these companies, if we haven’t already.”
“On it,” Alysha said. “I asked Sylvie in the library to help. They’re running some searches for us.”
“It sounds like we’re well on our way to having a solid story,” Siegel said. His look took in both Tracy and Alysha. “But we’re not there yet. As far as these larger issues, I don’t see the smoking gun. Figuratively, I mean.”
“There is one,” Tracy said. “We just haven’t found it yet.”
“Get me someone else who worked for Acheron or Unix, off the record or not, but better on,” he said. “And I think we need to shake Mr. Kemper’s tree a little.”
“I have calls in,” Alysha said. “And I’m trying to find a private line. I’m not expecting much. I think we’ll need to go down there, stake them out.”
“Let’s stay on it,” he said. “Susan, any questions?”
She pushed her glasses up higher on her face. “Has there been any thought as to how we can monetize this content?”
Tracy looked at Rick. He was doodling again.
“We’re figuring that out,” Tracy said. She’d expected the question. “We’ll shoot you our stories as soon as they’re ready, and any art that’s available as well.”
“We have video? Video is key if we want the max number of hits.”
“I’ll look into that,” Tracy said. “I understand there’s some surveillance footage from outside Dugan’s. If they release it to us, you can put it up online.”
“One thing to keep in mind as we go forward,” Siegel said. “As Rick says, this is our story, and if anything new breaks, we need to get it first. But we also need to get it right. I don’t want to have to walk back something we’ve written because we jumped the gun, went with it before it was ready.”
“Understood,” Tracy said. Alysha nodded.
“Good,” Siegel said. “Which leaves me with only one other question for you all.”
“What’s that?” Tracy said.
“What do you need?”
After the meeting broke, Siegel headed back to his office. Harris left the conference room without a word.
“Okay,” Rick said. He stood, the pad under his arm. “You heard the man. Let’s get at it.”
He held the door for them. Phones were ringing on the empty desks they passed. When Tracy reached her cubicle, she put out her fist. Alysha gave it a bump.
“You heard the man,” Alysha said.
“I did.”
Waiting for her computer to boot up, Tracy saw movement in the hallway, looked up over the cubicle wall. Harris was walking toward the elevators, golf bag over his shoulder.
Dwight Malloy had called ahead, and when Devlin got to the motel, his duffel bag was at the front desk. The manager, a Chinese-American with a nasal New York accent, told him he was responsible for all damage to the property, that it would be charged to his credit card, no arguments, no negotiations. Devlin just nodded, thanked him, and carried the bag out to the Ranchero.
He tossed it into the truck bed, then popped the hood, looked around the engine, the firewalls. He unscrewed the air filter cover, lifted out the filter. The manager watched him through the window.
When he was done with the engine, he crawled under the chassis. It took him five minutes to find it—a magnetized black box about two inches long and an inch wide, attached to the frame beneath the passenger side, spotted with mud. He had to tug hard to get it free.
He crawled out, wiped dried mud from the transponder. It was in a spot that had been easy to reach. It would have been the work of seconds to kneel, reach under, and fasten it there.
He replaced the air filter and cover, closed the hood, got in, and started the engine. The manager was still watching him.
Devlin took out his cell, started to punch in Malloy’s number, then stopped. He could bring the transponder to them, have them find the manufacturer, chase down whoever it had been sold to. But it would likely be an answer he already knew.
Time to start turning this around, he thought. He was tired of being hunted, a target.
He pulled the Ranchero out onto the highway, made a right before he got to the bridge. An access road led down to the riverfront. Industrial docks here, long out of use. He parked the Ranchero near a warehouse, walked out onto a weathered concrete apron. He could smell the water. Traffic trundled by on the bridge above him.
He tossed the transponder out as far as he could, watched it arc and fall, splash and disappear.
He got back in the Ranchero, drove out of the lot. Gray clouds were gathering. It looked like rain.
Thirty
When they got to the gate, Holifield leaned out the window and punched in the security code Farrow had given him. The light beside the keyboard stayed red.
“Doesn’t work,” he said.
“For Christ’s sake,” Farrow said. “Try it again.” They changed the code, he thought. Another sign of the old man’s paranoia.
Holifield was reaching again when the gate lock clicked, triggered from inside the house. They waited as the gates clanged, opened inward. Holifield drove through.
When they were halfway up the drive, Winters stepped o
ut of the trees, put a hand up for them to stop. Holifield braked. Winters came up on the Bronco’s passenger side, pointed at the rear door. Farrow looked at him, confused. Winters tapped a knuckle on his window, pointed to the door again.
“Go ahead,” Farrow said. Holifield hit the switch to unlock the door. Winters opened it, got in.
“What are you doing?” Farrow said.
“Just gonna ride up with you, that’s all.”
“Why?”
“No reason.” He turned and looked into the cargo area, then faced forward again.
“The fuck?” Farrow said.
Holifield was watching him in the rearview. “We have an issue here, Slick?”
“No issue,” Winters said. “Go on up.” The gates swung closed behind them.
When they reached the circular end of the driveway, Winters said, “Park over there,” and pointed at a spot away from the house. Holifield pulled up. Winters said, “You stay,” and opened his door.
“This is bullshit,” Farrow said, but Winters had already gotten out, shut the door behind him.
“What do you want to do, boss?” Holifield said.
“Wait here. I’ll see what’s going on.”
He got out, followed Winters toward the house. Bishop, the guard from the hotel, came down from the porch to meet them, took what looked like a small black walkie-talkie from his coat pocket, turned a dial. Red LED lights glowed on the front. A bug detector. Without a word, he waved the antenna in front of Farrow, then down his sides, switched it off, and stepped away. Winters quickly patted him down from behind.
“What is this, Val?” Farrow said.
“You can go in now.”
Farrow walked fast up onto the porch. In the foyer, the guard named Reece was talking into a button mike on the lapel of his suit jacket. He nodded at Farrow as he went past.
Kemper was in the first-floor music room, standing by the white-and-gold grand piano. He was looking out a window into the backyard, hands clasped behind him. Farrow saw the stage was still there, the oversized flag above it. Bunting across the front read KEEP AMERICA STRONG.
“That was embarrassing,” Farrow said. “All the years I’ve worked for you…”
Kemper turned to him, stepped away from the window. “I’m sorry, Gordon. This thing has me rattled.”
“I told you, we’re working on it.”
“Calls to Unix. Calls to you. Stories in the newspapers. I’m not used to this type of attention. I don’t like it. It’s a danger to our business, our goals. And it’s a danger to us personally as well.”
“I’m taking care of it.”
“You see our young friend today?”
“I did. He thinks he can keep it contained.”
“Do you?”
“Maybe. I’m not so sure.”
Kemper nodded, went to the piano, idly plinked notes. “Not what I wanted to hear.”
He traced a finger down the keys. “I never learned to play. Always wanted to, but other things took precedence. Isabella plays beautifully. Have you heard her?”
Farrow shook his head.
Kemper closed the keyboard cover. “I sent her to Houston today, where her mother lives, in a house I bought for her. The mother, I mean. Woman’s had a rough time of it. Alcoholic husband, a drug-addict son. I paid for the kid’s rehab. Twice. Isabella deserved better parents. But we don’t get to pick our birth families, do we?”
“We don’t.”
“She was Miss Texas one year, did you know that? Not that long ago, either. I sent her away today, and I don’t like to do that. I like to have her close, to know she’s in the house, even if I can’t see her.”
He brushed a speck of dust from the top of the piano.
“We’ve been talking about children again, even met with a doctor in D.C. That’s a dream I’ve had for many years, as you know. This time it might finally happen. First-time father at my age, hard to believe, right?”
“Why did you send her away?”
Kemper faced him. “Because, Gordon, I don’t know what’s going on here yet. And nobody who works for me is giving me the answers I want.”
“We’re on it, Roland. We just need some more time.”
“Senator Harlin has a speaking engagement here tomorrow night. Or I should say ‘had.’ I canceled it.”
“Why?”
“The same reason. An event like this, I don’t want to risk reporters showing up, trying to get in, asking questions, bothering the guests outside the gates. Or worse yet, protesters. Winters and his men would deal with them, but it might look bad if there are cameras there. So I told Mitchell I wanted more time to prepare, said we’d reschedule soon. And we will. When all this is settled.”
“It will be.”
“Mitchell knows little about our other activities, and I’m sure he’d like to keep it that way. He’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer on his best days. But if he gets dragged into an investigation—especially a criminal one—there’s no telling which way he’ll jump. His loyalty can’t be trusted, unless there’s money attached. If we lose his sponsorship in Washington, we lose a valuable asset.”
Farrow heard footsteps behind him, turned. Winters stood in the doorway.
“It’s okay, Val,” Kemper said. Winters nodded and went off.
“I hired that fucking guy,” Farrow said.
“And he was an excellent choice. Loyal to a fault. But you always were a shrewd judge of character, Gordon. That’s what made you a fine officer.”
This son of a bitch is about to fire me, Farrow thought. After all I’ve done for him, everything I’ve had to swallow over the years.
He straightened his shoulders. “What are you trying to say, Roland?”
Kemper walked back to the window.
“You’ve been a great aide to me,” he said. “A good friend too, when I needed it. But sometimes I wonder if you see the totality of things in the same way I do.”
“What do you mean?”
“We started with almost nothing, you and I. And look at all we’ve built. I don’t think either of us wants to watch it fall apart.”
“Nothing’s falling apart.”
Kemper turned back to him. “I’m bringing Unix into another arena altogether, Gordon. This deal we’re pursuing with the senator, with the committee, it’s worth more than you can possibly imagine. Four billion to start. Billion. And there are other projects in the works that will bring us almost as much over time.”
Farrow took out his cigarettes, fumbled getting one from the box.
“Please,” Kemper said. “Not in here.”
He replaced the cigarette, closed the pack.
“This kind of deal,” Kemper said. “It’s historic. There’s no other word for it. If it goes through—and in the current political climate I’m confident it will—our great-great-grandchildren will never have to work a day in their lives. How many people can say that, that they can give a gift like that to the ages?”
“I wouldn’t know about that. I was an Army brat. We moved from post to post, and they were all the same. What I’ve got, I earned. Nobody ever handed me anything.”
“One of the reasons I hired you. You are steadfast, Gordon. You do what has to be done, sometimes at great personal risk.”
“You trying to cut me loose, Roland? If so, come out and say it.”
“No one’s cutting anybody loose. I need you even more now, in fact. Our friend in the south wants to speed up the timetable, have boots on the ground within the month.”
“How come?”
“He feels his situation’s deteriorating. He wants to get ahead of events before it’s too late. It’ll be a larger team this time, I think, with more actual fieldwork involved. Any actions we take there will need to be decisive. I’m sure our friends in Washington will approve, even if not publicly. I’ve asked Val to choose the best of his men, the ones with the most combat experience. You’ll lead the team, of course.” He smiled. “Are you ready for a new adven
ture?”
Go to San Marcos with Winters and you’re never coming back, Farrow thought. He sees you as a risk now too, just another weak link in the chain.
“Sure,” he said.
“Before we do that, though, we have to deal with our domestic matter. A disgruntled ex-employee can cause a lot of trouble for us, especially one who saw as much as he did, knows as much of our history.”
“I understand.” And for that, you still need me, he thought. For now.
“I just want you to be clear on the enormity of all this,” Kemper said. “What’s at stake. And to know you’re taking the appropriate steps to remedy the situation.”
“I am.”
“And you have enough personnel, I assume, to do what needs to be done? Between Lukas and your own men?”
“I do, but Lukas is another matter.”
“Why?”
“I think he’s lost his fastball. And some of his decision making has been…”
“Questionable?”
“Yeah.”
“It happens,” Kemper said. “Sometimes we recover from it, get back on an even keel. Sometimes we don’t. At that point, the options are limited.”
“What exactly are you saying?”
Kemper looked out the window again. A breeze rippled the flag.
“I’m saying do what you need to do. However you see fit.”
Farrow let that sink in. “Are you giving the order?”
Kemper didn’t turn.
“I’m going away for a few weeks,” he said. “To the island. Check on how construction’s proceeding, ride herd on the contractors if need be. Feels like it might be a good time to make myself scarce around here for a while, until things are sorted out.”
“You want me to call the airstrip, have them prep the plane?”
“Tell the pilots to file a flight plan for Treasure Cay tonight, round trip. They’ll be coming back empty after they drop us. Then call whoever you have to at the airport there to make sure the helicopter’s gassed up and waiting when we arrive. I assume the helipad at the house is finished?” He turned back to Farrow.
“It should be. I’ll find out.”
“That new pilot, what’s his name? The one who worked at Langley?”
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