King and Maxwell

by David Baldacci

  then rifled through, spreading the debris around even more.

  “I really don’t know how she finds anything,” he muttered darkly.

  “Having another OCD fantasy about my desk?”

  He looked up at the doorway. Michelle stood there holding two coffees, a folded newspaper under her arm.

  “I’m that easy to read?” he asked innocently.

  “We’ll be finishing each other’s sentences before long,” she replied. “And we’re not even married.”

  “In some ways we’re more married than married people,” he shot back.

  She handed him one of the coffees, laid the newspaper on her desk, and sat down across from him. “So did you reach your contacts at the Pentagon?”

  Sean nodded. “Just got off with one, in fact.”

  “And?”

  Sean leaned back in his chair and studied the computer screen in front of him.

  “And what I thought was straightforward is turning out not to be.”

  Michelle sipped her coffee and fought back a shiver. The forecast called for a chilly rain or even possibly snow. And the sky looked like it would deliver on that forecast any minute.

  “Meaning what?”

  “I emailed him the name Sam Wingo along with the particulars that Tyler gave us about his squad, rank, and so forth. I figured I’d give my contact some time to look into it and that when I called he’d have all the answers.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  “No. In fact, he had no answers.”

  “Did he say why?”

  “He put it off on notification of next of kin, privacy policies, and things like that. Only I told him the next of kin had been notified.”

  “What did he say to that?”

  “Only that he could not go into it further.”

  “Could not or would not?”

  “Does it matter?”

  “Did he confirm that Sam Wingo was dead at least?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  “Okay, that’s officially weird.”

  “It could just be that they’re reluctant to release information about a KIA, Michelle. It’s a pretty sensitive situation. They don’t want to be accused of giving out the information to just anybody.”

  Michelle picked up the newspaper and opened it to a page in the front section.

  “I’m not sure that’s a valid excuse. Have a look.”

  She handed the paper over to Sean, who glanced down it. It was a photo page of casualties in the Middle East wars.

  She said, “Fourth row, fifth photo over.”

  Sean looked there and read, “Samuel Wingo, age forty-five, sergeant first class, part of a battalion out of the Eighty-Second Division from Fort Bragg. Killed by small-arms fire in the Kandahar province.”

  “Pretty much everything Tyler told us,” noted Michelle.

  “Meaning everything they told him,” said Sean.

  “So you’re having doubts too?”

  “Don’t read too much into this. It could still be nothing.”

  “They printed his picture, his name, and his rank in the paper along with the fact that he’s dead. So how confidential can it be? They wouldn’t even confirm to you that he’s dead, but all the readers of the Washington Post know that he is? How exactly does that make sense?”

  “At one level maybe it doesn’t,” he said. “But keep in mind that they’ve had thousands of casualties over there. My contact might not have even known that was printed in the paper today. The Pentagon is a pretty big organism.”

  “Okay, but I know that Tyler was holding something back from us.”

  “So how do you want to proceed?”

  “We told Tyler we would check into it and report back. We checked into it and now we’re reporting back.”

  “We have nothing to report, Michelle. Unless you count abject failure.”

  “We have to get him to open up. Maybe it’ll be better if I go alone.”

  “To his house? With the wicked stepmother there? She might not let you in.”

  Michelle held up her phone. “I’ll text him and arrange to meet him at the same place before swim practice.”

  “You’re really going out on a limb with this, Michelle.”

  “He’s a kid who lost his dad. He needs help, Sean.”

  “I’m not saying don’t do it. Just be careful.”

  “I don’t consider Tyler Wingo dangerous.”

  “I’m not necessarily talking about him.”

  She glanced out the window. “They’re calling for snow today.”

  “Great, Washington drivers have a hard enough time driving in the sunshine.”

  “While I’m with Tyler, why don’t you try another angle on the Pentagon?”

  “I’ll see what I can do. But those guys usually close ranks pretty fast.”

  He shot a reproachful glance at her messy desk. “Come on, Michelle? Can’t you do something about that crap? Even a symbolic gesture would be appreciated.”

  She smiled brightly, picked up a single piece of paper amid the mounds of it, and dropped it into the trash can next to her desk. “Feel better?”

  “It’s a start.”

  Later that afternoon Michelle pulled into the parking lot next to the Panera, cut her engine, and stared across the street at the high school where Tyler was a student. It was a relatively new school, but was still probably bursting at the seams with students. The Washington area just couldn’t seem to keep up with the population growth.

  She slipped the page out of her jacket. It was the Washington Post article with Sam Wingo’s picture. He was a good-looking man, she thought. Ruggedly handsome, strong features, intense eyes, his face stamped with the years. He looked a little like Sean, she realized. By comparison most of the other faces of the dead on the page were tragically young. They had barely had a chance to live their lives, and now there were no more chances left to them.

  She checked her watch. At three sixteen on the dot she saw Tyler Wingo emerge from a door at the school and start to walk in her direction. The chilly rain had turned into light snow. In deference to the weather Tyler wore a hoodie.

  She climbed out of her truck when Tyler passed by.

  “Hey,” she said.

  He turned and spotted her. “Where’s your partner?”

  “Following up some other leads.”

  They walked into the Panera together. The place was busier than last time. Michelle figured that it would start to fill up even more since the school had let out. It really was a gold mine, having a coffee shop with a pretty full food menu located across from a high school and perpetually hungry teens.

  This time they both got bottles of water. Michelle added a muffin.

  “Haven’t really eaten today,” she explained.

  They took seats at a table in the rear. Michelle opened her bottle, took a drink, and then attacked her muffin.

  “So what did you find out?” Tyler asked.

  “You saw the newspaper today?”

  “No.”

  “Sorry, I guess teenagers don’t read print media anymore. Anyway, your dad’s picture was in it.”

  She pulled out the page and slid it across to him. “Just for positive ID.”

  Tyler glanced down at the page and then looked away. “That’s him.”

  “Small-arms fire with his unit in Kandahar,” said Michelle.

  “Yeah.”

  “Hi, Tyler.”

  They both glanced up. It was the same pretty brunette from yesterday. She looked from Michelle back to Tyler and then down at the page.

  “I’m really sorry about your dad,” she said.

  She was barely five-two, with soft brown eyes.

  “Thanks,” said Tyler, not meeting her gaze.

  “Michelle Maxwell,” said Michelle, putting out her hand.

  The girl took it. “I’m Kathleen Burnett, but I go by Kathy.”

  “Are you in class with Tyler?”

  “Yes, she is,” interjected Tyler.
“We were just meeting on some stuff, Kathy,” he added in obvious embarrassment. “About my dad.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, Tyler. I’ll talk to you later.”

  She hurried off. Michelle watched her go.

  “She’s really cute.”

  “I guess.”

  “You’re friends?”

  “We’re in some classes together.”

  “She was here yesterday before us even though you came over right after school ended. How come?”

  “She’s really smart. Skipped a grade and everything. And she doesn’t have a last-period class. She gets out early.”

  “Nice to be smart. But she also seems to care about you.”

  Tyler was now staring at the page of photos.

  Michelle folded it up and slipped it back into her pocket.

  “Does she care about you, Tyler?”

  He shrugged. “I don’t know, why?”

  “It’s good to have people who care, that’s all. Especially during times like this.”

  “So what did you find out?”

  “Nothing more than you saw in the newspaper. The Pentagon apparently does not want to talk about your dad. I wonder why?”

  “I guess they have their reasons.” He hesitated. “So how much do I owe you?”

  Michelle gazed blankly at him. “Why do I detect finality with that question?”

  Tyler looked up. “What?”

  “You just hired us and now it sounds like you want to fire us.”

  “I’m not firing you.”

  “Okay, that’s good to know. I came here to ask you something so let me just get to it.” She leaned in closer. “What aren’t you telling us?”

  “You asked me that before.”

  “And you didn’t answer me. And just so you know, I’m the sort of person that when I don’t get an answer, I keep asking until I do.”

  “I’ve told you everything.”

  “Your voice says you have, but your face says otherwise. I was a Secret Service agent. We read faces like nobody else, Tyler.”

  He immediately looked away from her.

  She sat back, folded her arms over her chest. “Okay. Is that how it’s going to be?”

  Tyler stared down at his hands.

  “You could have saved me a trip here, you know. I do have other things to work on,” said Michelle.

  He let out a long breath. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I mean, I guess I was just being stupid. My dad’s dead. Nothing you could do will bring him back, right?”

  “No, Tyler, there’s nothing we can do about that,” said Michelle quietly.

  “And I was thinking about things last night. And… and I guess—” He faltered here and looked so miserable that Michelle’s heart went out to him.

  “Tyler, if you want us to stand down, I’m okay with that. It’s your decision. Don’t beat yourself up over it. You have enough to deal with as it is.”

  “I… I guess that’s what I want. I mean, for you to, like, you know, stand down, like you said.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He nodded. “So, how much do I owe you? I brought some cash with me.”

  “Consultations are free, so you can keep your wallet in your pocket.”

  “You sure?”

  “Are you?” she said curtly.

  He wouldn’t look at her. “I gotta go now.”

  “Right, swim practice.”

  He rose.

  Michelle said, “Oh, we need to bring your dad’s gun back to you. I didn’t want to do it here because having a gun on school grounds would be pretty bad. We can drop it by your house tonight. You going to be home?”

  Tyler looked nervously at her. “Um, I’m not sure. I might have stuff tonight.”

  “No problem. We can just drop it off with your stepmom. That okay with you?”

  Tyler turned and fled. He looked back twice at Michelle before he even got to the front door, and the distance in between was not that great.

  Michelle sat there for a bit wondering one thing.

  Who had gotten to Tyler Wingo?

  CHAPTER

  10

  THE SNOW WAS COMING DOWN harder when Michelle stepped out of the Panera.

  As a Secret Service agent she had spent years dissecting the physical world into discrete grids as part of her security matrix, looking for danger in all the right places. Though she had been out of the Service for a while now, that instinct still rode with her. It probably would forever. And right now her antennae were quivering.

  The parking lot was half full, which still constituted a great many cars because the lot was a large one. Yet there was only one vehicle that drew her attention. She stared across at it.

  Government plates, one silhouette inside, motor off, and the driver had been there awhile because the sedan was covered in snow. And no one had gotten out of the car, because there were no footprints in the snow around it. This was a strip mall where one made quick stops, in and out and on one’s way. Yet this driver had pulled in, cut the engine, and sat there in the freezing cold waiting for something.

  Or someone. Maybe me.

  She walked to her truck, climbed in, and started it up. Without appearing to do so she was watching the government sedan. The silhouette had not moved. She was considering whether she had been wrong in her deductions when the situation status abruptly changed.

  The silhouette transformed into a man with wide shoulders and military-cropped hair, wearing a long, dark overcoat and regulation black shoes. His military rank rode on the sleeves of the overcoat in the form of pinned-on bars.

  Bars, not stars. But then again, Michelle hadn’t expected them to send out a general to grapple with her.

  When the man drew close, she rolled down her window. “You must’ve been cold sitting in the car all that time. Want to jump in and get warm?”

  In response he showed her his credentials.

  “Captain Aubrey Jones, military police,” Michelle read off the ID card. “What can I do for you?”

  Jones said, “You were meeting with Tyler Wingo?”

  “If you say so.”