King and Maxwell

by David Baldacci

  and hit the brakes. He guided the car over to the side. Luckily there were no other vehicles on this stretch of road. He lifted both bodies out of the vehicle, pushed them over the barrier, and watched as they rolled down the dirt slope and settled at the bottom on a pile of boulders. He did not have time to give them a proper burial. He simply muttered a prayer.

  Then he glanced over at the flaming car. His first impulse was to run over and find out who they were and why they were after him. But the flame ball increased as the gas in the tank was burned off. He quickly realized there would be nothing useful left. Just blackened corpses, bone, and twisted metal.

  He drove off with no guard and no driver and his clothes covered in the guard’s blood. He had a destroyed rear window, a blood-splattered interior, and no guarantee that he had not been betrayed. If they did know where he was, another car would be sent after him. Or they might simply be waiting up ahead for him. And “up ahead” was formidable enough as it was, and it didn’t involve men with guns.

  Wingo had read Rudyard Kipling, who had described the Khyber Pass as a “sword cut through the mountains.” This was an apt description, he felt, only unlike a sword blade the road was far from straight. The area here could have been the landscape on another planet that did not allow for human life. It was beyond bleak, beyond foreboding. No trees grew here. No animals made their homes here. No humans really lived here. It was simply here so one could go from one country to another as fast as possible, with “fast” being a relative term.

  The pass was largely shut down in the late fall and winter. The grade was too steep and the climate too dangerous during those times. And Wingo was perilously close to “those times.” He could feel the winds coursing through the mountains settling under his car and lifting it slightly. The pass was essentially a series of switchbacks connected by short distances of straight roads and tunnels through the Hindu Kush Mountain Range. It could be nauseating to drive even at slow speeds.

  Wingo was not driving slowly. He was channeling his inner Formula One driver. The wind was blowing in through the shattered window and making his teeth chatter despite his having the heat cranked.

  As he raced along, in his mind he was sorting through the possible scenarios and his counter for each one. He checked his watch and calculated how much farther it was to Peshawar. Then he debated whether he needed to even go there. Peshawar was a large city, with more than two and a half million residents spread over nearly five hundred square miles. That was good in that it was easier to hide among so many people. But it was bad in that you had many more eyes that might be spying on you, and the authorities would be only minutes away no matter where you were.

  He decided to head directly to the Indian border. The documents that he had been given by Adeel should be sufficient to get him across. However, if Adeel had betrayed him, tipping off the men in the destroyed car, these documents were useless.

  Wingo had to make a judgment call. Trust Adeel or not?

  Normally, the answer would be an easy one for Wingo. You couldn’t trust anyone. But he had looked the man in the eye. He had heard his words for himself. He decided that he trusted Adeel. The men in the car coming after them might have simply been criminals looking to rob or kidnap an American and hold him for ransom. That was not unusual in these parts.

  Once through the pass he pulled off the road and changed into fresh clothes from his knapsack, burying the bloody ones. He drove into a small town late that night and left the shattered and bloodied taxi on a side street. He took a room in a local hotel where the manager accepted cash and asked no questions. The next morning he arranged for the rental of a motorbike using the document that Adeel had provided. He rode off on the bike. His next goal was to make the Indian border. Pakistan’s national highway system was a good one, and the kilometers flew past. He stopped to eat and refuel. As he neared the border, he slowed.

  This would be the real test of Adeel’s loyalty. Or betrayal.

  Wingo had been through this border before. The crossing was right down the middle of the village of Wagah. It had been split in half when demarcation took place in 1947, creating the country of Pakistan from land that had formerly been part of India. Wagah had perhaps the most elaborate border closing ceremony in the world. It took place right before sunset each day and involved the Indian and Pakistan border guards putting on an elaborate dance of exaggerated marching and high stepping with feet routinely reaching above heads. Crowds gathered, music was played, and the opposing guards would confront each other with aggressive posturing and grim faces, like two roosters about to duel.

  Wingo didn’t care about the performance. He simply wanted to hit the crossing shortly before the performance was to begin, because the crowds would have gathered and the guards would be focusing more on their upcoming performances than on border scrutiny. He timed it well, because he was the last person to cross the border before it was closed. When he reached Indian soil he looked back only once as the music started, the guards marching out to do their dancing battle. No one would remember the sole American on the motorbike who was so eager to leave Pakistan.

  CHAPTER

  23

  “I SEE WHAT YOU MEAN,” SAID Michelle to Sean as she watched the lady walking toward them.

  They were sitting in a food court at a local mall. It was late afternoon so there were few patrons at the court. They were at a table as far away as possible from the other diners eating there.

  Approaching from one end of the food court was Dana Brown. She was dressed down from the last time Sean had seen her, but her black tights and long white shirt rode well on her curvy and buxom figure.

  “Pretty complete package, at least on the surface,” noted Michelle, staring at the approaching woman.

  “Yeah,” said Sean. “But just keep any and all thoughts like that to yourself. We’re here for information, and to get that we have to play nice.”

  “I always play nice.”

  He glanced at her, shook his head, and looked back at his ex as she arrived at their table. They rose and Sean said, “Michelle Maxwell, Dana Brown.”

  The two women exchanged tight, polite smiles and a quick handshake. They all sat and Sean said, “I’m assuming you have something for us since you called to meet?”

  Dana kept her gaze on Michelle for a second longer and then turned to Sean.

  “It was harder than I thought.”

  “Did you think it would be easy?” remarked Michelle.

  “Since I was dealing with my husband, yes, actually. I’m sure you know how easily a man can be manipulated if a woman merely addresses his basic needs.” She glanced demurely at Sean. “Pillow talk, like you said.”

  Michelle shot a glance at Sean and said, “I’m sure.” She added, “But it sounds like addressing basic needs wasn’t enough here.”

  Dana smiled and sat back. “That’s why you have a Plan B, which I did. I won’t go into great detail about how I accomplished it. I’m assuming you simply want the results.” She turned to Sean. “This Wingo situation is being treated very seriously at the Pentagon.”

  “But how did you broach it with him?” asked Sean. “Like I said, I didn’t want you to go out on a limb.”

  “I told him I was worried about him. He hasn’t been eating; he’s been moody. I knew something was up. So I just flat out asked him what was wrong and I wouldn’t take national security BS for an answer. I was his wife and I trumped that. And if he couldn’t trust me we had big problems.”

  “And what did he tell you?” asked Sean.

  Dana looked down, her features not nearly as confident. “I know this might sound somewhat surprising for me to say at this point, but I do feel guilty about doing this, Sean. He told me certain things in the strictest confidence, and I guess I’m having some doubts.”

  “He will never find out you told us, Dana. I promise you that. I don’t care if they subpoena us and we have to commit perjury and go to prison. Your name will never come out from us.”<
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  He glanced at Michelle, who nodded. “You have my word too, Dana. As you know, we’re former Secret Service agents, with emphasis on the ‘secret.’ We’re just trying to help a kid who’s trying to find out the truth about his dad.”

  Dana took a deep breath and leaned in closer. “Sam Wingo wasn’t really in the reserves. He was still regular Army, but he left a year before his pension technically would have kicked in.”

  “Why?” asked Sean.

  “To establish himself as a civilian. To take a job with a company.”

  “And to get married to a woman he hardly knew?” said Sean.

  “Curtis didn’t come out and say that, but I suspect that was also true.”

  “A lot of subterfuge. With what goal in mind?” asked Michelle.

  “Something happened in Afghanistan. Wingo was on a top-secret mission to deliver something to someone. Only it never got there.”

  “What was it?”

  “Curtis drew the line there and wouldn’t tell me. And he might not even know. Okay, he’s a two-star but there are lots of two-stars and they seem to have built a wall around this, at least the most important elements.”

  “And Sam Wingo?”

  “Can’t be located.”

  “Do they suspect that he might have pulled off some sort of a double cross?” asked Michelle.

  “Curtis seemed to think he was a good man. But since he hasn’t come in, things aren’t looking too positive for him.” She looked at Sean. “What do you know about it?”

  Sean and Michelle exchanged glances.

  He said, “Since you’ve been frank with us, I’ll be frank with you. Tyler thinks his dad is alive.”

  “Well, according to Curtis it seems the Pentagon thinks he is too. The KIA stuff might have just been made up to cover the situation.”

  “While they look for Wingo?” noted Michelle.

  She nodded. “And with the DoD after him I doubt the man can remain at large much longer.” She glanced sharply at Sean. “But why does Tyler think his dad is still alive? He certainly isn’t privy to the inner workings at the DoD.”

  Sean hesitated. “If I tell you, will you tell your husband?”

  “Realistically I can’t tell Curtis anything without revealing all of this. And I’m afraid doing so would wreck my marriage. So, no, your secret is safe with me.”

  “Sam Wingo sent Tyler an email. Apparently after he was supposed to have died.”

  “What did it say?”

  “ ‘Please forgive me. I am sorry.’ ”

  “Was that a confession of wrongdoing?”

  Michelle said, “Or an apology for the military telling his son he was KIA.”

  “I guess if I had a child and that had happened, I would feel the need to apologize too,” Dana said. She tapped the Formica tabletop with her fingernails. “What will you do now?”

  Sean said, “What you’ve told us certainly helps answer some questions we’ve had. But it doesn’t get us any closer to Wingo and the actual truth.”

  “I suppose you were right telling me to be afraid,” said Dana. “This all sounds highly clandestine and not for the average citizen to know about.”

  “It is,” said Michelle. She glanced to the left and stiffened just a fraction. Her Secret Service training had just aided her once more.

  She picked up her cup of coffee and said in a low voice, “Three bogies, six nine and twelve, armed and with comm packs. And while they look legit, something is telling me they’re not.”

  Sean didn’t look in that direction. He simply stared over at Dana.

  He said, “Dana, I want you to listen to me very carefully and then do exactly as I say.”

  His tone startled her, but she quickly regained her composure.

  “I’m listening,” she said a little breathlessly.

  “There is a mall police substation right down that hall and to the left. Two policemen are stationed there. I want you to get up and go there. Don’t hurry. Don’t look around. Just walk normally. When you get there, tell them that you saw three men with guns in the food court and you were scared. They will call in backup and will go to investigate. You will proceed to your car by the shortest route possible and drive straight to the Pentagon. Is Curtis there?”

  She slowly nodded.

  “Okay, you will call him on the way and tell him that something has you concerned. You need to speak to him.”

  Dana frowned. “And what about you?”

  “We’ll be fine.”

  “That’s what you always told me when you were with the Secret Service.”

  “Sean,” hissed Michelle. “They’re almost here.”

  “Just do it, Dana. Do it now.”

  Dana smiled, rose, and said, “See you next time. Take care.” She turned and walked away and toward the police substation that was just around the corner.

  Sean rose, and Michelle did, too. But they turned the other way, to face the three men heading toward them. Sean and Michelle split up, one heading right and the other left, which meant their opponents had to watch two targets instead of one.

  Sean knew that if they were the authorities, creds would have come out by now. They hadn’t. He searched each of the men’s faces. His conclusion: military. But if so, where were the creds?

  They could be former military.

  They were within five feet of each other. In his periphery Sean saw Michelle’s hand drift to her waist. His own hand rose nearer the gun in his shoulder holster. He would prefer to do this outside; although the food court was sparsely inhabited right now, there was still the potential for a lot of collateral damage.

  The man directly in front of Sean stopped and said, “We need you to come with us. And the woman who was just with you too. Get on your phone and call her back here.”

  “And who might be asking?”

  “All will be explained once you accompany us outside.”

  “Don’t think so. My mother always told me to never go anywhere with strangers.”

  “You don’t have a choice.”

  Michelle called out, “There are always choices.”

  Sean was about to say something when a voice yelled, “Freeze!”

  The three men in front of Sean could see who was calling out. When their hands reached for their guns Sean knew it was the mall police behind him.

  Michelle had already darted forward and kicked the gun out of the man’s hand directly in front of her. Then she laid him out with a blow to his throat. He dropped to the floor, gasping for air.

  The man in the middle pulled his weapon and opened fire at the approaching police. One of the cops dropped dead to the floor. The other threw himself over a fast-food counter. Sean leapt forward, grabbed the gun hand of the man who had spoken to him, and wrestled with him over the weapon.

  The surviving policeman shouted, “Drop your weapons.”

  All that got him was more shots fired at him. He ducked back down as all the civilians in the vicinity ran away screaming.

  “Call in backup,” Sean yelled at the cop.

  Michelle had dipped low, used one arm as a pivot point, swung her long legs around, and clipped the feet out from under the middle shooter. He went down hard but kept his gun. He pointed it upward at her, but she was no longer there. She slid on her back, feet-first at him, ramming one of her heels into the side of his face. He yelled and grabbed her ankle. She rolled up and came down on top of his head with her right elbow. The back of his head smacked the hard floor, knocking him out. She rose in time to see Sean whirling at her after being thrown off by the man he had been fighting.

  The man grabbed a second gun from a backup holster, aimed, but did not fire.

  This was because Sean had turned and shot him in the chest with the gun he had ripped from the man’s grip. The man fell to the floor.

  Sean and Michelle turned in time to see the man she had first fought with lining up his sights on the second policeman as he tried to climb back over the fast-food counter.


  Michelle pulled her gun and shot him in the side of his head right as he fired. He dropped back to the floor, dead. But his round had clipped the cop in the arm and he fell to the floor bleeding.

  Michelle slid over to the dead shooter and searched his pockets.

  “Nothing,” she called out. “No wallet. No ID.”

  Sean ran over to the downed cop, ripped open his shirtsleeve, and examined the wound.

  “Round went in and out. You’re going to be okay,” said Sean. He fashioned a tourniquet from the torn sleeve. “You called in backup?”

  The cop nodded, pain hardening his features. “What the hell is going on?”

  “I wish I could tell you.”

  Michelle knelt near him. “Is he okay?”

  “He will be. Can’t say the same for his partner.”

  An instant later they heard an ominous sound behind them: a gun slide being racked back. They turned. The man in the middle had regained consciousness and had his gun pointed at them.

  “No!” a voice shouted.