“It’s subject to change, of course. Nothing I can do about that.”
“I completely understand that. I’ll simply have to build that into the op.”
Pratt held up a flash drive. “It’s all here.”
“I’m sure it is.” Grant held out his hand and took it.
“I know the money is in my account, or you wouldn’t be holding that,” said Pratt.
“If I were you, I’d do it exactly the same way. But with just one small difference.”
“What’s that?”
Grant slammed Pratt’s neck against the steering wheel, crushing his windpipe. He watched as Pratt suffocated and then died, collapsing sideways in the seat.
Grant said to the dead man, “I would never do the exchange face-to-face in a lonely spot because I might end up dead. Like you.”
He got out of the car and walked away. A minute later he climbed into his car and drove below the speed limit to his next stop. The retrofit on the old radio station was progressing nicely. He knew his men were working hard, but they would have to work still harder. After the rehab was done he would bring in his tech team. They were a multinational bunch. Not a single one was committed to anything other than himself. No flag-wrappers in the lot of them. He liked that. When money was the motivation, you knew exactly where you stood. They were the best he could find, and Grant knew where to look.
The Pentagon was as busy now as it was during the day. It truly was a building that never slept and where people visited, ate, and worked at all hours. He cleared security and went directly to his father-in-law’s office once more. He was admitted immediately because he was expected. He and Dan Marshall were having dinner tonight, and Grant expected to get some scuttlebutt about things he needed to know about.
Marshall greeted him as enthusiastically as before, first gripping his hand and then giving him a bear hug.
“Leslie says you’re keeping really busy lately, Alan. You remember you have to keep some time open for those grandkids of mine.”
“I will, Dan. I promise. Just got quite a few things in the hopper right now. Want to build a good life for us. And Leslie and I want to give you more grandchildren too. We’re not stopping at three. We’re still relatively young.”
Dan beamed. “Never hear me complaining about more rug rats to pal around with.”
The two men walked to a restaurant in the Pentagon and sat at a table well away from others.
“You look worried about something,” said Grant, observing Marshall closely.
Marshall chuckled, rubbed his face, and took a sip of the Coors draft he’d ordered. Grant drank only water. When Marshall put the glass down he had stopped chuckling and looked far more serious.
“You’ve been reading the news?” he asked.
Grant nodded. “Bizarre to say the least. How over a billion bucks of Treasury money ended up going missing in Afghanistan along with a reservist?”
Marshall looked around to make sure no one was close enough to overhear. “It was actually in euros.”
“Euros? Why?”
“Can’t really say.”
“What the hell was the money for?” Grant then quickly added, “Sorry, I’m sure that’s classified.”
“There’re rumors all over the press now. Really bad ones. Conspiracy. Breaking the law. Misuse of funds. And it all goes up very high.”
“Rumors with some truth to them?” asked Grant quietly.
“Let me put it this way, Alan. I can’t say unequivocally that they’re not true.”
You haven’t seen anything yet, thought Grant.
He reached over and put a hand on his father-in-law’s arm. “Dan, you’re in procurement. You buy stuff for the Army. You control a lot of money. But you’re not getting caught up in all this, are you?”
Grant liked Dan Marshall, he really did. But he didn’t like him well enough to not sacrifice him in order to achieve his goal. There was no one in the world he liked that much.
Marshall passed another hand over his face, as though he were trying to rub a layer of skin off. “Well, Alan, I’d say this sucker is big enough to catch a lot of folks.”
Grant withdrew his hand. “I’m sorry, Dan.” And in a way he was sorry. But that was all. He had put his father-in-law in this situation. He knew it would come to this. He hoped for his wife’s sake that her father would be mostly spared.
But my father and mother hadn’t been spared. They were ruined, crushed, and then they killed themselves. The only casualties. The only ones when there should have been far more.
He said, “What about this reservist, Sam Wingo? What’s his story?”
“Who knows? The son of a bitch hasn’t been seen since he drove off with Uncle Sam’s money.”
“I saw on the web that some of the money was going to Muslim insurgents. But it didn’t say which country.”
Marshall looked at him miserably. “I saw that too.”
“That will not sit well with some over there.”
“From the little I’ve been told, the diplomatic channels are being used so much they’re molten hot. I still have no idea how the media caught on to it. It was highly, highly classified.”
“It’s a mystery to me too,” lied Grant. “But I’m sure if you catch Wingo you’ll be able to put all this to rest quickly. Any leads there?”
“There might be, actually. I’ve been kept in the loop on this for a number of reasons, mostly because my ass is tied up in the outcome. Wingo has a son, Tyler. His mom died but Wingo remarried.” He lowered his voice. “Now, the marriage was not a real one.”
“The hell you say,” exclaimed Grant, who knew this perfectly well.
“No, it was just a sham. Part of the mission Wingo was going on. Convoluted but he also just couldn’t leave his kid on his own. Now the wife has disappeared. No one knows where she is.”
In a proper grave in the middle of nowhere with her throat slit because she disobeyed and then tried to kill me, Grant said to himself while he kept looking straight at Marshall with polite interest on his face.
Marshall continued, “And there are two investigators that somehow got involved. A Sean King and Michelle Maxwell. Former Secret Service who’ve been poking around even though they’ve been warned off.”
“But no news on Sam Wingo’s whereabouts?”
“It’s believed that he made it back to the States, probably on private wings or maybe a cargo plane. He might have had fake IDs no one knew about. From all the reports I’ve read on him the guy is good, real good. That’s why he was picked for this mission.”
“He could have stolen the money,” Grant pointed out.
“Yes he could. And if he did he might have come back to get his son and then disappear. And actually that’s what he might have done.” His voice sank to a whisper. “I just got an email that said Tyler Wingo had disappeared from FBI custody.”
This statement did startle Grant. “What?”
“Yeah, I know. They had taken him and King and Maxwell into custody or protection or some such because a motel they were at blew up. I don’t know all the details but you probably saw that on the news. Over in south Alexandria?”
“Right, I did see something about that. I thought it was a gas leak.”
“Don’t think so.”
“And where are King and Maxwell?”
“If I had to guess they’re trying to find Tyler. They’re probably thinking if they find Tyler, they’ll find the dad.”
And that’s exactly what I think too, thought Grant. Which is why I’m having them followed right now.
CHAPTER
48
MICHELLE NEVER WOULD HAVE PLANNED an operation this way. It was way too fast and loose, little prep and no real evaluation of the pros and cons. And no true Plan B when something unexpected happened. Her cover spot had several weak spots, any one of which a guy like Sam Wingo would be able to exploit in his sleep.
She was twelve feet up in the crook of a tree with her sniper rifle makin
g wide arcs over the landscape below. Sean was taking up his position near where they believed the father and son might actually meet. But they could be way off about that. And they could be really way off if the fishing hole didn’t turn out to be the right spot at all.
He was communicating with her via an earwig and power pack. She carried the same equipment. It felt like they were back in the Service. And in a way this was very much like protection detail. She wasn’t going to let anything happen to Sean or Tyler. Sam Wingo was still not a sure thing for her. He could go either way. And depending on which way he did go, she might have to put a round in him. Right in front of his son.
Michelle looked down at her trigger finger and wondered if she could do it. But she already knew the answer. She could. And would. Right now Sean was her protectee and she would take a bullet for him if it came to it.
Over her earwig she heard Sean say, “Got an eyeball on something. But I can’t make it out. Just a glimpse.”
“Where?”
He gave her the coordinates and she swung her scoped rifle in the direction. She saw something. It flitted in and out among the trees, almost like vapor.
Then she locked in on it.
“It’s Tyler,” she said. At least they had come to the right place.
“And his father?”
Michelle scanned the area. “No eyes on him yet.”
“He’s probably reconning right now.”
“That’s exactly what I’m doing,” said a voice.
Sean began to turn toward it when the voice said, “Don’t.”
Sean froze.
In his ear Michelle whispered, “Ten yards to your right, behind the oak. Can’t confirm it’s Wingo.”
Sean gave a bare nod.
“Where’s your partner?” asked the voice. “I want her down here right now.”
Sean said, “Why’s that, Sam? Want to gun us both down?” He said this in an overly loud voice.
“Who are you?” asked Wingo, who had revealed just a sliver of himself behind the oak.
“Someone trying to help your son.” He added in a very loud voice, “Isn’t that right, Tyler?”
“Shut up,” barked Wingo. “Or I’ll put a round in your leg.”
“Didn’t you come to meet Tyler? He’s right over there. Tyler, join the party.”
“I said shut up!” yelled Wingo. He edged out past the oak, his gun pointed at Sean.
Michelle said into Sean’s earwig, “I have a clean shot, Sean.”
He gave a curt shake of his head, and Michelle’s hand moved away from the trigger guard.
“We could have taken you out right now, Wingo. But that’s not what we’re here for.”
“Bullshit!”
“Then here’s proof,” said Sean.
Michelle fired a round that struck a branch two feet above where Wingo was standing. It fell to the ground a foot away from him. Wingo jumped back behind the tree.
“Now do you believe us?” asked Sean.
“Dad, Dad!”
Tyler came rushing into the clearing and then pulled up short when he saw Sean.
“What are you doing here?”
“Trying to talk your dad out of shooting me.”
Tyler looked around, “Dad? Dad, are you here?”
Sean knew why Wingo was hesitating. “If you come out I’ll have my partner come out too, Wingo. We are here to help.”
Tyler added, “They are, Dad. They’ve really been helping.”
A few moments later Michelle appeared at the edge of the clearing, her sniper rifle pointed down.
Sam Wingo saw this and slowly stepped clear of the oak. They all stared at each other.
Sean said, “Uh, you might want to hug your son, Sam, just to prove to him you’re not a ghost.”
Father and son eyed each other for what seemed an impossibly long moment. Then Wingo holstered his gun and spread his arms wide. Tyler rushed to him. The two hugged for a long time. Tears ran down both the Wingos’ faces.
Michelle drew closer to Sean and said quietly, “This whole thing just got very complicated.”
He nodded. “That’s the face of a guy who got set up and doesn’t know what the hell is going on.”
“Which means he may not know any more than we do.”
“Maybe, maybe not. But now we can at least ask him.”
Wingo finally stopped hugging his son, but kept one arm protectively around his shoulders. He wiped his face of the tears while an embarrassed Tyler did the same. Wingo walked toward Sean and Michelle.
“How did you two get involved in all this?”
“Just saw your kid running down the street one dark and stormy night after the Army told him you were dead,” said Michelle. “Total coincidence.”
Wingo slowly nodded. “I appreciate your not shooting me when I came out from cover.”
“And I appreciate your not shooting me,” said Sean.
“Dad, you look… different,” noted Tyler.
Wingo rubbed his shaved head and new beard and said, “Have to when people are looking for you.”
“What people?” asked Sean.
“Good question,” shot back Wingo.
“Your people?” asked Michelle. “The military? You’ve apparently created a huge buzz at the Pentagon and the White House.”
“Wasn’t supposed to go down like that.”
“How then?”
“Classified.”
Sean looked disappointed. “After all you’ve been through you’re going to pull the classified crap?”
“Look, I could be court-martialed for discussing any of this with you.”
“You been listening to the news?” asked Michelle.
Wingo nodded.
“Then you know a lot of it has become unclassified.”
“DHS told us about the nearly five thousand pounds of euros.”
“Over a billion dollars’ worth that you somehow managed to lose,” added Michelle.
Tyler looked at his dad. “Is that true, Dad?”
Wingo looked uneasily from Michelle to his son but said nothing.
“If we work together,” said Sean. “We might make some progress.”
“But you said DHS had looped you in. So you’re working with them.”
“No. And we’ve been to see the FBI. And the president,” said Michelle. “And we decided not to work with any of them. At least not yet.”
Wingo looked shaky. “You met with the president? Over this?”
“Apparently on his big-item to-do list, you are at the numero uno spot,” said Michelle. “Congratulations.”
“Shit!” said Wingo, putting a hand over his eyes. “I can’t believe this is all actually happening.”
“Well, it is happening,” snapped Sean. “And we have to address it.”
“How?” asked Wingo. “What can you do?”
“Dad, they’re investigators. They used to be with the Secret Service. They’re really good. They can help.”
“I’m not sure anyone can help me, son.”
“So you’re just giving up?” said Michelle. “After dragging your butt
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