23

Demarche to USEMB Paris: Immigration … industrial espionage suspected … Update to previous reports on FR ed system …

The subject lines of the cables scrolled across his screen as Sam moved his mouse, scanning the topics for anything that could shed light on this investigation. Something about Saint-Amand would be nice. He grinned to himself as he looked for the cable with the subject, “Alain Guerin Saint-Amand linked to narcotics trafficking.”

Not one he was likely to find.

He kept looking. His phone calls that morning had been equally unhelpful. If Saint-Amand or anyone on his staff were involved in something illegal, they were doing a good job running under the federal radar. He hadn’t checked with the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research yet, only the law enforcement arm of Diplomatic Security. INR was his next destination, if nothing else turned up.

The chirp of his cell phone brought his mind back to his desk and the office around him. He glanced up at the tiny window as he pulled his phone out of his jacket pocket. The sun hadn’t quite made it around to his little portal yet. Blue sky showed clear through the window, just turning that pale shade of turquoise that meant the sun would be pulling into view within the hour.

“Agent Burke,” he answered his phone.

“Burke, it’s Jackie from the Comms Center. You put out an alert for the name Troy Davis? Well, it came up today.”

The legs of Sam’s chair screeched against the floor as he stood with force.

Communications technology was still a problem in law enforcement, particularly when it came to federal and local law enforcement agencies sharing information. The problem wasn’t the will, it was the technology. To address the problem quickly and cheaply, Sam had simply requisitioned a DC police radio, set up in State’s Communication Center. It was a standard practice whenever DS had to work with a local force.

And as he always did whenever his comms was tracking DC police calls, he asked for an alert if any particular names came up. Some because they were wanted. Others because he wanted to keep an eye out for them. Like Troy.

“What’s the context?”

“Suspect one of three… chase still underway for other two…” Jackie read off the incoming message, her voice calm. “Probable drug bust.” Her voice changed, and Sam knew that this time she was speaking to him in her own words. “Looks like they got the guy, now they’re trying to grab his friends. Anacostia. Twenty-fifth and Wagner southeast. You interested in this guy?”

“It’s personal, Jackie, thanks for the call.” Sam was packing up even as he got off the phone with Jackie, thanking her for the heads-up. He held his breath and counted the seconds as the computer slowly shut down. As he pulled out the hard drive. Spun the combination lock on the filing cabinet.

No way he was going to let Howard’s boy down, not without at least trying to help. Not after everything Howard had done for him.

Not willing to wait for an elevator, he took the stairs down to the underground parking garage three at a time, almost tripping as he turned the last corner. The slam of the door reverberated against the concrete walls as he threw himself into it, out into the vehicle pool parking area.

“Josh, need a car now,” he shouted the greeting, checking his watch. Four minutes since Jackie had called. They’d already had Troy in custody at that point. It wouldn’t take them long to book him, and then there’d be nothing he could do to help.

“You got it boss, number 10 is fueled up and ready to go.”

He held his hands up for the keys, but instead of tossing them, Josh jogged over. “Need to sign for it, you know that.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Sam scrawled an illegible signature across the bottom of the page and grabbed the keys.

He knew better than to race out of the State garage with tires squealing, rubber burning. He resisted the urge to punch the gas, guiding the car swiftly but carefully through the short maze of the garage out to the C Street entrance. Fingers tapping on the wheel as he waited for the security check. Holding his breath as the security gates lowered into the ground, moving at their usual glacial speed.

Troy was in trouble, that much was clear. He knew Troy was a good kid. He also knew the boy had problems. Knew Ramona and Harold were kidding themselves, blind to Troy’s attitude. His hostility. His anger.

That’s why he had given Comms Troy’s name. Every time he had worked a case with MPDC over the past couple of years, he had given them Troy’s name, in case it came in over the radio. In case Troy ran up against the MPDC. Because when that happened, Sam wanted to be there. To help. If he wasn’t too late.

He checked the clock on the dash. Six minutes since he’d got the call from Jackie. He needed to get to Troy while there was still time for him to intervene.

He hit the gas.

Adam shut his eyes, frowning. He couldn’t get the picture out of his head of someone evil in Julia’s apartment while she slept. When he opened his eyes again, Ramona was watching him. He didn’t want to bring her in to his troubles. “So tell me how it went this morning at the ambassador’s residence.”

“Hennessy’s confirmed everything Senator Marshall told you about Ambassador Saint-Amand,” Ramona started. “He’s a big player back in Paris, apparently. Pushing hard for tougher immigration laws and tougher drug laws.”

“And not making any friends in the process, I assume.”

Ramona nodded her agreement. “Is that what’s bugging you? The ambassador’s political position?”

Adam tightened his lips and shook his head. “Don’t worry about me, focus on the job at hand.”

Ramona’s brow furrowed but she said nothing.

The waiting room at Barton McFellan looked the same as it had the day before. Same plush gray rug, same orange accents on the doors and chairs. Same ghastly art on the walls. Adam thought of Julia and frowned.

Ramona checked the clock on the wall. “How long does it take her to get here?” she mumbled.

“Got here fast enough last time.” Adam smiled, remembering the lawyer’s anger at them for talking to her client without her. Apparently, McFellan wasn’t making the same mistake again today. They were waiting until the lawyer arrived.

“Jay may have been involved in drugs in some way. Probably was. I don’t see the connection to the ambassador — or his staff,” Adam thought out loud.

Ramona picked up the thread of his thought. “He was the type to grab opportunities as they presented themselves. Maybe somehow, in Senator Marshall’s dealings with the ambassador, Jay picked up a connection he could work.”

“Only if the ambassador’s crooked, and a complete hypocrite.”

Ramona raised an eyebrow and gave Adam a look he couldn’t argue with. “Point taken.” He smiled. “So Jay gets his drug connection from the ambassador’s connection. Now he’s got his own link to the stuff the moment it hits the street. If he was working as a low-level middle man, he’d be raking it in.”

Ramona’s face darkened, her fingers beating out a fast rhythm on the arm of her chair. Adam wondered what she was getting so angry about.

“Then who shot him?” Ramona raised her hands in a gesture of despair. “The ambassador, because he didn’t like Jay profiting off his own connections?”

“Or because Jay was blackmailing him,” Adam pointed out. “We know Jay liked that particular revenue stream.”

“Doesn’t make sense.” Ramona shook her head. “Saint-Amand was on the driveway with him. He couldn’t be the shooter.” She stopped, her head to one side. “Unless he paid one of his staff to do it.” She shook her head in frustration. “Then why was he so eager to be helpful? He invited you to that cocktail party, encouraged you to be part of the investigation, didn’t complain when you interviewed his staff.”

“That’s a good question. The staff certainly had access that morning. Beth. Or Elise.” Adam looked at Ramona. “You spoke with them this morning, do you think that’s possible?”

Ramona thought about it, examining the piece of art on the far wall, then shook her head. “No, I don’t. I don’t know why, it doesn’t sit right with me.”

“No, me either.” Adam nodded. “If someone from that house is involved, there’s gotta be something else, something we’re missing.”

The double glass door at the end of the room opened, and the young assistant who had tried to put them off yesterday came into the room. As he was about to speak, Ramona’s phone bleeped. She nodded at Adam, held a finger up to the assistant, and turned her back on both of them, her ear to the phone. “Hello?”

Adam turned to the assistant, who stood gripping a leather notebook in front of his chest. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the notebook even tighter, his eyes on Ramona’s retreating back. “Well. I came out here to tell you that Mr. McFellan is ready to see you now. If you’re no longer interested…” He let his words fade away, blinking in irritation.

“Let’s wait ’til my partner gets off the phone, shall we?” Adam asked in a quiet voice, reclaiming his chair. He sat back and crossed his legs, his right ankle lying across his left knee.

“Hmph.” Adam thought the young man’s knuckles would crack open from the strain, but he said nothing else.

Ramona turned back to them as she tucked the phone into her jacket pocket.

“Kaminski.” She gestured with her head.

“Stay here.” Adam held a finger up to the young assistant. “Don’t go anywhere, I’ll be right back.”

He followed Ramona to the other side of the room, where she leaned her head in close to his.

“That was one of Hennessy’s men,” she explained.

“Are they onto something?”

“They think so. They invited us to meet them back at FBI headquarters. They’re planning an activity for this evening.”

Adam nodded, then glanced back at the young man waiting impatiently near the double glass doors. “Look, you go meet up with them. I’ll handle this interview on my own. We just need to find out if Towne really was there that morning. Maybe McFellan will confirm it if he thinks it will get him off the hook.” Adam would take any lead that might get him home faster.

Ramona grinned. “Or if his lawyer thinks it will.”

Adam nodded his agreement. “I’ll give you a call when I’m done here?”

“Sure.” Ramona patted his arm as she passed by him, heading back toward the elevators. “Have fun in there.”

Adam walked back to the assistant, his hands in his pockets.

“Are you ready now?” The young man’s voice was high and strained.

“Sure, lead the way.”

Adam wiped the grin off his face as soon as he turned the corner through the glass doors. The lawyer they had met yesterday stood waiting for him, leaning against the door jamb of McFellan’s office, one pointy heel pushing against the wall as if holding it up.

He was not looking forward to this interview.