"The Charlemagne Pursuit" - читать интересную книгу автора (Berry Steve)

7:45 AM

STEPHANIE NELLE GLANCED AT HER WATCH. SHE'D BEEN WORKING in her office since a little before seven am, reviewing field reports. Of her twelve lawyer-agents, eight were currently on assignment. Two were in Belgium, part of an international team tasked with convicting war criminals. Two others had just arrived in Saudi Arabia on a mission that could become dicey. The remaining four were scattered around Europe and Asia.

One, though, was on vacation.

In Germany.

By design, the Magellan Billet was sparsely staffed. Besides her dozen lawyers, the unit employed five administrative assistants and three aides. She'd insisted that the regiment be small. Fewer eyes and ears meant fewer leaks, and over the fourteen years of the Billet's existence, to her knowledge, never had its security been compromised.

She turned from the computer and pushed back her chair.

Her office was plain and compact. Nothing fancy-that wouldn't fit her style. She was hungry, having skipped breakfast at home when she awoke, two hours ago. Meals seemed to be something she worried about less and less. Part of living alone-part of hating to cook. She decided to grab a bite in the cafeteria. Institutional cuisine, for sure, but her growling stomach needed something. Maybe she'd treat herself to a midday meal out of the office-broiled seafood or something similar.

She left the secured offices and walked toward the elevators. The building's fifth floor accommodated the Department of Interior, along with a contingent from Health and Human Services. The Magellan Billet had been intentionally tucked away-nondescript letters announcing only JUSTICE DEPARTMENT, LAWYER TASK FORCE-and she liked the anonymity.

The elevator arrived. When the doors opened, a tall, lanky man with thin gray hair and tranquil blue eyes strolled out.

Edwin Davis.

He flashed a quick smile. "Stephanie. Just the person I came to see." Her caution flags raised. One of the president's deputy national security advisers. In Georgia. Unannounced. Nothing about that could be good.

"And it's refreshing not to see you in a jail cell," Davis said.

She recalled the last time Davis had suddenly appeared.

"Were you going somewhere?" he asked.

"To the cafeteria."

"Mind if I tag along?"

"Do I have a choice?"

He smiled. "It's not that bad."

They descended to the second floor and found a table. She sipped orange juice while Davis downed a bottled water. Her appetite had vanished.

"You want to tell me why, five days ago, you accessed the investigatory file on the sinking of USS Blazek?"

She concealed her surprise at his knowledge. "I wasn't aware that act would involve the White House."

"That file's classified."

"I broke no laws."

"You sent it to Germany. To Cotton Malone. Have you any idea what you've started?"

Her radar went to full alert. "Your information network is good."

"Which is how we all survive."

"Cotton has a high security clearance."

"Had. He's retired."

Now she was agitated. "Wasn't a problem for you when you dragged him into all those problems in central Asia. Surely that was highly classified. Wasn't a problem when the president involved him with the Order of the Golden Fleece."

Davis' polished face creased with concern. "You're not aware of what happened less than an hour ago at the Zugspitze, are you?"

She shook her head.

He plunged into a full account, telling her about a man falling from a cable car, another man leaping from the same car, scampering down one of the steel trestles, and a woman found partially unconscious when the car was finally brought to the ground, one of the windows shot through.

"Which one of those men do you think is Cotton?" he asked.

"I hope the one who escaped."

He nodded. "They found the body. It wasn't Malone."

"How do you know all this?"

"I had the area staked out."

Now she was curious. "Why?"

Davis finished his bottled water. "I always found it odd the way Malone quit the Billet so abruptly. Twelve years, then just got out completely."

"Seven people dying in Mexico City took a toll on him. And it was your boss, the president, who let him go. A favor returned, if I recall."

Davis seemed in thought. "The currency of politics. People think money fuels the system." He shook his head. "It's favors. One given is one returned."

She caught an odd tone. "I was returning a favor to Malone by giving him the file. He wants to know about his father-"

"Not your call."

Her agitation changed to anger. "I thought it was."

She finished her orange juice and tried to dismiss the myriad of disturbing thoughts racing through her brain.

"It's been thirty-eight years," she declared.

Davis reached into his pocket and laid a flash drive on the table. "Did you read the file?"

She shook her head. "Never touched it. I had one of my agents retrieve and deliver a copy."

He pointed at the drive. "You need to read it."