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And maybe do some good. Because war could be a force for good.

Even a war that was only one bomb long.

SIXTEEN

Washington, D.C.
Monday, 5:22 P.M.

When Darrell McCaskey worked for the FBI, he nurtured relationships with the press. McCaskey did not believe it was the right of the public to know everything that was going on in law enforcement. But reporters had sources who were otherwise unavailable to the Bureau. Information was the coin of the realm, and to find out what journalists knew, McCaskey often had to trade confidential data. Happily, he was never burned. Trust was the foundation of journalism — between reporter and subject, medium and audience. Throughout his years with the Bureau, McCaskey had encountered a handful of agents he did not trust for one reason or another. Yet he never met a reporter who went back on his or her word. Results were the foundation of crime fighting,

The guest list for Orr’s party, published in the Washington Post, differed from the guest list given to McCaskey by the Metro Police. The newspaper had a list of everyone who was invited. The police had the list of people who had actually showed up, as tallied by the invitations turned in at the door.

There were four names on the invite list that did not show up on the attendance list. Mike Rodgers was on both lists. McCaskey could not imagine why the general had been invited.

Rodgers was out of the office, and McCaskey left a message on his cell phone. Then he called the Washington Post reporter who had covered the event. It would be necessary to talk to everyone who was there and also get an accurate head count; someone might have slipped in through the kitchen or a side door or walked in on the arm of a senator. McCaskey also wanted to find out who Wilson was seen conversing with. That was something a journalist would have noticed.

Bill Tymore was the Post business reporter who had attended the party. He had come as the date of Kendra Peterson, Senator Orr’s executive assistant. Tymore agreed to talk if McCaskey agreed to keep him in the loop, off the record. McCaskey did not have a problem with that.

“Before you ask, I’ve been seeing Kendra for nearly a year, she does not expect preferential coverage, and I left about a half-hour before Wilson did so I could write my article,” Tymore said.

“So you don’t know who might have left to visit him.”

“Or if anyone did,” Tymore pointed out. “I have someone looking into the local escort services. One of the girls might have been paylaid en route and an assassin put in her place.”

“Paylaid,” McCaskey repeated. That was a new one. “You think the escort might have been given a couple hundred bucks to have a cup of joe instead of visiting her client.”

“Right.”

“Did Wilson have a history of calling escort services?”

“Apparently,” Tymore replied. “It was his way of keeping gold diggers out of his bed.”

“What about last night?” McCaskey asked. “Do you recall which women he talked to?”

“He chatted briefly with Kendra and then Kat Lockley, who are on the senator’s staff,” he said. “He also talked with two congresswomen and a senator, Ken Link’s daughter Jeanne, Wendy Fayette from the New York Times, and one of the waitresses. She’s been cleared, though. She was still on cleanup detail when the woman arrived at the hotel. Now I have a question for you, Mr. McCaskey.”

“Okay.”

“What was General Rodgers doing there?”

“I don’t know,” McCaskey said. “That was a surprise to me. Why don’t you ask Kendra?”

“I did. She wouldn’t tell me. My guess is they want him to be involved in the USF Party in some capacity. Is that possible?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” McCaskey told him. “Off the record, I think he’s looking to move on.”

McCaskey felt a little deceitful not telling Tymore what he knew. But it was up to Rodgers or Hood to talk about the general’s departure, not him. Trust was important, but it was trumped by loyalty.

“Now you tell me, Mr. McCaskey,” Tymore said. “Why is Op-Center interested in this?”

“We are involved at the request of Scotland Yard,” McCaskey told him. “It’s a common reciprocal arrangement among international agencies.”

“Why you and not the Metropolitan Police or the FBI?” Tymore asked.

“I know the Yard people from my years with the FBI,” McCaskey replied. “It was just a favor. We did not expect to find anything.”

“Can I quote you?”

“You can quote an unnamed source at Op-Center,” McCaskey said.

Tymore agreed.

McCaskey obtained the phone numbers Tymore had collected. Though the reporter had already called the women who had talked to Wilson, McCaskey wanted to speak with them himself. They all denied having gone to see the billionaire, of course, though maybe they would tell McCaskey things they were unwilling to tell the press.

Rodgers phoned before McCaskey was able to place the first call. The general had just returned to Op-Center and was about to see Paul Hood. He asked McCaskey to join them.

“Sure,” McCaskey said. “What’s up?”

“Paul said you’re running the Wilson investigation,” Rodgers said.

“Right—”

“I want to talk about it,” Rodgers said abruptly. “It could be a minefield.”

Rodgers did not elaborate. McCaskey could not tell whether that had been a warning or a threat. He headed to Hood’s office to find out.

Rodgers arrived moments ahead of McCaskey. Ron Plummer was just leaving. The silence exchanged by Rodgers and his replacement was actually heightened by the way they acknowledged each other, with a clipped first-name greeting and nothing more. The soldier and the diplomat never had much in common, but they had always gotten along. This was sad, but what made it worse was that McCaskey expected things were about to deteriorate.

“Ron did not want the job,” Hood said to Rodgers as McCaskey shut the door. “I just wanted you to know that.”

“Did he accept it?” Rodgers asked.

“For the good of Op-Center, yes,” Hood said.

“Of course. We’re all so damn selfless,” Rodgers said. He folded his arms tightly and looked at McCaskey. Both men had remained standing. “Who are you working for now? The Yard?”

“Don’t climb on my back, Mike,” McCaskey said. “You know the drill. We help each other.”

“We do?” Rodgers looked around. “I must have missed the lifeline you guys threw me.”

This was a different Mike Rodgers than Darrell McCaskey had encountered that morning. Obviously, Rodgers had had time to think about what happened and was not very happy.

“Mike, those were my calls,” Hood said. “Where to cut, who to shuffle, and who to help. If you want to vent, do it to me.”

“It’s not that clean, Paul,” Rodgers said. “I’ve been offered a position with Senator Orr’s new political party. The way this investigation is being handled could hurt us. And you.”

“I don’t understand,” McCaskey said.

“People are going to regard your involvement as opportunistic,” Rodgers told them. “Op-Center gets downsized, the director redefines its mission in a very public way, the cuts get restored.”

“I hope you don’t believe that,” Hood said.

“I don’t, but there are people who will,” Rodgers said. “They may try to hit you again.”