Masked Prey (Lucas Davenport #30)(10)
“None of the kids were aware of the photo, or the contact?”
“No, they weren’t. None of them felt a thing. Oh: most of the photos were apparently taken surreptitiously, but Audrey Coil’s was lifted off her website—a photo that showed her outside her school with a friend.”
* * *
—
LUCAS ASKED CHASE, “If I have questions, I should call you?”
“Yes. Nobody else. Although your friend, Deputy Director Mallard, has been read into this situation.”
“You’re friends with Mallard now?” Lucas asked.
“The deputy director and I have developed an excellent working relationship,” Chase said. “He seems to have taken an interest in my career.”
“Fascinating,” Lucas said.
Chase blinked at him, then turned away.
Henderson leaned forward and rapped on his desk with his knuckles: “Lucas, we need to shut this down before somebody gets hurt. If somebody does get hurt . . . a kid . . . the shit will hit the fan.”
“If somebody does get hurt, do you think we could blame the FBI?” Lucas asked.
Chase showed a tight smile. The last time they’d worked together, Lucas had seen signs that she had a sense of humor, even if it was a Washington sense of humor: “If that were going to happen, Lucas, do you think you’d be here?” she asked.
CHAPTER
THREE
There was more talk, which came down to a long series of warnings about not involving the two senators or the FBI in anything questionable. Lucas said he’d try not to do that, which led to more warnings and pleadings.
“Then I’m like that Mission: Impossible thing, where the secretary will disavow any knowledge of me?”
“So fast your head will spin off—although it’d probably be a deputy assistant undersecretary in charge of cover-ups,” Henderson said. “You’re not nearly important enough to be disavowed by an actual secretary.”
Lucas and Chase left at the same time, with Lucas promising to provide regular updates to Henderson and Smalls. When they were alone, leaving the building, Chase said, “Don’t get too detailed when you’re updating the senators. Both of them are close to the local media. If we nail these people, there’ll be some credit to be given. Time on the CNN and Fox talk shows.”
“Which might otherwise go to the FBI?”
“I didn’t say that,” she said. “I’d prefer that nobody got any credit at all. We don’t need to plant this extortion idea in anybody else’s head.”
“Got it,” Lucas said.
Chase had planned to get an Uber back to the Hoover Building, but Lucas still had the limo on call and offered her a ride: “If you know where we could get a sandwich around here, I’d like to talk for a few more minutes.”
She knew a salad place that was open on Sunday, three or four blocks away, and they walked there and got salads and Diet Cokes and sat next to the window to eat. Lucas said, “I’ll look at the files for the details, but tell me what you feel about them.”
“There’s a load of information there. Most of it is useless,” she said, efficiently slicing through an asparagus spear. She popped the asparagus into her mouth, chewed, swallowed, and continued: “This whole situation has an odd feeling about it. There’s something going on that we haven’t been able to figure out, but it’s not as straightforward as it looks. That’s what I feel about it.”
“Anybody I should pay attention to, in particular?”
“A Nazi named Charles Lang. Charlie Lang. He denies being a Nazi, but he is. He calls himself, and I quote, ‘an expert on later forms of National Socialism.’ He inherited the Nazi gene and a lot of money from his father and grandfather, who also carried the gene. His grandfather made a fortune in aviation investments before and during World War II—he spent a lot of time in Germany during the Hitler years, knew the man himself—and was associated with Charles Lindbergh back in the 1930s and ’40s. Charlie’s pretty slick, well dressed, has a degree from Georgetown in international relations. Gets interviewed from time to time by the cable news outfits, has had some TV training. He claims his extremist contacts are part of his scholarly research, but it goes deeper than that. Read the paper, you’ll see.”
“Is he involved in this website?”
“Probably not. When we went to him, our agents said he appeared to be genuinely surprised by the site. Maybe a little sexually excited. He’s been stirring around, trying to make contact with 1919. Putting the word out.”
“You’ve been watching him?”
“No, but we’ve been interviewing everybody we think might possibly know something about 1919. A couple of people said they’ve been contacted by Lang. So he’s out there, looking. Whether he’s found anything, we don’t know.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Lucas said.
* * *
—
CHASE KNEW THAT Lucas had been shot the previous spring, and she’d been shot herself a year earlier while on a case with Lucas. “You’re a dangerous guy to hang around with. We’re the only two cops I know who’ve been shot.”
Like Lucas, she hadn’t entirely recovered. The wound had torn up connective tissue in the hamstring at the back of her thigh, and the scar tissue lacked the flexibility of the original muscle. She didn’t limp, but it still hurt if she jogged too far and when she went skiing.