No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(72)

“Yes, sir. No doubt.”

“The GIGN is trying to get the Wi-Fi on the phone to link up with a false router. They called it spoofing. Can they do that? Will that work to locate the phone?”

“Sir, in theory—”

President Warren held up his hand. “I need everyone to leave the room but the director of the CIA and Kurt Hale.”

The director of the FBI looked startled. He said, “Sir, they may start the operation at any time.”

“Fine. The feed in here is coming from the communications room, right?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then monitor it there. I need a word.”

The men about the table looked at one another, then began filing out. The door closed, the only sound an occasional burp from the speaker on the desk, background static from the FBI HRT team in Paris. President Warren shut it off.

Kerry Bostwick waited patiently. Warren waved Kurt forward to the table. When he was seated, the president said, “You guys see the paper this morning?”

Kerry said, “Yes, sir, and trust me, I had nothing to do with it. Nothing. I’m a little insulted by the question.”

Warren said, “I know you wouldn’t do anything outright, but could Clute have managed anything? As the chair of the Senate Select Committee on Intelligence, would he have the ability to do something like this? Without you knowing?”

Kerry scoffed. “Hell no. That’s all Hollywood fantasy. He’s a bureaucrat. He wouldn’t even know where to go to find the men for the job, and they wouldn’t do anything without getting sanction. Shit, sir, there’s not a man in the CIA who isn’t well versed on the repercussions for perceived illegal infractions. Half the time it’s that same jerk Clute hauling people in front of his committee. Trust me, there isn’t a lot of love for him in the CIA. His missing kids notwithstanding.”

“And you wouldn’t do anything as a quid pro quo for future inquiries? For the next time Congress starts a witch hunt? He’s a powerful man, and that’s a pretty good ace to hold.”

Kerry said, “Sir, I mean no disrespect, but if you truly think I would have that Machiavellian capability in my soul, then you disappoint me. Jesus, you’re talking about murder. You should know better, but since you don’t, I’ll tender my resignation right here, right f*cking now.”

Warren took that in, ignoring the outburst. He turned to Kurt, all business. “I tend to believe him because he has no skin in the game. You, on the other hand, I have questions about.”

Kurt said, “Like Kerry, your questions should have been answered long ago. I had nothing to do with killing Grant Breedlove. Period.”

President Warren held his eyes for a moment, then said, “All right. This conversation never happened. I had to ask.”

Kurt said, “Sir, I’ve been thinking about it, and there’s one person we haven’t asked.”

“Who?”

“The terrorists. I think they did it. I think there’s an accomplice here in DC, and he’s tying off loose ends.”

Kerry said, “That’s crazy.”

“Really? They’ve kept this as quiet as we have and know how our hands would be tied if a story got out. I think it’s a lead. Whoever killed him is working with the people who have our hostages. What do the police know about the crime?”

“I have no idea. Not something I’m really worried about, beyond questioning you two jackals.”

“You mind if I look into it?”

“What do you mean, ‘look’?”

“Just poke around. See what I can find.”

“That depends on the next few minutes. We resolve this in Paris, then let the police handle it.”

There was a knock on the door and President Warren said, “Come in.”

The director of the FBI stuck in just his head and said, “They got the phone. They’re rolling.”






50




Knuckles saw a flurry of movement, then heard a command in French.

Brock said, “Might be time,” and jogged over to the man who was apparently in charge.

Brett said, “You think they could neck down a phone location with that little drone?”

“I was wondering that myself. I’m thinking of volunteering your services. Get you inside with a Growler. If they’ve got the phone talking to the router, you could pinpoint.”

Brett raised an eyebrow and said, “You mean because I used to work in Ground Branch? Because I’m used to penetrating hostile environments and can’t be flustered by ordinary pressure?”

Brock came back to them, and Knuckles said, “No. Because you’re the only black man in the room.”

Before Brock could utter a word, Brett muttered, “Always about the black man.”

Brock looked at him, then at Knuckles. “You guys got a problem I need to know about?”

“You tell me. What’s up?”

“They’re ready to go, but it’s going to be a little bigger than we wanted. They’ve got the phone pinpointed to the fourth floor based on signal strength, but that still leaves fifteen apartments. The signal’s stronger in the west, so we’ll hit that first, then roll forward, taking three rooms at a time.”