No Fortunate Son (Pike Logan, #7)(87)

The statement was aggravating. Kincaid was now pumping him for information, and it was getting Kurt nowhere.

There was one primary question Kurt wanted answered: If Breedlove was killed by a terrorist tied to the kidnappings, how did the killer learn that he was on the story? There had to be a leak that allowed the terrorist to specifically target Breedlove, and it meant the group had somehow penetrated The Washington Post, gleaning the information when even the people on the floor didn’t know what Breedlove was doing.

Kurt redirected the questioning, saying, “You mentioned the editor. Would he have more information about where Breedlove was going?”

“Brittle? Doubtful. He let Breedlove run because of his past history, but he was getting fed up with the waiting. Honestly, I’m not sure Breedlove even knew what he was hunting. Outside of talking to the secretary of Homeland Security, most of his work was with low-level insiders.”

“How did you know he spoke to the secretary? If it was all so hush-hush?”

Kincaid stood up, saying, “Come here. I’ll show you.”

They walked to an office, paned in by windows with a view onto the newsroom floor. The desk was littered with papers, stacks overflowing an inbox, but the chair was empty.

“That’s Brittle’s office. See the whiteboard behind him? He kept track of anyone who was meeting a whale.”

“Whale?”

“Just what we call big shots. Political figures, entertainment figures, anybody that could come back to bite us in the ass. If you were meeting them, you had to keep Brittle abreast of the time, place, and outcome.”

Kurt peered through the glass and saw a list of names, most he recognized. The undersecretary of defense for acquisition, a couple of senators, a music mogul. To the right were the reporters’ names, and next to it, the story. National Defense Authorization Act, Patriot Act, charity event for Africa, and other news items. He scanned down and saw the secretary of Homeland Security’s name. Next to it was Breedlove. The story was listed as “compartmented.”

“So you read this and knew that Breedlove was meeting the secretary of Homeland Security?”

“Well, yeah, but Breedlove was all set to give me the dump on what they discussed. I mean, before . . .”

“And this board stays up all the time? Where anyone can see it?”

Looking confused, Kincaid said, “Yeah. So what?”

Kurt felt the trickle of an idea. He said, “I might be able to get you that data dump firsthand. If you keep me out of it.”

Kincaid’s eyes lit up, then just as quickly returned to nonchalance. He said, “I’m all ears.”

“It’s not me. But the secretary is my boss. I’ll see what I can do. You’re the man for this? Should I talk to Brittle?”

“No, no. That’ll just clog up the gears. He’s still dealing with Breedlove’s death.”

“But won’t the whale get posted? Won’t it say ‘Breedlove’s story’ or something?”

Kincaid said, “Yeah, yeah, but Brittle won’t care if the interview is already locked. He’ll just want to know it’s going on. Here, let me give you a card.” He pulled one out and said, “That’s got all my contacts. Cell, office, email. Call anytime.”

Kurt studied it, pretending to make a decision, but in reality wondering how he was going to trick Kincaid into thinking he was meeting the secretary of Homeland Security. Wanting that on the board. Wanting to stake the young Kincaid in a field, bleating for the terrorist.

Beyond that, he was wondering how he was going to break every federal surveillance law in existence by tapping all of the phones on the card. After all, it wouldn’t be fair to make him the bait if Kurt didn’t have the means to capture his prey.

He said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

Kincaid beamed, not understanding the meaning of his words.






61




Colin heard Seamus slam the door and wondered if he’d been found out. He felt his cell phone burning a hole in his pocket like a traitorous beacon. He’d cleaned it of any evidence from his calls but wasn’t sure Kevin couldn’t find something if he was ordered to look. That technology was a mystery to him.

Maintaining a calm demeanor, he waited for the man to enter their hovel, a little aggravated that he and Kevin had to stay and babysit while Seamus slept in a hotel. Enjoying hot water and real food, while he continued to stink and eat microwave dinners.

Seamus came through the door, his jaw clamped shut, his veins throbbing in his neck. Kevin looked up from his computer and said, “Bitcoins are transferred. At today’s rate, we have about twenty-four million dollars. It’s all in the wallet.”

Brought up short, Seamus said, “We own the money?”

“Yeah. We have it. It’s in the wallet we made. The one you have.”

Seamus pulled out the paper construction they’d made before. “Are you saying this thing now has twenty-four million dollars in it?”

Kevin smiled. “Yes. That’s what I’m saying.”

Seamus shook his head in wonder. “Okay, I’ll believe you. That’s the only bit of good news.”

Colin said, “What’s the bad news? Where is the team in France? Where’s Braden? You need to give us more information instead of just coming and going.”