Page 31

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

When Richie and I arrived an hour late for our flight to D.C. from the Atlanta airport, we learned that it had been delayed by two hours. Fortunate, I thought.

After we made it through security, we split up. Richie went looking for food; I headed toward the gates. Getting off the train at A, I stopped in a store to buy a neck pillow. My head was pounding.

When I pulled out my wallet to pay, something by the register caught my attention.

My Life at the Bureau , the front of the book read. Below the title was a picture of a much younger William T. Banning in a dark FBI windbreaker.

A salesman rang me up, and I headed out, just in time to see Richie get in line at Starbucks.

“No food?” I asked.

“Nothing good open,” he said. “You want anything here?”

“Two waters,” I said. “I’ll be at the gate.”

I put down my bag at a seat near A-31 and opened Banning’s book. In fifteen minutes, I had speed-read the first nine chapters, which detailed the director’s rise through the FBI.

A shadow passed over me, and I looked up to see Richie, who handed me the two bottles.

As I grabbed them, one of the waters slipped into my lap, knocking the book to the ground. It fell open to an inside page, three or four sheets in.

My Life at the Bureau , the type read in two-inch-tall Times New Roman. Below that was five inches of blank space, then Banning’s name and the publisher’s logo.

I stared at the page.

The probability was 6.6544 percent. But higher than that. Since it was a two-letter sequence.

“Agent Camden?” Richie squinted. “You okay?”

“Director Banning went on a book tour in December,” I said. “Frank had a buddy who used to work at the Bureau and saw him speak in Houston.”

“Yeah, we know that.”

I grabbed the book. Turned to that inside page—three or four sheets in—where an author puts his autograph.

I scribbled the signature ‘William Banning’ on the paper.

Then I ripped the page out of the book. Strategically tore a scrap of it out and handed it to Richie. “The paper in Tignon’s mouth,” I said.

Richie unfolded the tiny piece, staring at the n and g .

“The word was Banning?”

“There was only one tour stop,” I said. “The Bureau asked Banning to hold off on pushing the book until he retired again. But this bookstore had already presold copies.”

Richie was squinting at me. Holding on to the strip of paper. “How the hell did you figure that out?”

“You helped,” I said. “You knocked the book out of my lap. With the waters. I saw the signature page and…”

Richie shook his head, incredulous.

“The director signed a book for him, Richie,” I said. “You see what that means, right? Mad Dog met Director Banning. At the bookstore in Houston.”

I picked up my bag and glanced at the Delta Airlines desk nearby. A uniformed woman stood behind it.

“I’m going to Houston,” I said.

“Okay. What about me?” Richie asked.

“Head back to Jacksonville. Fill in Frank. Volus and the plant. Kagan and Arrowhead.”

I grabbed my bag and started walking. But I saw something in Richie’s eyes as I turned. The excitement of a discovery. And my response—to send the rookie home.

A rich life is full of people, Gardy. Not facts.

I flashed to my final year with Saul. Promise seemed endless. Success for me came fast.

But then Tignon. Anna. Saul.

I turned back to Richie, grabbing Kagan’s file from my satchel.

“You joined the least admired and least respected team in the Bureau,” I said.

Richie’s eyes pinched together, a confused look.

“But the most talented,” I continued. I tossed the Arrowhead file to him. “ You start in on this. Not me. Get PAR together and dissect this thing. Everyone in the same place. Jacksonville, tomorrow.”

“So we’re gonna rehabilitate PAR’s image?” he asked.

I smiled just slightly.

Youth.

“I’ll be back by tomorrow afternoon,” I said. “Get going now. Find something.”