THE MIDDLE SIN Page 8
"I'll need you to sign a receipt for the property," he informed Sloan. "Cleo, you can sign as witness."
Well, now she knew why he'd allowed her to remain present while he conducted his preliminary inquiry. Not because they went way back. Not because she was a former OSI agent and therefore fairly reliable. Not even because they'd mixed a little spit themselves once or twice. But because Major Jack Donovan was a rules kind of guy.
The paperwork attended to, he sealed the pipe in the bag and attached the tamper-proof plastic lock before signing and dating it. Cleo added her signature and the date just under his.
"I'll take the pipe to a lab here in Charleston and have them extract a sample," Donovan informed Sloan. "I'll see it gets returned to you."
The evidence bag went into his jacket pocket. As he dug out a business card and left it with Sloan, a dozen questions tumbled through Cleo's head. She wanted to know more about this DNA-signature business. She also itched to hear a few specifics on the APP breach.
Even more compelling was the goosey feeling she got from watching Donovan walk out the door. The way things worked between them, she might not see or hear from the man for another three or four or God knew how many months.
"Hang on a sec," she said to Sloan. "I'll be right back."
She caught Jack in the outer office. Under the politely curious eyes of Sloan's staff, she tugged him to a private corner.
"How long are you going to be in Charleston?"
"Just today. I only flew in to talk to Sloan and collect a DNA sample."
"Oh. Right."
"There's a lot of high-level interest in this APP incident. More than I can talk to you about, Cleo."
"I get it, Donovan."
He blew out a breath. "I didn't know you were in Charleston. If I had…"
"Yes?"
"I might have scheduled a later flight back to D.C."
Cleo knew the kind of pressure he operated under. She'd also sensed the possible global ramifications of the case he was now working. Still, something more than a few hours squeezed in before the man jumped a flight back to D.C. would have been nice.
"I have to brief my client on his missing employee," she replied, hiding her disappointment. "See you around, Donovan."
Jack mentally kicked ass all the way down to the parking garage. His own. Sloan's. A certain former air force special agent's.
He knew damned well his reaction to watching Sloan put his hand on Cleo had been pure Neanderthal. It had also been completely irrational. Jack was the one who'd let the weeks slip by without calling her.
So bailing his ex out of another drunk tank had tied him in guilty knots? So Kate still blamed him for the pit she'd fallen into? Cleo wasn't Kate. She was nothing like Kate. She couldn't do clingy and helpless and tortured if her life depended on it. Nor would she give up her career for his. Jack wouldn't ask it of her.
He hadn't asked it of Kate, either, he remembered with a kink in his stomach. But every move to a different state required her recertification as a teacher. Every new school system had its backlog of applicants. Boredom and loneliness and increasing resentment of the weeks and months Jack's job took him away from home had taken their toll on his wife.
He knew it would be different with Cleo. Despite the guilt that still gnawed at his insides, he told himself they'd handle things differently. If and when they ever got a chance to put the matter to the test, that is.
Given last night's security breach, that didn't appear likely to happen anytime soon. Jack would be on a plane back to Washington as soon as he delivered the DNA sample to the lab. God knew he'd barely had time to draw a breath since the Old Man's call had jerked him awake at three that morning.
Barnes had wanted Donovan to handle this one personally. The rationale was that Jack had met Sloan in Santa Fe and could formulate a gut feeling for whether or not they were dealing with a deliberate breach of national security. Unfortunately, his gut feel had been somewhat tainted by the fierce urge to plant his fist in Sloan's face.
He'd get past it. He had no choice. The implications of this security breach were too serious to let personal considerations weigh in.
Despite the stern lecture Jack made to himself, Sloan's deliberate reference to breakfast with Cleo kept the acid churning in his belly all the way across town.
The navy was the largest employer in the Charleston area. Jack had contacted the commander of the local Naval Criminal Investigative Command detachment to find out which lab they used to process DNA samples to support their investigations.
Marshall Labs was located on the south side of town, not far from the Charleston Naval Support Facility. The lab director turned a little green around the gills at Jack's request for a priority run but promised to have the results within twenty-four hours. Nodding, Jack retreated to a private office and flipped open the new video-imaging cell phone General Barnes had procured for his key personnel.
The device was state-of-the-art. Secure, encrypted audio not even the CIA could intercept. Clear-streaming video. Instantaneous satellite transmissions from anywhere on the globe. A techie's wet dream.
Jack hated the damned thing. He didn't mind going face-to-face with his boss. He just didn't like having it out via a two-inch screen.
Before tackling the Old Man, though, he placed a call to the rehab center where Alexander Sloan was currently undergoing treatment. That call made, he punched speed dial for the commander of the Air Force Office of Special Investigations.
"I need to talk to the boss," he informed the haggard-looking captain currently serving as Barnes's exec.
"Hold on. I'll see if he's available."
Jack felt the tendons in his neck cord as he put himself into a mental brace. Even then he wasn't prepared for the craggy face that suddenly glared at him from the miniature screen.
A single glance told him that Brigadier General Sam Barnes wasn't happy. His bushy, salt-and-pepper eyebrows formed straight lines above his beak of a nose. The stem of the pipe he kept clamped between his teeth 24/7 hung like a black fishhook from the corner of his mouth.
"Where the hell are you, Donovan?"
"Still in Charleston."
"Can you talk?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then what's the problem? Why aren't you on your way back to D.C.? Couldn't you get the sample?"
"I got it. It took some prodding, though."
Barnes jumped on that like a hound on a badger. "Why? You think it was Sloan himself who breached the classified portion of the APP database?"
Jack hesitated. He wanted to be sure it was the investigator talking and not the Neanderthal.
"I can't say with any certainty at this point. By the way, I verifi�
�ed the source of the DNA Sloan provided for APP access. He used his father's."
The thick brows beetled. "Major General Sloan's been dead for fifteen, twenty years. His son saved a sample of his DNA?"
"Yes, sir."
The pipe made a shift from left to right. Jack toyed briefly with the idea of telling his boss the source of the sample, but decided discretion was the better part of valor.
The general didn't have much of a sense of humor to begin with and none at all when it came to his collection of antique pipes. Barnes hadn't been able to fire one up at work since the air force offices went smokeless almost a decade ago. He was still pissed about that.
"That opens new possibilities," Barnes growled. "If one twin saved some of his father's DNA, the other probably did, too."
"If he did, he didn't use it to access the APP last night. I just checked with his rehab center. Both the physician overseeing his treatment and the physical therapist assigned to his case confirm Alex Sloan has regained only limited mobility and dexterity. Barely enough to drag his legs. They also confirm he hasn't had access to a computer since he arrived at the rehab center."
"So we're back to Marc Sloan."
"Yes, sir."
Jack hesitated. He'd been dreading this moment.
"There's something else you should know, sir. Cleo's here."
"Cleo North?"
The general's teeth locked on the black stem.
His lips curled back. Not a pretty sight, coming from two square inches of screen.
"What is she doing in Charleston?"
"She's handling a case for Sloan. One of his employees is missing. A woman who works in his administrative section."
Plastic crackled like gunfire as the pipe stem shot to the left again. "Any chance this missing woman is connected to the APP breach last night?"
"I don't know, sir. Maybe. Maybe not. I'm thinking I should stay over in Charleston for a day or two and check it out, though."
Jesus! Where had that come from? Scrambling, Jack searched for a plausible rationale for delaying his return to Washington.
"It might also be useful to drive up to the Military Ocean Terminal at Sunny Point and talk to our people there. I need to know more about this operation."
Jack was reaching. He knew it. Might as well go for broke.
"I'll take Cleo with me. She doesn't know what's driving this query, but I trust her instincts."
The pipe came out of the general's mouth. The stem jabbed at the camera. "Her instincts may be sound, but that woman's as bullheaded as they come."
Jack managed to keep a straight face. Barely. Cleo didn't have the patent on bullheaded. The crash and thunder of antlers butting had resounded through OSI corridors whenever she and Barnes had come within spitting distance.
"She was also one of the best, sir."
The OSI commander leaned into the camera, until only one eyeball glared from the screen. "Just keep her in line."
Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. Barnes hadn't been able to accomplish that while he had Cleo in uniform. How the hell did he figure Jack could do it?
"I'll keep you posted, sir."
"You do that."
The eyeball receded. The general's whole face filled the screen once more. Some of the ruddy color left his cheeks as he imparted his own bit of news.
"The lieutenant-colonel promotion-board results just hit the Pentagon. They won't be released for another couple of weeks yet, but I got the word from a friend in the Chief of Staff's office. You're on the list. Two years early."
"Well, damn."
"Congratulations."
Barnes let him savor the news for all of three or four seconds.
"Don't screw up on this case, Major. Figuratively or literally. You do, and you'll kiss those silver oak leaves goodbye."
Jack signed off. The Old Man's parting shot didn't worry him. Barnes knew he'd give the case everything he had. Despite his grumbling, the general also trusted Cleo.
Her unexpected appearance on the scene added a new twist to matters, though. The woman complicated Jack's life every time their paths crossed. She also tied him in knots Houdini would have had a hard time slipping out of.
And now she was in Charleston, working for the same defense contractor he had been sent to check out. The same smooth operator who'd put the moves on her in Santa Fe and was obviously trying to pick up where he'd left off there.
Jack had to walk a fine line here. Too fine to give in to the urge to call Cleo and pick up where they'd left off. Resigning himself to a long night with only his laptop for company, he called for a reservation at the airport Marriott.
8
For the second morning in a row, the phone jerked Cleo from sleep. Not even the prospect of steaming croissants could soothe the beast this time. Thumping around on the bedside table, she fumbled for the phone.
"Go away," she croaked into the receiver.
It took a moment for the steady dial tone at the other end to penetrate. Another few seconds before she realized a different phone was ringing. Mumbling a curse, she downed the house phone and snatched up her cell.
"This better be good."
"Christ, I forgot about you and mornings."
"Donovan?"
"I'm driving up to the Sunny Point Military Ocean Terminal," he said with exaggerated patience. "At Southport. In North Carolina. To get a better feel for how this APP system works. You want to come with me?"
She glanced at the digital clock and groaned. God! Six-ten-a.m., yet. Dragging her tongue over teeth that seemed to have grown moss overnight, she tried to force her sluggish brain cells into gear.
"Where are you?"
"In Charleston."
"I thought you were heading back to D.C. last night."
"I was. I decided to delay my return and drive up to Sunny Point first."
So why hadn't he called her last night? Cleo was still trying to fuzz that one out when he reissued his invitation.
"Do you want to tag along?"
With some effort, she sorted through her options. She remembered Sloan saying the Military Ocean Terminal was a hundred or so miles north of Charleston. She and Donovan could drive up there and back by early afternoon.
That would give Detective Devereaux time to subpoena the phone records on this Helms character. Cleo couldn't really proceed with her own investigation until they came through. The delay more than justified her time away from Charleston in her mind.
"Why do you need me?" she asked. She'd already decided to go but wanted to understand his motives for including her.
"I could use a second set of eyes. Are you in or not?"
"Yeah. Okay. I guess."
"Meet me at the airport Marriott in an hour. Come prepared to walk through a few acres of sand and pine needles."
<
br /> Grunting an acknowledgement, Cleo flipped the cell shut. She needed caffeine. Preferably via IV.
Her sleep shirt hugging her thighs, she padded downstairs, got the coffeemaker chugging and held a mug directly under the drip. When a thin layer of brown coated the bottom of the cup, she made a lightning switch, pot for cup.
A tantalizing sniff.
A first, greedy sip.
Thank you, Lord.
By the second cup she was feeling almost human again. Carrying the mug with her, she went back upstairs, wiggled into jeans and pulled on a hot-pink tank top. Her hair went into a ponytail that poked through the back opening of a ball cap. The Gucci boots remained in the closet. Sand and pine needles called for the comfortable, air-cushioned Oakleys.
After a brief inner debate, Cleo locked her handgun in her suitcase. They would be visiting a military installation. For a civilian, carrying a weapon onto a military post these days required prior approval by just about everyone, up to and including God.
Charleston at 6:50 a.m. presented no traffic challenges to a driver with her kamikaze skills. She zipped out to the airport and pulled into the Marriott parking lot just a little past the allotted hour.
The knowledge Donovan had spent the night in Charleston, just a few miles away, apparently alone, hadn't exactly put Cleo in a chipper mood. It soon became apparent Jack's wasn't any better. He responded to her comments in monosyllables and shielded his eyes behind mirrored sunglasses.
Cleo had a pretty good idea what was bugging him. She let the sleeping dog lie for about seventy miles. When they passed the turnoff for Myrtle Beach, though, she decided to poke it with a stick. Plunking her foam cup into a holder, she thrust up a hand and ticked off the topics they'd covered so far.
"Okay, we've talked about Trish Jackson. We've discussed how they establish a DNA signature for access to the APP. We've also discussed the Old Man's less-than-enthusiastic response to my presence in Charleston, the Orioles' chances in the play-offs and the construction clogging the Wood-row Wilson Bridge."