Viral

Gardner looked to his left, making eye contact for the first time with Richard Franklin, letting him know what he knew: that the real betrayal had involved men who were right here in this room.

FIFTY-ONE

ALEC TOMKIN DISEMBARKED AT Dulles Airport and rode the subway to Rosslyn, Virginia, carrying in his bag a laptop, a few clothes, and the experimental surveillance device that Okoro had given him before he’d left Africa.

Nine blocks away he came to a familiar strip shopping center, in a neighborhood where he had once lived. For the past three years, Charles Mallory had rented a locker here, where he stored two changes of clothes and a 9mm Glock handgun. It was the gun he retrieved today, not the clothes.

He took a taxi the rest of the way, across Key Bridge into the district, then east on M Street to the riverfront and south to the Watergate Complex. Although Richard Franklin and his wife lived in an old stone house in the Great Falls area of Virginia, they had also owned a two-bedroom apartment in the Watergate for nearly twenty years. It was where Franklin often stayed during the week.

On the overseas flight, Charlie had thought about the note from his father again, struck by how much of it made sense now. Nearly everything had been explained, with one notable exception. There was one question his father had posed that he hadn’t been able to answer. If Richard Franklin wanted to shut down his father’s inquiry into the Isaak Priest Project, why then had he hired Charles Mallory to stop Priest? There was really only one explanation—one underlying motive—and it was a disturbing one.

HE WALKED THE grounds of the Watergate Complex for more than an hour, browsing in stores, figuring a way in. Franklin lived in the South building, where Condoleezza Rice used to live. If he could get into the garage, he knew, he could get to Franklin’s apartment. Finally, he saw his opportunity. A resident driving out of the garage stopped at the gate house and became engaged in an animated conversation with the guard. Charlie used the distraction to run down the entrance ramp on the other side of the gate house, hurrying among the cars toward a red rectangular sign with a zigzag diagram of steps.

Franklin’s was a fifth-floor unit, Charlie knew. He couldn’t remember the number, but Franklin had made it easier. His was one of only three apartments on the floor without a name plate. Mallory was pretty sure he remembered which it was. He pounded on the door several times. Stepped out of the way of the peephole.

“Yes?”

“Maintenance,” he said in a gruff voice.

“What is it? I didn’t call anyone.”

He knocked again, more urgently. Said “Maintenance.” Moments later, it opened, the chain still attached. Richard Franklin, dressed in jeans and an oversized pink polo shirt, stared at him through the crack.

“Hi, Richard.”

“Charlie. What are you doing here?”

“Wanted to talk with you,” he said. “Didn’t have time to go through the usual channels. Can you let me in?”

The apartment had been renovated since he’d been there but still looked like something from the 1960s, which it was. Curved walls, glass block dividers. The sliding glass doors to the terrace were open, the wraparound porch providing a view of the Potomac, the Kennedy Center, and Georgetown. “Aren’t you worried about surveillance?”

“Not as much as I used to be. Have a seat,” Charlie said.

“All right.” Franklin turned down the classical music on the stereo. “Well,” he said, sitting on a low-slung powder blue sofa. “Congratulations.”

“What for?”

“I understand you took out Isaak Priest.”

“No. I had nothing to do with it, actually.” Franklin watched him, not revealing anything. “What’s going to happen now, Richard?”

“Well, I don’t know what to tell you.”

“The truth would be good. For a start.”

Franklin shook his head, as if he didn’t know what he was talking about. And that was when Charles Mallory saw that he hadn’t figured this quite right. Franklin was a step ahead of him.

“Unfortunately, Charlie, some things have changed since the last time we spoke. I wish they hadn’t. And it wasn’t my decision, believe me.” He took a deliberate breath. “You’re not going to be involved in the follow-up on this, okay? Your operation had very clear parameters. You succeeded. Your company will be compensated with a generous final payment.”

He seemed too assured, but in a mechanical way, as if reciting a script. He opened and closed his reading glasses.

“Whose decision?”

“Not mine.”

“McCormack.”

“Mmm. There’re some delicate negotiations ahead that won’t involve you.” He feigned a weak smile. “And, I hate to have to tell you this, but there have also been some ethical concerns raised. Some of which are reflecting on me.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The fact that you handed the details of a classified operation to your brother to write about. That violates our agreement.”

Charlie opened the front of his shirt so Richard Franklin could see his gun. Franklin had given up his brother to Gardner. He was sure of that now. Franklin had created a fictitious identity for Jon, as Charlie had requested. But then he had given him up. To protect something. And to prevent him from writing the story. Why?

“What’s going on, Charlie?”

“Nothing. Let’s just talk, okay?” Charlie sat on the sofa arm. Franklin seemed to stiffen. “My father saw what was coming a year ago. He tried to warn the government, didn’t he?”

Franklin eyed him steadily. “I wasn’t involved in that, Charlie. I don’t know what happened a year ago.”

“You knew the real reason his inquiry was shut down, though. You couldn’t afford to have any of this come out.”

Franklin shook his head once, looking down at his glasses.

“You couldn’t just say no when I asked you for that report. Instead, you overcompensated. You redacted things that weren’t necessary to redact. Even the name of the person who wrote the memorandum. The person who signed off on it.” He watched Franklin, to see his reaction. Nothing. “Was it the government that invented Isaak Priest, Richard?”

“No.” He began to smile. “Of course not.”

“It makes a strange sort of sense if they did. An aggressive, shadowy African businessman who could go into poor, troubled countries, his pockets stuffed with almost unlimited cash. Buy up property and favors, help local businesses, cut deals with corrupt officials. Set up the groundwork for your investments. Start with the easiest, most vulnerable places. Unstable places like Mancala and Sundiata. Places we can’t get to any other way. That’s what we need, isn’t it? We need influence in the developing world, because that’s where the future is. That’s where future growth is going to be, and a lot of those places we can’t get in. We don’t have a single permanent military base right now in Africa, for example, do we? We’re still not trusted in a lot of places.”

Franklin’s eyes were steady. “I can’t comment, Charlie. But what you’re speculating on happened before we knew about it. Okay? That operation was already in place.”

Before we knew about it. Charles Mallory paused for a moment to process that. But couldn’t. Not yet. “Someone devised this, Richard. Someone saw the whole picture and still sees the whole picture, and it wasn’t Isaak Priest.”