saying, “You don’t want to know.”
“No, I suppose I don’t.”
“General Heaney,” said Kennedy. “Would it be possible for me to take a look at all ninety-four files of the SEALS that live in the D.C. area?”
“Why?”
“I have a hunch.” McMahon’s ears perked up at the word hunch. He believed strongly in intuition and hunches. “Let’s hear it.”
“I’m not comfortable with dumping ninety-four potential suspects based on a piece of information that I’m not sure I trust.”
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“What piece of information are you referring to?” asked McMahon. “The black assassin in the park.
These people have done everything perfectly with one exception: they exposed the guy in the park when we all agree the correct way to kill Downs would have been with a concealed rifle shot.” Kennedy took her glasses off and rubbed her eyes. “We have let this one piece of possibly flawed evidence steer our entire investigation in a very specific direction. Based on this one piece of information we have excluded all SEALS from our investigation.”
“That’s what investigations are all about, Irene,” said McMahon. “You analyze evidence and narrow your search.”
“That’s assuming the evidence is untainted.” Kennedy rose and started to pace. “There is only one logical reason for them to put him in the park, and I can’t believe I didn’t see it earlier. They put him there because they wanted him to be seen.”
“Why would they want him to be seen?” asked Heaney. “To throw us off.
What if the guy wasn’t black?
What if they made him look like he was black?”
“Why would they want us to think he was black?” McMahon saw where Kennedy was going. “If they were SEALS, they would.” The room fell silent while the pieces fell into place for Heaney. McMahon stood and rolled his sleeves up.
“General, I think we had better take a look at those files. While we’re doing that, I’ll have my people initiate surveillance of the fourteen black commandos. Irene, you get your people moving on the other commandos, and we’ll have to consider investigating any SEALS on a case-by-case basis.”
An irritating noise broke the silence of the predawn morning. A hand reached through the darkness toward the red, blinking digital numbers and found the alarm clock. A second later the noise was silenced.
O’Rourke rolled over and wrapped himself around Liz. The previous evening had been a quiet one. Liz had finished writing her column about nine and came over with a movie. Luckily for Michael, she was tired and not in the mood for conversation. Thirty minutes into the video they were both asleep. Michael was trying his best to make things seem normal and was, for the most part, succeeding. It helped that Liz was busy with her job. Michael couldn’t get Arthur Higgins out of his mind. After returning from Georgia, he had gone to the
Congressional Library to see what he could find out about the former
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head of the CIA’s most secretive branch. He came up with nothing, which only added to the mystery.
Michael brushed Liz’s hair aside and kissed her naked shoulder. She turned her head slightly, and he kissed her cheek. O’Rourke kissed her one more time and got out of bed. Grabbing a pair of sweatpants from a hook on the door, Michael put them on and headed downstairs. Duke met him at the bottom of the stairs and followed him into the kitchen. The coffee maker was filled to the top and started. All of his hunting gear was kept in the basement. After descending another flight of stairs, Michael opened the closet and put on a pair of wool socks, khaki pants, a blue flannel shirt, and a pair of boots. The rest of his gear was kept out at the cabin along with several shotguns. By the time he got back up to the kitchen, the pot was done brewing. He poured the whole thing into a large thermos and filled a travel mug for the road. Duke was at his feet stretching and yawning. Before leaving, O’Rourke went back upstairs, set the alarm clock for 7 A.M and kissed Liz on the cheek.
Down in the small garage of the brownstone, Michael loaded Duke into the back of the truck and opened the garage door. Less than five minutes later, he pulled up in front of his brother’s house. Tim, Seamus, and Tim’s chocolate Lab, Cleo, climbed into the truck, and they headed toward the cabin. Against Michael’s wishes Seamus had told Tim everything that had happened over the past two weeks. For the majority of the drive they discussed the information they had learned from
Augie.
When they arrived at the cabin, Coleman was already there. He was waiting inside at the kitchen table. The O’Rourkes pulled up chairs, and the coffee mugs were filled to the brim. When everyone was settled in, Coleman eagerly asked, “What have you found out?”
“Have you ever heard of a man named Arthur Higgins?” Coleman squinted.
“Yes.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“No.”
“What do you know about him?”
“He’s an old spook over at the CIA. He handles a lot of dark operations and has a reputation as a man you don’t screw around
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with.”
