Chapter X: Fair Trade
Back when the team had merely thought of Dwayne as a mole in the Department of Justice they'd had Charlie and Amita apply a branching and bounding algorithm to determine his extracurricular meeting places with his Chinese contact. Colby hadn't been stupid enough to write his own meeting dates and times down anywhere because it was simpler and safer; it would also be much harder to dub his trail "unexplained" if there were no calendar items for it. However, he couldn't help but wonder if there was anyone watching him as he strolled along 5th Street.
As far as Colby knew, Consulate General Chen had never known that the FBI had watched his clandestine meeting with Carter from a distance that night. Dolon and Westwood had squelched any further investigation and pulled strings to get any future surveillance jobs monitoring Chen under their supervision. He was an important contact, so they'd kept him fat, dumb, and happy.
As far as Colby knew, Don had never known there was a spy watching him watch that meeting either. A spy with the last name of Granger. He'd approached the situation from the other angle and had followed Chen. Plus the meeting list had been burned in his memory.
He relaxed his shoulder muscles and purposefully didn't look around for those unseen, eyes. He was simply a man on a late morning coffee run—a man armed with more than just his standard Glock.
Was it truly better to know the truth instead of believing the lie?
Squelching a sigh, Colby left the philosophical thoughts to Fleinhardt and pushed the Starbucks door open. He was immediately hit with the aroma of fresh coffee and strains of soft music from the speakers above. He got in line, stared up at the huge menu board and, despite his exhaustion, tried not to let the words swim and blur before him.
There were too many choices, too many combinations of what to order. The sheer array of decisions he'd have to make to get a blasted cup of joe was dizzying. Did he want something hot like drip-brewed coffee, something espresso-based, or Tazo tea? Or did he want something cold like a frappuccino, or iced tea? What about something in between? He could get it served lawyer-warning hot, lukewarm, or icy cold.
Megan's earlier comment about his cold logic intruded into his thoughts. He may have brushed off her accusation, but it was much easier to evaluate the choices another person should make rather than those you had to make for yourself. Plus, the impacts would be far less…
Personal.
Don had tried to get him to open up and he'd cracked a little bit. Needed to. Last night in the garage he'd told the team they'd have to individually decide to stay the course—wherever it might lead—because it wasn't a choice he would make for them. Which had the virtue of being fair, but also had the benefit of allowing him to slam on the brakes and step back to evaluate.
There were too many choices, too many chess moves with traps. Both David and Megan had called him on his stalling. Truth to tell, that's what it was. How much of his upcoming meeting with Chen would he share with the others? How much of his knowledge of those laser gyroscopes should he share with the others? Like he'd told Charlie, he just needed to see the chess board properly and the answer would come to him. There must be a way to protect them and win at the same time. There must be.
But did they need protecting?
At what point do you stop pulling punches? Stop letting them live the lie and force them out of the cave?
Could they protect him?
He shook his head and looked again to the menu as if it held all his answers. It was better to think of what he should order instead of the temperature of logic. Did he want milk, skim milk, soymilk, organic milk, or no milk in his coffee? Did he want to add sugar, Splenda, Equal, or Sweet'N Low? Did he want syrup? There was a staggering array of flavors: cinnamon dolce, vanilla, hazelnut, toffee nut, almond, peppermint, juicy raspberry, and caramel. Now was that regular syrup, or sugar-free syrup? Did he want fewer than normal pumps of syrup, or perhaps extra pumps of syrup? What about foam?
How is it even possible to order a single drink with this boggling list of potential ingredients? It was a wonder Starbucks sold one cup, let alone one billion.
But they did.
Thousands of people everyday came in, made their selections, and went about their lives content. He shouldn't be any different—with either his coffee or his friends.
"Trouble deciding?" The Asian woman directly in front of him in line asked him as she pocketed the phone she had been sending a text message with. He gave her a quick once over; she wasn't a threat.
"They have an overwhelming menu," he conceded.
"That's why I found my favorite and get it every time. It's simpler that way." She spoke without even a hint of an accent. "Do you do the same?" She smiled up at him inviting further conversation.
He wasn't interested. "Yeah," he grunted. It may be simpler, but lacked a risk and reward payoff.
He turned away from her to the pastry case. It held scones crammed with chocolate chips and large sugar sprinkles, muffins packed with blueberries and calories, danishes slathered thick with cream cheese, fritters stuffed with apples, croissants chock-full of almonds, and coffee cake topped with crumbles and icing.
His stomach churned unpleasantly. Well, he knew he wouldn't be ordering any food. He hadn't eaten since the Golden Dragon takeout he'd wolfed down before Don showed up and didn't think he could force himself to eat again any time soon.
He'd live off coffee; that would be enough.
Did he want a tall, a grande, or a venti size? Should his coffee be from Latin America, from Africa, from Arabia, from the Asia Pacific region, or did he want a multi-regional blend?
Multi-regional concerns were what got him into the mess to begin with. The woman in front of him finished ordering (a sugar-free no-foam extra-hot vanilla latte) and he still had no clue what he wanted. The barista, dressed in a black apron with a three leaf symbol and the words Coffee Master splashed across it, turned her attention to him. "What would you like?"
Caffé latte, caffé Americano, mocha, macchiato, cappuccino, frappuccino—flippin' hell! He just needed coffee!
He shuffled forward, took his wallet out of his pocket, and as he opened his mouth to speak he spotted a brochure on the counter extolling the benefits of Fair Trade coffee. He eschewed the small farmer assistance, community development, and environmental stewardship bullet points and instead focused solely on one large calligraphy word—trade.
He'd been racking his brain for a move when he should have been searching how to exchange his pieces. Trade his shadow-spying orders for action, which necessitated revealing everything to his friends. And trusting them completely.
No holds barred.
He reached out and touched the brochure; it was slippery and slick, slippery like truth and slick like blood. He traced the curve of the script, fingerprints smudging the shiny surface. He could follow orders or make them; act instead of react. He could play the game instead of letting the game play him. His halo was already tarnished beyond repair, so it was long past time to drop the knight in shining armor suffering in silence mask.
"Sir?" the barista asked, snapping him out of his reverie.
The decision of what to drink seemed very petty now that he'd made a more important choice. "Something very strong," he replied. "I'm not picky about what it is."
Without batting an eyelash she rang up a venti latte with a fourth shot of espresso for him and asked for five dollars and ninety-five cents in change. He fumbled through his wallet and handed her a ten dollar bill.
He stuck the change he'd received into the tip cup. While he waited for his drink he snagged a coffee sleeve so he wouldn't burn his hands. He'd need an ace in the hole if he could turn himself into a player, he reflected. When he retrieved his latte is was indeed too hot to handle. He slipped the sleeve on, grateful for its protection.
Colby took a seat—back to the wall—and watched the other patrons enter, purchase their drinks, and leave. He had enough time for a scalding mouthful before Chen walked in.
They briefly made eye contact as the Consulate General took his place at the end of the line. Impeccably dressed—as always—Chen Kaj-Jan presented an image of a shrewd, sharp businessman; his currency was men instead of money.
It took approximately five minutes for Chen to advance to the front of the line and place his order. While he waited Colby proceeded to guzzle his latte. It was a great relief when the glorious caffeine hit his system. Despite the burned beans, the coffee really was quite good; he should go out for fancy Starbucks coffee more often. Enjoying the buzz, he watched Chen receive his drink and casually make his way to the door. Right before he opened it he casually flicked his gaze to Colby in an unmistakable command to follow.
Rising, he trailed Chen out the door and remained two steps behind the entire journey to the nearby park on 5th and Flower. He walked in the shadow of the Bonaventure hotel the whole way. Chen had seated himself on a wooden park bench and was sipping his drink seemingly without a care in the world.
"Good afternoon," the Consulate General greeted him formally when Colby entered hearing range.
"Afternoon," Colby replied, seating himself beside the man. "What is it you'd like to discuss?"
"The Janus List."
At least that was expected. If not welcome. "What about it?"
"Have you seen the list of names?"
"I am familiar with them," Colby said and took another swallow of his latte, his drink nearly empty. "Do you need me to smuggle a copy out for you?"
"No."
No? Westwood and Dolon weren't going to like that.
"Are you on it?" Chen asked with one eyebrow raised, testing him. Every conversation was a test with this man.
"I am."
He smiled. It wasn't pleasant. "It is good you do not lie to me."
"After everything I did to prove myself, after all the information I've delivered, you believe I'd play you false?"
"Not false, but I do wonder when your mercenary interests will take over. Men like you rarely turn state secrets because the whim strikes."
That rankled and he couldn't let it show. He'd accepted that he wasn't as pure as the driven snow, who was? But he had his principles: fidelity, bravery, integrity. To himself and his friends if not the men who ran the agency he worked for. Besides, it never snowed in Los Angeles; the palm trees across the park were proof enough of that. What he wouldn't give for a strong, proper Idaho pine tree. It took more than a puff of wind to make them rock.
"I do not require you to obtain the list because I already have it," Chen continued when Colby had been quiet for several heartbeats.
How was that possible? "You do?" Colby couldn't keep the surprise out of his voice.
"Last Saturday I received a letter at my private residence—not the Consulate—from Taylor Ashby," he explained. "It was most illuminating and in light of his recent activities—explosive. He wanted to broadcast his list of spies to the largest audience as possible and succeeded. Is your position secure with the other men you pretend to serve?"
"As secure as it has ever been."
"I will not trifle you with asking for the details of how you managed to evade your government. But to show my gratitude, I'd like to offer you a gift."
The strings attached to that gift must be a half a mile wide and long enough to tether him from Los Angeles across the ocean clear to Beijing. "Unlike Dwayne Carter, I don't believe you ever knew Ms. Kim," Chen commented.
"Michelle Kim? The former interpreter for the Chinese Consulate? That Ms. Kim?"
"Yes, that Ms. Kim. I'm impressed you remembered her."
How could he forget her? She'd slept with Dwayne so she could learn the identities of the federal witnesses scheduled to testify in the North Korea laser gyroscope case. "No, I never met her while she was alive." Where was this going?
"A pity. She was very… good at her job."
"I'm sure Dwayne enjoyed her company." Idiot couldn't keep it in his trousers.
"He did."
"She has a younger cousin," Chen said and looked away. Colby followed his line of site to the bench directly across from the one they were seated on.
The woman from the Starbucks line he'd met earlier had preceded them to the park. Her presence now and her conversation earlier hadn't been a coincidence. She was looking over at them—correction—her attention was exclusively focused on Colby. What was it with women throwing themselves at him today? She was less overt than Eva, but essentially it was the same thing.
He'd neglected it earlier, but he took a moment to profile her quickly, burning her image into his brain. She was younger—quite a bit younger—than he with flawless skin, a pert nose, and high cheekbones. Her wide eyes were decorated with smoky kohl, her lips were painted cherry red. Her long, waist length hair was a contrast to her petite frame. Her skirt revealed a generous portion of her thigh.
She was sex on a stick and he didn't even feel a stir of lust. She was one lollypop he didn't want. To Chen she was nothing more than chattel; the very concept sickened him.
"I don't need help finding women," Colby scoffed.
"Very well." Chen made a shoo sign—a quick flick of the wrist—and dismissed her. She rose from the bench and continued to walk along the park's path, never once tripping over her high, high heels. "You were always the one the Commander insisted was harder to break."
And Colby knew in that moment Dwayne had indeed transferred his loyalties to the Chinese—that's why Dolon and Westwood were unwilling to spring him from jail. He'd figured they'd been successful in their mission and procured the trust of the Chinese, but Dwayne must have cracked…given them something more.
"If it is not a woman you'd like, what may I offer you? Men? Money?"
Dwayne had fallen for that too. There wasn't anything that Chen could offer to purchase his loyalty, but he'd need to keep up appearances. "Safety." He managed not to choke on the request.
"Oh?"
"The palm trees and the Los Angeles smog no longer appeal to me. I've requested a transfer to the Beijing attaché office."
Chen cocked his head to the side and considered Colby as if he were buying a meal's worth of fine fish. "You would indeed be useful back home. There is no denying that."
Colby let out an exaggerated breath. "I was hoping you would say that."
"Your current position is tenuous at best and we are most upset about the fact Mr. Carter's transfer was delayed. Commander Ta-Ming Wang will be arriving in the United States before the week is over." Colby's blood ran cold. "When he arrives, I will bring the issue up with him."
"That's all I ask."
"However, your position, tenuous as it may be, is still useful. I have a personal request."
Colby spun his coffee cup in his hands. "Name it."
"In late November of 1992 the United States military conducted an operation known as Pandora." The hair on Colby's forearm stood on end. "I'd like the complete report and all details associated with it. Get this for me and I will do my utmost to ensure the Commander grants your request for a safe haven on Chinese soil."
"This may take me some time," he hedged.
"You have two days."
Chen got to his feet and he gave a mini bow of goodbye. "Remember spies die in wars, Lieutenant Granger. We live in dangerous, interesting times. I do believe that your safety for this information would be a fair and equitable exchange. Wouldn't you agree?"
He thought back to the coffee shop and smiled. "Yes, a fair trade."
"Until our next visit then."
Colby remained seated while the man walked away and drained the last of his now tepid coffee. As soon as Chen was out of his field of vision he got up and tossed his Starbucks cup into the nearby trash. His hands were shaky and he braced them on the lip of the can. He couldn't decide if it was the caffeine or the conversation that was causing it.
Watching the neatly arranged plot of palm trees start to sway, he decided it must be the caffeine.
Definitely too much caffeine.
-oOo-
"What did Claudia have to say?" Megan asked David when he returned to the bullpen after his visit to the morgue. Megan had been more than happy to leave that visit to David. The very thought of a morgue made her shiver. She'd never understand why anyone would voluntarily become a coroner.
"She had time to write up something very preliminary," he handed her a thin stack of papers. "See for yourself."
Megan had never liked all the medial jargon associated with such reports, and toxicology reports like this one had it in spades. Plus, she was getting too tired to read and retain the information. She tossed them onto her increasingly cluttered desk. "Give me the Cliff Notes version."
"There was a puncture mark on Markenson's right arm and Claudia suspects someone also shot him full of morphine. There was also some fluid in his lungs to support this. Combined with the Valium we found with the body, he had a very quiet passing. Did you find out why he had the prescription for the Valium in the first place?" David asked her dropping into his seat.
"According to the prescribing physician they were for anxiety."
"Anxiety?" he echoed.
"I'm not comforted by that fact either," she assured him. "I went digging for any sort of psychiatrist or psychologist who he might have been seeing in addition to,"—she consulted her notes—"Dr. Greengrass, but I haven't had any luck."
"Did you find a judge who'd issue a warrant for the hotel's clientele records?"
"We'll have them tomorrow at the earliest," Megan replied and tried not to frown at the thought of a delay. Her stomach rumbled and she wrapped her free arm about herself as if that would stop the noise.
"Hungry?" David asked, smiling.
"Obviously."
"Me too," he admitted.
She put her notes down and reached for her purse. "Want something from Sunshine's Deli downstairs? I'll make a quick trip."
"A sandwich, chips. Nothing fancy."
"Okay. I'll get something for Colby too." Before she could leave Dolon stormed into their area of the bullpen with all the unrestrained fury of a tropical cyclone.
"Have you had a break yet in locating Naomi Vaughn?" he asked, gruff and without preamble.
"Not yet," she admitted, but he didn't seem too interested in her answer.
"Where's Granger?"
"He went to the Bonaventure." Megan sidestepped the question.
He pointed to David, who'd attempted to busy himself with the FBI file for Naomi Vaughn. Dolon's eyes narrowed. "Sinclair's returned."
"Colby had a few things to wrap up with the hotel staff," she added.
"Then he was making a coffee run," David supplied. He shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with the half-truth.
"He should be back soon," she assured him. Hopefully.
"Call him for me?" Dolon asked Megan sharply. Almost as an afterthought added, "Please."
Megan tried not to let her eyes bulge as the man leaned against her desk and waited for her to carry out his request. "Uhh, sure." She set her purse down, reached for her desk phone, and quickly dialed Colby's number. It rang once, twice, again, and after the fourth tone the voice mail kicked in. Phone still up at her ear, listening to Colby's emotionless voice state he was away from his phone, she said, "It's gone straight to voic—"
Dolon motioned for her to hand him the phone. She offered it and he all but snatched it away. On pins and needles Megan watched as Dolon listened to the end of the recording. "Granger. This is Assistant Director Dolon. Report to the office as soon as you get this message. It is imperative that I speak with you." Dolon leaned into Megan's personal space and set the phone into its cradle.
"Perhaps his cell battery is dead?" Megan suggested. "We haven't had much chance to charge them lately."
"When he gets back I want to speak to him."
"I'll send him."
"Immediately." Dolon ordered and departed.
She looked to David and he shrugged. "He better return soon."
"I hope so."
"I'm not wild about what we just did."
"Me neither," she said and shouldered her purse for a second time. "But it was necessary."
"Was it?" he questioned.
"Do you care what kind of sandwich?" she asked, not about to ponder his philosophical question.
"Surprise me."
Megan wound her way through the labyrinth of office cubicles towards the elevator shaft. She punched the down arrow and waited for the car to reach the sixth floor. When the elevator doors opened Colby stepped out.
"Did you get Dolon's message?" she asked him.
"No, I've had my phone off." He reached into his pocket and turned it on. "You said the message is from Dolon?"
"Yeah, and he's about to lop off heads."
"Gotcha."
"Oh!" She'd nearly forgotten. Before she stepped into the waiting elevator she put her hand on Colby's shoulder. "Plug in your cell phone 'n charge it."
"Huh?" Colby asked confused. "It's charged."
"Just plug it in," Megan said and tilted her head in the direction of Dolon's office.
"Ahhhh," he drawled in understanding.
"Then go speak to Dolon. Quickly."
In the shrinking space between the closing elevator doors Megan watched as Colby walked away. He moved like a wounded warrior.
-oOo-
"Well, well, well. Isn't that interesting?" David mused as Megan returned from Sunshine's, hands full of brown paper bag. Colby had also returned from his private discussion with the Assistant Director and sat at his desk fidgeting with a pen as he pored over Claudia's preliminary reports.
"What'd you find?" Megan asked setting the bag of sandwiches, chips, and bottled water on her desk. She also stowed her purse in her desk drawer.
"Just a sec. Let me double check."
"Sure thing," she replied and started to unload the sandwich boxes and packages of chips onto her desk. "They were out of the BLT that you usually order," she mentioned to Colby.
"Don't worry about it. I'm not hungry," he said dismissively not bothering to look up from his reading.
"What did Dolon want?"
He marked his place on the page with his finger and looked up at her. "It was a short conversation. He wanted to know where Westwood disappeared to."
"Trouble in FBI-NSA relationship paradise?"
"Looks that way," he replied and returned to reading.
"Come and take a look at this," David interrupted them before Megan could return to the food issue.
David twisted around in his chair to face them. He lowered his voice, "Before you'd returned from driving Don home and Colby was still," his hand rolled in a come-on-you-know gesture, "not back. I called an ex-partner and asked her about what she knew of Dolon. Ter—"
"If she even so much as breathes a word, we're in deep trouble," Colby cut in, his expression pained.
Megan didn't think it was a terribly bright idea to involve anyone outside their core group, but she kept her mouth closed. Her two friends were still stewing in their own anger and since she told Don they'd need to talk it out, she better let them. Deliberately ignoring them she rooted the bottles of water out of the bag and put them next the food.
"She won't," David stated firmly.
"You can't be sure of that. Nobody can."
"Don't worry about it," David replied.
"I want you to appreciate the danger of the situation." Colby's already ragged patience was clearly fraying further.
"Charlie's gone. You think I don't?" David shot back.
"I think you should have told me before you involved anyone else."
"We've just covered for you with the Assistant Director and you want us to confirm every choice we make with you? You can't run this investigation as if you're God."
"I'm not…" Colby stuttered off guard. "David, you know me."
Neither David nor Colby saw it, but eyes and ears across the floor were starting to turn in their direction. Other agents, greedy for prime gossip fodder, started to slow as they passed their area. Colby's interrogation, arrest, and unprecedented release were stigmas he was going to have to live with for as long as he worked in the Bureau. A tarnished reputation would be deadly. Now that their continued argument was starting to draw attention from the nearby agents Megan would have no had no choice but to step in soon. Still, she hesitated, hoping she'd be more right than Don.
After a moment's pause David said, "No, I don't."
"How long is the fact that I didn't reveal a portion of my life to you gonna to stick in your craw?"
"I'd say a couple of days isn't all that long."
"Seems like this week has gone on for months," Colby muttered.
"If it'd been me I would have done things differently, that's all I'm saying."
Was she being too squeamish in bringing the hammer down upon them? She saw them more as friends and colleagues instead of subordinates, so the answer was yes. Stalling for a moment longer, she unscrewed one of the bottles of water and took a swing of cold water.
Colby's smile twisted. "Be careful what you wish for, David."
Megan pulled in a deep breath and prayed she'd do half as decent job as Don would. "You two are arguing in circles," she stated firmly, putting the water bottle on her desk with a thump.
Both men jerked up at the sound of her voice as if they'd forgotten she was there. They probably had. "This is not the place. I'm the one running this investigation. Remember?" They had the decency to look a little bit guilty. "Whether it be choice or chance, what's done is done," she continued. "David, do you really trust this person?"
"Don would trust her," David assured her.
"This isn't about trust," Colby muttered. Megan bit her lip to keep from screaming at the top of her lungs.
"Yes it is," David countered. "Either you trust us, or you don't. Either we do this, or we don't. This can't work any other way."
Megan watched as anger, frustration, and finally resignation played across Colby's face. She stopped worrying her lip when he swallowed and nodded curtly.
Colby backed away and sunk into his desk chair across the way. "I'm sorry, I keep falling back into old patterns," he admitted.
"Go on, then," Megan urged David. "What did you find?"
"I called Terry Lake to tell her about Charlie because she'd have liked to have known. And then I asked—I didn't tell her any of what we suspected—if she knew anything about an NSA agent named Markenson. And then because he's out here I asked about Dolon too. She's in D.C. It's a small world."
"You figured we could use the grapevine instead of having it use us," Megan said wryly.
"Exactly."
"She'd never heard of Markenson and I specifically didn't mention Westwood," David made a point of telling Colby. "Her impression of Dolon was illuminating. Seems he's not in the Director's or the Deputy Director's good graces at the moment. His abrupt departure to come out here also raised more than a few eyebrows. I mentioned the phone call conversation because it got me thinking about his past and how he advanced to the top of food chain.
"For the past hour I've been reviewing some of the information about Naomi Vaughn we wouldn't have been interested in when we took her into private custody last Friday. This is a list of her past residences." Megan and came up behind David and peered at his computer screen. The list of residences was long: Baltimore, Maryland; Alexandria, Virginia; New Delhi, India; London, England; Boston, Massachusetts; New York, New York; Chicago, Illinois; Freetown, Sierra Leone; Washington, D.C.; Los Angeles, California. "She's moved around a lot, but this was what caught my eye." David tapped his finger on the screen on top of the words Alexandria and Virginia.
"I'm not following," Megan admitted. A quick glance at Colby showed he was just as perplexed, brow furrowed. He wasn't making any sense of David's find either.
David toggled the information displayed on his screen and the profile of Naomi Jennifer Vaughn was replaced by one of Michael Arthur Dolon. "The Assistant Director also lived in Alexandria, Virginia at the same address for a period of several months fifteen years ago."
"When?" Colby asked leaning forward in his chair.
"May '92 to December '92. I've double and tripled checked the dates and addresses. They match," David asserted.
Colby whistled through his teeth.
In the past two conversations Megan had had with Dolon the first thing out of his mouth had been to ask about Naomi Vaughn. A long lost love in danger would cloud one's emotions. "If they had a personal relationship that explains why the Assistant Director ordered Don to have us keep her quiet," Megan deduced aloud.
"And why he's been on edge since she was taken," David added.
"Don't be so sure about that. Can I take a look?" Colby asked and got up to examine the data David had on his screen. Obliging him David scooted to the left.
Over on her desk Megan's cell started to ring shrilly. "Megan Reeves," she said answering her phone.
"Megan, can you talk?" Don asked on the other end.
"Don," she said trying not to let exasperation seep in. Both David and Colby looked over their shoulders. "I promised I'd call if we had news."
"I know," he admitted. "It just that when I got home I found—"
"We're in the middle of something right now," she cut him off. "I don't have time to talk."
"Will you listen to me?" Don nearly yelled, frustrated.
In the background she could hear several excited voices talking over each other. "Do I hear Larry in the background?"
"You do," he confirmed. "I'd put him on if you'd be more receptive to him."
Her stomach growled again. "That's not necessary."
"Thank you. I know you're busy, so I'll be quick. Ashby sent me a letter and a disk at the house. Stupid that I didn't open it earlier, things might be different if I'd've…." Don trailed off realizing that he was starting to ramble. He cleared his throat and started over. "Amita has just started to decrypt some of the data we've found on the disk. You three need to see it. He's left us another message and another code."
"Another code?" Megan grabbed the edge of her desk for support.
"Yeah."
"Alright," she sighed, "it'll take us a few hours, but we'll get over there as soon as possible."
"That's all I ask," Don said.
"See you soon," she replied and he cut the connection.
"What was that about?" David asked her as soon as she'd snapped her phone shut.
"Ashby sent Don a letter," she said and then recapped the rest of their brief conversation. "I told him we'd come over as soon as possible," she concluded.
David nodded. "It'll also be a good time to talk about the things we can't talk about here."
Colby grunted his agreement, but he was more focused on Naomi Vaughn's file. Megan watched Colby take his jittery hands and ball them into fists.
Nobody seemed eager to continue the conversation so Megan broke the silence with a safe topic. "David, is your surprise going to be ham and swiss, chicken salad, or turkey?" she asked, holding up each sandwich box as she named them.
"Ham."
She handed him the box lunch. "Colby?"
"I snagged something while I was out. I'm fine." Colby said, but slid his eyes away from her and back to David's computer before he'd finished speaking.
"You sure?"
"I'm sure. I'm not all that hungry."
She didn't believe him for a split second, but didn't push it. Megan removed the chicken salad sandwich from its wrappings and David opened his bag of chips. "So," David said around a mouthful of Sun Chips, "it looks like Dolon has a personal interest in assuring Naomi Vaughn is recovered alive."
"I'd imagine so," Megan said and then took a bite of her own lunch.
"No, he wants her dead," Colby said. The words were hushed, but he brokered no opposition.
She choked on her sandwich and coughed. He couldn't be serious!
"You can't know that for sure," David stated as Megan tried to soothe her coughs with a fresh swallow of water.
"What'd you think my conversation with him was about?" Turning away from them Colby left for the safety of the kitchen. "I'm gonna brew another pot of coffee."
-oOo-