The Export J.K. Kelly (best way to read e books .TXT) 📖

office that there was no way the U.S. State Department could explain away, hide, or spin what had happened. The staffers at the Embassy and the higher-ups on both sides of the ocean knew there was nothing they could do other than go public and admit that an unfortunate situation had occurred. But at Matt’s suggestion, history was rewritten that night, slightly, and those who had cared for one or all of the Wilkersons agreed to play along.

The official story would be that Ray, the troubled youth who was now crazed on drugs, had shot his parents and then himself. With everyone in agreement, all that Matt needed next was to have Hadden erase the CCTV drive that had recorded the incident. Evidence and the bodies were moved slightly under the guise that life-saving measures had been tried but to no avail.

The remains of the three family members, along with a few of Matt’s belongings, would be flown home to Texas for burial. The homicide division of the Moscow Police conducted a preliminary investigation of the scene, interviewed the witnesses, and concluded very quickly, as Matt had hoped, that this had been a murder-suicide. They had expressed their frustration that the typically good CCTV cameras had failed to capture the act, but with all witnesses and physical evidence lining up, they were left with nothing more to pursue.

Hadden and Terry had agreed to his suggestion and on Dale’s insistence that he not be involved. He wasn’t in the room. The fog of the situation had left the staff stunned, and not one person ever mentioned seeing him with the Wilkersons in the office that morning. Late that night, once the bodies had been cleared to be flown home by the U.S. government to the military mortuary at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware, Matt and his two Marines sat quietly in the residence’s kitchen and drank beer and vodka.

“What’s next for you?” Hadden asked after finishing off his six-pack of imported Budweiser. Matt wondered. Dale had suggested he spend a few days there to decompress, but the circumstances, from that first night he was assaulted until earlier today when he watched a family die, made him want to get out of there with the sunrise.

“I still feel the need to take care of Misha,” he stated, staring into his own collection of beer bottles and shot glasses. “I was supposed to meet her at four today in Red Square but texted her I needed to reschedule. By now, she has no doubt read the news about what’s happened here.”

“Screw her – they did,” Terry said in an angry tone, his words slurred by his own dose of alcohol. “I can’t believe they are all dead, all three of them.” Matt stared at Terry. While he himself was known for being inappropriate more often than not, Matt thought he was out of line and debated whether to address that with him there on the spot. All things considered, as drunk as they all were, and that Matt might still have a target on him in Moscow, he opted to keep his thoughts to himself. Instead, he gave them both his thoughts on lending a helping hand.

“From what I was told, she was just a young, naïve girl from a poor part of Moscow, and her family was very proud of her when she landed the job at the Embassy.”

Hadden chimed in, “So far, so good.”

“When she started to fall for a co-worker, a good-looking kid from America, she got swept up in the family’s bullshit. Whether Ray’s good-looking, powerful, and charismatic father who showered her with gifts and cash, impressed or intimidated her, she got screwed, and in more ways than one, Marine!” he said, staring at Terry. So much for keeping my thoughts to myself, he thought. Terry’s body language stiffened. It didn’t take Matt’s expertise to notice that. Hadden noticed too, and he quickly tried to diffuse the situation.

“She got the shitty end of the stick, that’s clear,” Hadden offered. “We all realize that, even Terry here will once he sleeps this one off.” He looked to his buddy, who continued to stare at Matt but was quickly distracted by the beer and vodka shot Hadden slid in front of him.

“If you’re ever in a fight, this is the guy you want to have your back,” Hadden went on. “He’s got a big heart, though he just has trouble managing his temper every now and then.” All three men took a swig of beer and downed a shot.

“Can I let you in on a little secret, Mr. Fix-It?” Hadden asked. Matt nodded.

“That night you arrived, the ambassador was infuriated that the secretary had asked the DNI to send someone to fix his mess.”

Then Terry chimed in. “Yeah, it was Wilkerson who sent the two off-duty thugs to rough you up at the Sheraton. He wanted to scare you off.”

Hadden continued the story. “But guess who called them off?” Matt stared at them both. He didn’t have a clue, and he told them so.

“Sarah Sinclair Wilkerson, the coolest woman I’ve ever met, told her husband to call off his Russian dogs, or she would leak the Misha problem they were having to the press,” Terry stated. “And she meant it.”

Matt thought through what he had just been told. He debated cursing the ambassador but instead thought of something that would tie them together and help close out what he hoped would be his last night in Russia for some time. He poured both Marines a shot and raised his glass for a toast.

“To Sarah Wilkerson, a great lady from the great state of Texas!” With the three shots downed and the glasses brought down hard on the table, Matt got up to leave and thanked his fellow Americans for their help over the last few days.

“So that said, do you think it’s safe for me to go to Red Square tomorrow myself, or do I need a few bodyguards?” he