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

or so to give you all her info and arrange for everything,” Matt told the man.

“No need to, Matt, “ the director responded. “She pre-arranged everything over a year ago. She said she never knew where in the world you’d be, so she laid everything out in detail so you wouldn’t have to. She’ll be cremated according to her wishes, and you can pick up the remains, or we can deliver them to you tomorrow if that’s what you would prefer.” Matt smiled, as did Sam. That was the way she did things, so she wouldn’t be a bother.

“That’s fine, I’ll call to let you know.” Matt shook the director’s hand, and then he and Sam walked through the house, out onto the rear deck, and waited patiently for the man and his assistant to do their job. Once the director came through to let them know he was finished and they were leaving, Matt led Sam into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out two beers.

“Tonight, let’s toast her memory.”

Sam protested in a whisper, waved off the beer, and turned the water spigot on again. “I’m still working, and you need to get into town and get that sample mixed with preservatives.”

“They still have the lab on Main Street?”

“Yes, but they’ll be closing in two hours,” Sam said as he checked his watch. “Will you need any help with a diversion, or do you still have what it takes to steal a few syringes?”

Matt smiled but then led Sam back outside. “I sure can,” he answered. “Once I get that done, I’ll come back here to see if they’ve left any bugs so we can stop whispering.”

“There’s really something going on here, isn’t there?”

Matt didn’t answer, but Sam probably knew him well enough and also knew of his role as an operative for the intelligence services. Coleman had shared that information with him, as much as she could, years before.

The two shook hands and agreed to meet later that night for dinner in town. After Sam drove off, Matt walked the house, room by room, looking for anything out of the ordinary. The domestic and ranch staff had been given the rest of the day off but would return the next morning to clean up after the men and women who had slept there during their stay. They’d want to make the home like new for its new owner.

One ranch hand, a 25-year-old retired Marine who also grew up in the area, would remain on-site to feed the horses and keep an eye on things. Despite the injuries he’d suffered in Iraq to his mind and to both his legs, Coleman had told Matt this young Travis was trustworthy and capable and that’s all she had needed to say. He’d keep his distance from Matt and the main house out of respect and remain in his cabin near the horses. The staff all knew Matt and were aware that Coleman had left him the property, all 111 acres of it. They probably knew its value, too – something just over $34 million.

Setting the alarm and locking the heavy oak door behind him, Matt sat down in his rental car, felt for the syringe to make sure it was still safely in his pocket, and began to drive down the gravel road toward town.

He stopped, watching a small group of elk walk across the large field to his right and wondered aloud, “Why the hell would he have referred to her as an old goat?”

The reference from the last operation Matt had been assigned in Russia, the ring on the wrong finger, a call from the White House, and a blood sample that might answer the most important question. Had someone just killed the nation’s director of national intelligence and done it on U.S. soil, in the security of her own home?

Before Matt had made it into town, Sam gave him a call to let him know that he had already stopped at the firehouse and raided an ambulance’s stash of syringes and sample retainers. They agreed to meet out on Route 191, in the parking lot across from the National Elk Refuge.

“This feels like a drug deal,” Sam laughed as he handed the white plastic bag of medical supplies through his patrol vehicle window to Matt, who smiled but didn’t comment.

“Thanks, Sam, see you tonight,” was the best he could muster.

In no time Matt was back at the Coleman ranch, disarmed the alarm system and went into the powder room, just inside the front entrance, to split the blood sample from the Narcan syringe into two sterile test tubes. They contained preservatives that would help maintain the material’s integrity. The first he would ship in the morning via FedEx to the FBI headquarters in D.C. The second he would hold onto until he could get it back to Washington and personally hand it to Dale if needed. Either way, she would have it logged in as a John Doe blood specimen and have it analyzed quickly by the FBI lab.

Once the stoppers were placed on the test tubes, Matt shook them for ten seconds to ensure the preservatives were mixed as well as possible. He then went into the kitchen and placed one tube inside the refrigerator. The other he hid behind a cookbook above the sink. As long as he kept the domestic staff out of the fridge until he headed home, he knew, or at least hoped, it would be safe.

Having had just a few hours of sleep the night before, and been unable to sleep on the flights he took to get there, Matt chugged a bottle of water and then lay down on one of the massive brown leather sofas that bookended the living room fireplace. Seconds later, his eyes opened. He got up and reset the alarm system, monitoring the doors and windows but allowing motion within the home.

He then walked into Coleman’s study, looked around, and smiled at the photos she had