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

“No, officers, I can’t. We can’t,” she responded. “This man is a confidential operative working for the FBI. That’s all you or any of the detectives who might have questions will be allowed to know.”

“Okay, do you two feel safe here now to sort this all out, or do you want us to stay here with you, or in the hall, or down in the lobby? When our captain heard FBI, he instructed us to help you however needed.”

“Coffee, Claire, I need coffee,” he interrupted, and that made her laugh. She laughed so hard she snorted and then laughed even harder. Matt smiled at her and then at the cops, who were surprised by his request and then her behavior.

“It’s nervous laughter,” Matt offered. “She still loves me,” he continued with a smile. After she regained control of her emotions and apologized, she asked if they could at least leave a patrol car in front of the building’s entrance.

“Better to park out back,” Matt chimed in. “These guys are pros and would come in that way – if they are still coming.” The policemen wished the couple a safe night and confirmed that two of them would indeed remain on watch until their shift change at eight in the morning.

Matt showed them to the door. Before they left, he asked the two cops who were first on-scene for their cards.

“I’ll want to buy you guys a steak dinner sometime soon, to thank you.”

With two D.C. police department business cards in hand, Matt closed the door behind them. After a second, he quickly reopened it and called out in a soft voice to them. “Keep your eyes open and watch your six.”

They nodded and then stepped into the elevator. When Matt turned his attention back to Dale, he found her standing behind him, gun in hand. She placed her 9mm Glock 17 on the counter as she walked into the kitchen to make coffee and sit down to go over every detail of the incident. When Matt followed her in, collecting the gun along the way, he told her what had been whispered to him on the dock. That stopped her cold.

“The friends of Thomas Sinclair send their regards,” he repeated, even adding an English accent for effect.

Dale picked up her cell and texted a message to FBI headquarters. She pulled out a chair from the kitchen table, sat down, and gestured for Matt to join her. He was too revved up to sit. He needed to brief her, develop a plan, and then find and kill the two who had just ruined his evening. He looked through her cabinets for food. Coming up with only a stale chocolate donut, he smiled at her as he chomped it to bits.

“Okay, FBI, give me your 30-second summary of what’s happened so far.” She nodded, thought for a few moments, and then laid it out.

“So, we send you to London to help MI5 with a case, and one of the most influential, most notorious businessmen in the UK winds up dead. His nephew, too. It’s reported as a murder-suicide, but many think that could never have happened.”

Matt nodded.

“Then you come home, and we send you off to Canada where the troublemaker we sent you to babysit–”

“Or clean up after,” Matt interjected.

“Right. He winds up dead. Seemingly by his own hands. Correct so far?”

Matt nodded again.

“Next, you’re onboard a transatlantic jet that has an incident onboard and is forced to land in Iceland. They blamed it on a cleaning solution left open.”

Matt stopped her there. “But I always wondered if there was more to it. So, hopefully, the team you put on it chases the facts down soon.”

“Okay, next, once you get home, I get news that Helene has been found dead in her home out west, and you fly out there straight away.” Matt nodded that she had it right so far. Dale looked at him, knowing him as well as she did, and gestured with her hand for more information. “Your turn, flipper,” she said, alluding to his late-night swim. “What else is there?”

Matt finished his coffee and then went to work on the Keurig for more.

He kept his back turned to her while the coffee quick-brewed. He trusted her more than anyone at this point. But would she be safer if he kept her out of it from here? He debated the pros and cons, the intel and assets at her disposal, but with the sudden death of the DNI, his aunt, and this attempt on his life, maybe he should distance himself from her for her own safety. Or, did he need her for protection and help? He turned and smiled at her lovingly.

“It’s nice having friends with benefits,” he said and then laid out the rest of the details. He told her about the blood samples, his reconnection with Sam Horton, the president’s condolence call, and his referring to her as a tough old goat. He told her of Wilkerson’s blackmailer’s email address, the Staryy Kozel, yet another reference to an old goat.

Claire listened, but she still wanted more. “I’m waiting for the bombshell because I know you’re getting ready to make this really interesting. What have you left out?”

“Just that Ambassador Wilkerson’s wife, Sarah, her maiden name is Sinclair. And it turns out, and I know this because she volunteered it to me, that she had a cousin, a distant one, who killed himself in London recently. Then I’m in the room when she gets killed in Moscow, and I’m tied up like a barbeque pig and dumped head-first in the river with the name Sinclair whispered in my ear.”

Claire was trying to process it all. She was good, very good, at investigations and unraveling things. But this mess, looked at objectively, as if circling from above, made her think there were two things very clear here.

“First, with Helene gone, I have no idea who the next DNI will