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

be, so we can’t be sure of your arrangement anymore. Second, someone has most certainly painted a big target on your head, and perhaps on the head of anyone related to you or to any of your recent assignments.”

Matt shook his head.

“So, you’re saying I should call the president and ask him to make me the DNI?”

She stared at Matt as if she wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“No, I think until we get a much better handle on this, you should lay low. Low, as in, get the eff out of the country low. Use one of your aliases. Go somewhere crowded, where it will be harder for someone to notice the lone American.”

“Run – you want me to run?” he protested.

“No. Take time to assess the situation. Lay out an action plan, and then execute it with the fury I know you have boiling inside of you right now.” She got up from her seat and made herself another coffee, then gave Matt a hard time for eating her last donut. But she still seemed puzzled by something.

“Matt, I don’t get one part of this whole thing.”

“And that is?”

“If the coroner said Helene died of a heart attack and the subsequent fall, and there were no signs of foul play, and her security team, who she liked and trusted … why did you pull a blood sample? Why the secrecy?”

Once he told her about the turquoise ring and the arrangement he and Coleman had made, she understood.

“Two more things, Claire,” he said, not hiding the urgency of the situation, “please get your team to check the CCTV in the area around the dock bar, my boat, and your building. If these guys made the mistake of getting their images captured, we might have a solid lead to pursue.”

Dale agreed and began typing an email to one of her metro police department contacts. To them, they’d be looking for two suspects and nothing more.

“You said two. What was the second thing you needed?”

Matt thought for a moment. Everything had happened so fast tonight. What was it, what was the other thing? he asked himself. Then it came back to him.

“Ask the cops when they’re reviewing the CCTV to find me at the dock bar around one in the morning. I was wearing this shirt and talking with a blonde in a Nationals t-shirt. I ordered a drink, and that’s the last thing I remember. I need to know if she was involved and how I got from my barstool to the boat.”

“Jäger?” she asked. “I’ll bet it was friggin’ Jäger. You always get into trouble with that stuff!”

He smiled innocently and shrugged his shoulders.

A knock at the door let Dale know that the FBI security team she’d texted had now arrived. Both she and Matt could relax a bit, for now. That is, if she could be sure they were on her side.

Armed, plainclothes men and women were dispatched to read a newspaper or play on their phones in the lobby, in the underground parking garage, and in the perimeter around the condo building. They would ensure Dale’s safety, as best anyone could, and get her to the FBI building later that morning. For Matt, who refused any help, his game plan was set. It was time for him to get moving. The robe he had changed into while Dale ran his clothes through the dryer was tossed on her bed. When he came back into the living room, he smiled at the steaming hot mug of coffee waiting for him on the counter. Or so he thought.

Dale walked past and grabbed the drink. “Back off, buddy, that’s mine.”

The two went over the plan once more. Then it was time for Matt to get moving. Suddenly something he’d neglected to do hit him. He swore under his breath. “Claire, give me your phone. I’ve got to warn Charlie,” he said in an urgent tone. Then, “Shit, all his numbers are in my dead phone!”

“Never mind. I’ve got them.” Dale went to her laptop and typed in MI5. Before long, she was on the phone, as an FBI official, asking for Charlie Chaste’s office. Once she reached him, she asked how he was and then handed the phone to Matt. Relieved to hear his friend’s voice, Matt went over what had happened and urged him to watch his back, front, and every possible direction. Someone related to Sinclair was surely after him, too.

“No worries, my friend,” Charlie assured him. It took a lot to ruffle this Brit.

“I’ll be on the lookout here. And for Christ’s sake, stay the hell away from the water for a while. Yes?” After a few more exchanges, Charlie signed off, and Matt drew a deep breath of relief.

Another knock at the door announced the arrival of one of the FBI techs, delivering a new, secure iPhone for Matt as well as two disposable burner phones that he could use and discard without a trace anywhere in the world. She also delivered his suitcase and backpack, filled with jeans, t-shirts, his hiking shoes, toiletries, and a variety of his passports and identity cards. He searched through the bags but failed to come up with the final items he’d hoped to see.

“No hiking gear?” he protested. The aide shrugged her shoulders.

“Buy some as needed,” Dale answered. “It’s time to get moving.”

Matt thanked the aide and closed the door behind her, then turned to face Dale for what he thought might possibly be the last time. There she was again, gun in hand.

“Take this, I have plenty,” she demanded, holding the Glock and shoulder holster with two extra clips out for him to take.

There was no reason to push back. He needed a weapon, and the gun safe in his condo was the last place he wanted to go right now. He quickly changed into a pair of jeans and replaced his sneakers with the hiking shoes and socks. He slid the holster into place and then put