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

so clear Matt could still hear that voice, still feel the terror and helplessness of being bound and gagged, pushed into the Potomac, drawing water into his burning lungs.

It was everything Matt could do to not jump up and beat the man to death. But with cameras rolling, that was not an option, especially on foreign soil. Matt had to reach deep and stay in control of his emotions. Taking a seat in the chair across from Matt, Allan extended his hand, but Matt shook his head.

“Got a bit of a cold,” he said, “best not.”

Allan shrugged. “No problem. As Commander Erickson has already informed you, we just want to ask a few questions for the record. Then we can sort this all out. Okay with you?”

Matt nodded. He was struggling to stop himself from leaping across the table and driving his thumbs into the asshole’s eyes. “Yep. Ask away.”

Allan pushed a red button on the table and instructed the control room to begin recording the interview. He introduced himself and then read from Matt’s passport his full name, FBI ID number, noted the weapon designation, read a list of the three weapons Matt had checked in at security on arrival there, and then began the review. He repeated, verbatim, everything Erickson had relayed about their conversation upstairs. So much so that Matt wondered to himself if Charlie’s office had been bugged.

“Yep, that’s correct,” Matt stated. “Have you found Charlie yet?”

Allan shook his head. “No, but that’s a perfect segue, so thank you for teeing that up for me. Right, so let’s talk a bit about Charlie Chaste and the last time you were here in London. You met with Chaste a few times and also with a Billy Rogers. Is that correct?”

Matt smiled and nodded. At Allan’s prodding, he answered aloud. “Yes.”

To Matt’s surprise, Allan then put on the record a great deal of information that Matt had shared with Billy, the PTSD Royal Marine. “You were here to recruit him to join the CIA?”

“That’s classified,” Matt responded.

“We’ll take that as a yes.”

Matt suddenly realized what was happening here. He sat forward and looked to the left and then to the right of Allan into the one-way mirror behind him. He then turned in his chair and slowly looked at the one-way mirror behind him, careful to not change his expression. Finally, he resumed his position. They’re going to pin Sinclair’s and Billy’s deaths on Charlie, he thought. And use me as a witness to prosecute him for two murders.

“You are no doubt aware that Thomas Sinclair and his nephew were found dead in Sinclair’s condo not far from here?”

And this piece of shit was in Sinclair’s collection of bad actors, Matt thought.

“Actually, I do remember seeing something about that. It was on the news either late at night or very early in the morning. I can’t remember.”

“Did you have any part in the double murders?” Allan pressed.

“No,” Matt said in a calm tone.

“You do realize we are recording the audio and video of this as well as monitoring your facial expressions and temperature for changes that would indicate a lie?”

“Sure do,” Matt responded.

“Did you or Charlie Chaste have anything to do with the deaths of Thomas Sinclair and Billy Rogers?” Allan sat forward and peered at Matt as if he was sure Matt was lying and knew that the lies would be captured for all to see, including a jury, the FBI, the CIA, and the media.

Had an American operator worked with a rogue MI5 official to gun down one of the most powerful men in British politics and industry and his crippled nephew, a decorated, war-torn military man in a staged murder-suicide?

“Not to my knowledge,” Matt responded. His eyes locked on Allan’s. Matt could see his cool and calm demeanor was getting to the interviewer, the man who had tried to kill him.

“Now, can I ask you a question or two, Mr. Allan?” Matt suggested. The interrogator sat back in his chair and began to read through his written notes.

“Certainly.”

“Why did you and Billy Melville try to kill me in Washington?”

“What? That’s absurd.” The man’s eye twitched, and his facial color changed ever so slightly. To the untrained, the shift might not be obvious, but Matt saw the subtle flush of blood to Allan’s face. “What in the world would make you think that?”

“Last question, I promise. Did you have anything to do with Charlie’s disappearance?” Allan sat there, a look of amazement spreading across his face.

“This is absurd, what are you trying to pull here? You’re the one being investigated, not me.”

*

In the control room facing Matt, Erickson had what he needed. The two techs hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary with the interviewee, but what they saw from their own man, Bruce Allan, concerned them. He was lying, flat out. There was no doubt about it.

“Stop recording,” Erickson directed them, and once he saw that they had, he instructed them to take a 10-minute break in the lounge down the hall. There was a long pause before anyone moved. “Okay, move along now. I’ll come get you when we’re ready to proceed,” he told them and then followed them out.

A buzzer sounded inside Room 4, and Erickson walked in.

He looked at Allan with disdain, shook his head in disgust, and then turned his attention to the American.

Matt had no idea what would happen next. Who would Erickson side with?

“He’s all yours,” Erickson said after a moment. “Find out what they did with Charlie, and then do what you want with him.” The Brit turned back to the door, and a second later closed it behind him. The clack of an exterior lock sounded.

Matt stood up, shoved the table out of his way, and charged Allan.

The man might have been well trained in physical combat, but Matt excelled at it, and fueled by the knowledge that this animal had tried to kill him, and most probably killed his friend, he let him have it. Allan