Part 7 (1/2)
”Creepy?” Diaz asked, without looking up from the writing tablet.
”Not exactly what I was going for, Frank,” Grant responded. ”But close enough.”
He dropped the photo on the table, while Adler watched him, wondering why there hadn't been more of a reaction.
Grant sipped the coffee, then went near the two men. ”Well, what've you got for me?”
”Besides an apology, boss?” James asked.
The phone rang. ”That might be Scott,” Grant said, walking to the side table. ”Stevens.”
”Grant, got some info for the Camaro, but don't know if it's gonna help.”
”I'm listening.”
”I eliminated anything registered outside D.C., or owned by females. I came up with eight. Any idea on how to get that figure down?”
”Eliminate any registered to drivers under the age of twenty.”
”Hold on.” Mullins slid his finger down the page. ”We're down to five. Now what?”
”Wait a minute. I know I may be reaching here, but if those weapons weren't aboard that chopper when it went down, that means they were brought someplace or . . .”
”Or what?!”
”Listen, can you do a cross-reference?”
”Depends.”
”Cross-reference that Camaro with another vehicle.”
”So you're thinking two vehicles, same owner?”
”Yeah. But here's the thing. We--I mean you need to check SSNs and see if that 'owner' is still alive.”
Mullins dropped his pen on the desk and rocked back in his chair. ”Some day I want you to explain how you come up with this s.h.i.+t!”
”Practice, my friend. Practice!”
”Do you want me to fax what I've got in the meantime?”
”Do it.”
Mullins rolled his chair near the end of the credenza, put the paper in the fax machine, and punched in the phone number. ”Okay. It's on its way. Anything else?”
”Two things.”
”Why do I ask?” Mullins said shaking his head.
”Check with the Coast Guard; see if any more debris was found from that chopper--any debris. Before you do that, I'd like you to contact the President. I want to bring Grigori in on this.”
”Whoa, Grant! This is top secret s.h.i.+t! You promised the President. . .”
”I know what I promised! I have no intention of telling Grigori everything unless the President gives the okay. But Grigori could be our best shot at tracking down this guy. Maybe he has 'insider' details, since he used to be KGB. The Russians have gotta have at least one safe house here. Grigori might know where it is.”
”Do you want to speak with the President directly?”
”If he has the time. Oh, one more thing. Did you check on a Russian plane at Dulles?”
”There's an Antonov registered to the emba.s.sy.”
”That's all I need for now.”
”Hang close to the phone, Grant” Mullins said. ”It shouldn't take me long to touch base with the President.”
Grant hung up, then reached for the fax Adler was handing him, as Adler asked, ”Don't you think the odds are pretty remote that one of those names belongs to our guy?”
”Gotta start somewhere, Joe.” He took the fax to Diaz. ”Frank, you and DJ take a look at these. Maybe you can plan the best and shortest routes to each of those addresses. Scott's supposed to call back with info that might shorten your trip. And you'd better take DJ's car.”
”Copy that, boss,” Diaz said, taking the paper. ”How long before you want us to leave?”
Grant checked his watch. ”I'll give Scott a half hour.”
Diaz nodded, then said, ”C'mon, DJ. I'll treat ya to a cup of coffee and donut.”
As the two started to walk around Grant, he blocked their path, pacing back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck. Should he take a chance, whether it was legal or not? Desperate times call for desperate measures. ”Listen, get the shotgun mike. Once you're through looking for the Camaro, set up somewhere close to the emba.s.sy again.”
Diaz and James shot glances at each other, before James responded, ”Whoa, boss! You sure?!”
Grant leaned closer, nearly coming toe to toe with James. ”Are you having a hard time hearing. . . or just understanding?!”
James threw his hands up. ”Okay! Okay! I copy!” The two turned away, mumbling as they walked down the hall, going to the garage.
”Dammit!” Grant said through gritted teeth, as he started toward the kitchen.
Adler followed him. ”Now do you want to talk about that picture?”
Grant refilled the mug then shoved a box of donuts across the counter toward Adler. ”I've seen him before.”
”Well, of course you have! Every time you look in the d.a.m.n mirror!”
”Joe! I said I've seen him before! Why am I not being understood?!”
”Jesus! What the h.e.l.l's your problem?!” Adler shot back.
”My problem?! Oh, let's see. There's a traitor and mole on the loose. We're missing top secret weapons. Now I have to inform the President about the mole. And I don't have a f.u.c.kin' clue which direction to go! Is that problem enough, Joe?!”
Time to defuse the tension. Adler shoved the box of donuts back at Grant. ”Here! How about some extra sugar to turbocharge your brain even more!”
Grant kept staring at his good friend, slowly getting himself back under control. With an almost indiscernible smile, he asked, ”Where were we?”