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“They’re bureaucrats, Emily,” I said. “Bureaucrats by nature aren’t the deepest of thinkers, or they wouldn’t be bureaucrats. I’ll tell you, the first thing I’m going to do after I contact Eardley’s family is urge them to get a lawyer to sue the crap out of the Air Force and find out what the hell happened.”
“You know what, Mike?” Emily said, drumming her fingers on the wheel. “Is it possible to hold off contacting the family one more day?”
“I guess I could ask the Medical Examiner to delay a little longer,” I said. “But I want to get a move on so that Eardley’s family can have a real burial. Why? What are you thinking?”
“That Air Force robo-witch was an ass, but Chris Milne truly is good people,” Emily said. “Give him some time.”
“Okay, Emily. I’ll delay it a couple of days, but I won’t hold my breath,” I said, as she finally gave me a peck on the cheek good-bye.
Chapter 16
A minute later I almost bumped into a handsome ponytailed college kid in jeans and a plaid shirt, playing the classical violin on the polished marble floor of the stunning Beaux Arts station.
Normally, positive things like classical music and grand architecture put a smile on my face, but I guess I wasn’t in the mood. After my encounter with its power, the majestic polish of DC had really left a bad taste in my mouth. Like the robotic Air Force colonel’s office, it was pleasant but seemed all veneer. Just something nice and distracting to look at while who-the-heck-knew-what went on behind the scenes.
My train wasn’t due to leave for another half hour, so I decided to do some shopping. I was in the upper mezzanine level of the station in a cool old-fashioned general store called Union General, buying some gifts for the kids, when a woman bumped into me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, reaching down and picking up a plastic bag off the floor. Gray-haired and middle-aged, she wore green nursing scrubs. “Here, sir. You dropped something.”
“No, you’re mistaken, ma’am. That’s not mine,” I said.
“You dropped this,” she said again, and gave me a look. Then she turned and quickly left the store without looking back.
What the—? I stared after the woman as she disappeared into the crowd.
Inside the bag was a bottle of Coke and the Washington Post. Inside the Post was a folded piece of paper with a typed name and address.
Paul Haber
200 Lincoln Lane
Marble Spring, Pennsylvania
Under the name and address was a one-sentence message, also typed.
THIS MAN KNOWS WHAT YOU’RE LOOKING FOR.
“How do you like that? Manna from heaven,” I mumbled. I put the note back into the bag and headed quickly for the store exit.
Chapter 17
An hour later, supplied with a huge coffee and a turkey sandwich from a DC deli, I was behind the wheel of a silver Chrysler 200 rental car. When I looked up Marble Spring on my phone and saw that it was only about four and a half hours from DC, I decided to find this guy, Haber, immediately—before the Air Force shut him up, too.
So I was riding up Interstate 270 through northern Maryland with no idea what I would find. A Google search of the name had yielded a frustrating lack of information, but a potential hit: one Paul Haber had been an Army platoon sergeant.
Okay, I was intrigued. But how had he found me? Did someone in DC tip him off? I thought back over the day—the security checkpoints at the Air Force base, the stonewalling at the Pentagon.
Had Payton had a change of heart? No way, I thought, remembering her expression after the phone call. She had too much to lose. Whoever was on the other end of that line wanted Eardley buried for good.
Chris Milne? No, he wouldn’t bother with the cloak-and-dagger, the cryptic note.
My phone buzzed in the cup holder—Emily Parker. I picked up.
“It’s been too long.”
“Ha,” she answered. “I’m guessing you’re not on that train back to New York right now.”
“And miss my date with Paul Haber?” I said. I’d texted her about the note, asking her if she could find anything on the mystery man.
