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“And you plan to, what—to somehow get to know him better?”
“Yes.”
“But you already know him well enough to know he’s going after the crown jewels,” Macklin said, tapping his pen on the desk a little too rapidly.
Delgado nodded. “That’s easy,” he said. “I know what he will do—but to catch him, I need to know why.”
“Other than a few billion dollars?” Macklin asked dryly.
Delgado just nodded again. “Something happened to him. Something turned him this way. I find out what, I find a weakness.”
Macklin leaned onto his desk and rubbed the bridge of his nose, mostly to give himself a moment to think. It was clear to him that Delgado had gone a little buggy on the subject of Riley Wolfe. In fact, this was starting to sound borderline crazy. But a certain amount of tact was required here, with a special agent of Delgado’s talent and seniority, and Macklin could be very diplomatic when he needed to be. “Frank,” he said, after what he hoped looked like a reflective pause, “you’ve read the profilers’ report on Wolfe, right?”
Delgado shrugged. “It’s mostly wrong,” he said.
Macklin stopped himself from saying something he shouldn’t and took a deep breath instead. He let it out and said, “All right, fine, the finest profilers in the world are wrong and you’re right. But Frank—the crown jewels? Do you know how tight the security’s going to be at the Eberhardt?”
“Yes,” Delgado said.
“They’re bringing in some security technology straight from the DOD labs,” he said. “And they’ve hired Black Hat to stand guard around the clock. Those bastards are good, and they’re ruthless.”
“I know,” Delgado said.
“On top of all that, the Iranian government is taking their own measures, INCLUDING,” he said, wagging a finger at Delgado, “a full platoon of the Revolutionary Guard. And those bastards make our bastards look like tame kittens.”
“All right.”
“The Eberhardt will be under constant surveillance by every electronic and human means known to man, and some means that, in my opinion, have to be back-engineered alien technology,” Macklin said. “And you think Riley Wolfe is going to get around all that?”
“I know he’s going to try,” Delgado said.
“Goddamn it, Frank,” Macklin snapped, rocking forward in his chair. “It’s impossible!”
Delgado just nodded, twice this time. “That’s exactly why he has to try,” he said.
Macklin felt his control slipping. The way Delgado just sat there, stone-faced and so goddamn sure of himself—it would make Mother Teresa lose her cool. But he took a deep breath and leaned back again. “On the very small chance that you’re right—Riley Wolfe is going to get around unbeatable military-grade electronics, get past a bunch of trigger-happy hired killers, and somehow get out again with the jewels—what exactly do you plan to do to stop him?”
“I don’t know,” Delgado said.
“Well, that’s fucking perfect,” Macklin growled.
Before Macklin could say any more, Delgado opened a file folder and slid it onto the desk. “Look,” he said. “First arrest, sixteen years old.”
“All right, so?”
“There’s no record of a Riley Wolfe previous to this arrest,” Delgado said, and when Macklin just frowned, Delgado very patiently added, “‘Riley Wolfe’ is not his real name.”
Still frowning, Macklin pushed the folder away, leaned back, and crossed his arms. “Why does that matter?”
Delgado’s eyebrows twitched, as if he’d stopped himself from showing irritation. “It’s the key to his entire personality,” Delgado said. “Why did his birth name force him to change, and why change it to ‘Riley Wolfe’? What do those two names mean to him?” He frowned and spread his hands, a huge display of emotion for him. “If I know his real name, I know his real story,” he said simply. “If I know his real story, I know why he has to be Riley Wolfe and do impossible things.”
Macklin shook his head. It was the longest speech he’d ever heard from Delgado—but it wasn’t enough. “And you want to do what—track down Wolfe’s real name? So you can catch him before he steals the crown jewels?”
“Yes,” Delgado said. And then he just looked blankly at Macklin.
Macklin looked back, chewing his lip. What Delgado was saying was not, after all, completely nuts. But it also wasn’t an efficient use of a senior agent’s time. Being completely honest with himself, Macklin admitted that he could not think of a way to make this look good in his report to the AD, and that was maybe more important than it should be. Macklin wanted to be AD himself someday. And Delgado truly had nothing to back up his premise—that Wolfe was going to try for this impossible target, and that finding his backstory was the way to stop him.
“Help me out here, Frank. Give me something tangible. Anything at all—even an anonymous tip?” Macklin said, raising an eyebrow. Another agent might have taken this as a hint and perhaps made up something to justify the mission. Delgado stayed mute. “And you really think you can stop him by finding his real name,” Macklin said.
