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“Off the diet, are we?” she said, eying his impassioned stabs with the fork.
He laughed shamefacedly. “Guess I was hungrier than I thought.”
“If that were only true,” she replied sardonically. “Okay, here’s the case. And it might turn out to be a challenging one. A suspicious death. Man by the name of Monk Turing. He was found on property owned by the CIA near Williamsburg, Virginia. Either a murder or a suicide. You have to find out which, why and, if it was a murder, the all-important who.”
“Turing worked for the CIA?”
“No. Ever heard of a place called Babbage Town?”
He shook his head. “What is it?”
“It’s been described to me as a sort of quasi–think tank with potentially enormous commercial applications. That’s where Turing worked as a physicist. With the CIA involved and the FBI investigating the homicide because it took place on federal property it’ll take some delicate handling. I have some veterans here I could send down, but I’m not sure any of them are as good as you.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence. So who’s our client?”
“The people at Babbage Town.”
“And who are they?”
“You’ll have to find that out too. If you can. You game?”
“You mentioned a bonus?”
She smiled and patted his hand. “As in cash or professional services?”
“Let’s start with the cash.”
“Our policy is to split the bonus with the principal field agents on a sixty-forty basis.” She cocked her head. “You remember from last time, Sean. Only you refused to take any of the money you were so clearly entitled to and let me keep it all. I never really understood why you did that.”
“Let’s just say I believed it was safer for both of us. And I thought you were going to use that cash to retire?”
“Alas, my spending got a little out of control. So I’m still on the treadmill.”
“So if we solve this how much am I looking at?”
“That gets complicated because it’s based on certain formulas. But suffice it to say, it’ll be a big nut.” Her gaze ran over him. “You won’t be nearly so thin, I imagine.”
Sean sat back and took another bite of his mashed potatoes.
“So, are you interested?” she asked.
He picked up the bulky file. “Thanks for lunch. And thanks for the work.”
“I’ll make arrangements for you to go down there. Say in a couple of days?”
“Fine. I’ll need some time to get stuff in order.”
“Like saying goodbye to Mildred?”
Before he could respond she slid an envelope across to him. He looked at her questioningly. “An advance on your expense money. I figured you might need it.”
He looked at the check before sliding it in his pocket. “I owe you, Joan.”
“I hope you mean that,” she said to herself as he walked off.
CHAPTER
8
