Flash Point

16

Sami stopped his Nissan in front of Cunningham’s townhouse. It was in one of those condo complexes where it required GPS or perfect directions to find someone’s condo. All the buildings looked the same, all the stairways and doorways looked the same: the same colors, the same decorative plants, the same cars in front — junkers for those who just moved in, and the BMWs for those about to move out.

Sami leaned over and peered up the stairway for Cunningham. He checked the clock on the dash, which, much to his annoyance, continued to work and kept more accurate time than his three-hundred-dollar wristwatch. Finally Cunningham came bounding down the stairs carrying his briefcase.

Opening the car door, he slid into the front passenger seat.

“Sorry,” Cunningham said.

“No problem,” Sami replied, backing out into the deserted, small street that looped the entire complex. He drove off quickly. “What do you think of Kinkaid?”

“What?” Cunningham said, looking over toward Sami for the first time.

“Kinkaid.”

“Too early.”

“What do you think of him?”

Cunningham watched the traffic on the street they were turning on to. They never talked when they carpooled. He didn’t like to think this early. “What about him?”

“You think he’s doing a good job?”

“Sure.”

“See anything that troubles you?”

“Let’s hear what’s eating you.”

“I think he may be in bed with Israel.”

“What? What the hell are you talking about?”

“Where does he go first when we need info? Israel. Where does he have a pal on the ‘inside’? Israel. Too many crosscurrents at work here. I don’t like it.”

Cunningham rolled his eyes but tried not to let Sami see. “You’re losing it. He’s the most quality guy we’ve got. He’s cool.”

“I don’t think so.” He accelerated hard and the four-cylinder engine strained to meet his demands as they merged onto the mostly deserted freeway. “Ever hear of Mega?”

“No. What is it?”

Sami didn’t answer.