Hidden Order

CHAPTER 52

“Damn right I’m not happy!” Reed Carlton shouted into the phone at Harvath. “I don’t care what kind of contacts Monroe Lewis and the Federal Reserve have. Part of what they are paying us for is to be their eyes and ears in this case. They should have heard about this from me and I should have heard it right away from you. You were at the scene before the FBI, for Chrissake.”

“Sir, let me—” Harvath attempted, but he was cut off.

“Be quiet and listen to me. I don’t care if it’s three in the morning, three in the afternoon, midnight, twilight, firelight, whatever frigging time it is! If there’s a development in a case we’re working on, especially a murder, I expect you to call me. Whether or not you’re going to wake me up should never factor into it. Do you understand?”

The boss was fired up and Harvath knew better than to respond in any fashion other than completely professional. “Yes, sir,” he said. “It’s my fault. It won’t happen again.”

Harvath’s phone had rung just as Cordero was dropping him back at his hotel. He had planned to shower and change while she went home to pick up her son and drop him off at day care. They were going to meet back at her office. In between then, Harvath was going to call the Old Man and give him an update, but apparently Monroe Lewis had heard from the FBI first.

There wasn’t much Harvath could add to what the Old Man had been told, only his belief that the victim was Peter Whalen, the missing Fed chair candidate from Chicago.

The information didn’t make the Old Man happy. Not that Harvath had expected it to. He wasn’t happy, either. Quite the contrary. They had been hired to try to help save four people and half them were now dead.

“So besides another dinner and maybe some dancing with this female detective you’re playing footsy with,” the Old Man stated, “do you have any plans to actually solve this case, or should I expect to read about it when you get around to sending me a postcard?”

Carlton was one of the most brilliant people Harvath knew, but he could be a real curmudgeon when he was pissed-off. In those instances it was a free-fire zone for his acerbic tongue. The only thing he could do was bite his own tongue and wait for the storm to pass.

“The Bureau guys at the scene are proceeding on the assumption that the remaining two missing Fed candidates are here in Boston,” said Harvath. “And we agree.”

“We?”

“Detective Cordero and I.”

“So what are they planning on doing about it?”

“They’re going to go public with the names and photos of the last two missing persons. Their hope is that maybe somebody in Boston has seen something and will provide actionable intelligence.”

“Are they going to publicize the Fed connection as well?”

“No,” Harvath replied. “It sounds like they’re going to do a straight missing persons, believed to be in the Boston area approach.”

“That should keep it out of the national media for a bit longer,” said Carlton. “But not much.”

“Lewis and the Fed have been on borrowed time anyway. The only reason all the missing persons haven’t been linked together is that nobody really knows who they are.”

“And the newest murder?”

“Boston PD has the scene locked down pretty tight. Because of the smoke and the fire trucks, they’re going to allow people to assume there was a fire. They’re not taking the body out in a body bag. They’re going to drain the gang box and transport it with the corpse down to the ME’s office.”

“How are they planning on putting the word out regarding the last two missing candidates?”

“If they hustle, they can get it included in the morning police roll call briefings. All the detectives and all the patrol officers will be given the names and photos, along with a brief description and as much of the story as the FBI decides they want put out there. I think they’re going to connect it to the other murders.”

“Then you can speed up the timetable of the national press getting hold of the story,” said the Old Man. “Police departments leak like sieves.”

“Hopefully, they’ll keep it under wraps.”

“What about beyond the PD?”

“Names and photographs of Betsy Mitchell and Jonathan Renner to run on local television news along with the FBI’s one-eight-hundred number for tips. The names and photographs are also going to the local papers.”

“Better late than never,” Carlton said.

“With detectives and patrol officers out there beating the bushes, along with the public keeping their eyes open, we may get lucky.”

“I hope it works.”

“Me, too,” said Harvath. “I’m going to get cleaned up and then get back down to police headquarters. Is there anything else you need?”

“Yeah. The client wants to speak with you.”

“Monroe Lewis? What for?”

“He wants an update from the field.”

“I just gave you one.”

“I know,” said the Old Man, “and even though he just spoke with the FBI, he wants to hear from you, too. He asked me for your cell phone number and I told him I’d give it to him after you and I spoke. Keep it short and keep it limited to the facts. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”