The Switch

69

Mr. Tanner,” Will said.

Michael Tanner emerged from the side entrance to the federal detention facility, a hulking brick windowless structure the size of a city block, built on the site of an abandoned strip mall. Tanner looked around uncertainly. The man looked wearier since Will had last seen him in Boston. He had obviously been through a lot.

Well, so had Will.

He offered his hand, and Tanner shook.

“Good to see you again,” Will said.

“Glad we could do business.”

“Me too.” Will gestured with a hand. “My car is right outside.”

The NSA had offered to convey Michael Tanner to Washington National Airport. But Tanner had apparently decided that the less time spent in the company of the NSA, the better. He’d get a ride with Will.

Will unlocked the car doors, and when Tanner got into Will’s Audi — technically Jen’s, but she never used it; she almost always took the Metro — his knees touched the dashboard. He was a much taller man than Will. He pulled back on the seat-adjustment lever to slide the seat back. Then he shut his door.

Once they’d pulled away from the curb, Will said, “Did you tell them whose laptop you have?”

“Of course not. You were my secret weapon. I wasn’t going to give it away.”

“Secret weapon? How do you figure?”

“It was a simple calculation.”

“Oh yeah?”

“The same calculation you’re making too. See, I had a lot of time to think. And I figured something out.”

“Like what?”

“The NSA doesn’t know whose laptop is missing. And you really don’t want them to know.”

“Why not?”

“Because then they’d learn that your boss had classified information on an unsecured laptop. And that’s probably a major no-no.”

“Huh,” Will said.

“I know I’m just a coffee guy, but I’m pretty sure you’re not supposed to keep classified information on a regular old computer. And I’m thinking, if the NSA ever found her laptop, your boss, the senator, would be in deep doo-doo.”

“Huh.”

“You don’t want them to find the laptop. And I’m happy to be rid of it.”

“And where is it?”

“In a safe place in Boston.”

“Then we’re going to Boston.”

“We?”

“Part of the deal. You’ll notice I’ve put my trust in you that you’re going to keep your end of the bargain and give me that laptop back without any more games.”

“Then again,” Tanner said, “you did try to have me killed.”

Will stiffened, felt his body go alert: a physical sensation. He looked at the road, compressed his lips while he considered how to reply. He glanced to his right and was surprised to find Tanner smiling.

“At first I thought it was the NSA that sent the guy,” Tanner said. “But it wasn’t. By process of elimination, I figured it out. It was you.”

Will let out a breath, shook his head. “He wasn’t going to kill you or anything like that,” he said. “He was only going to put a scare into you.”

“The guy was a goddamned hit man,” Tanner said.

There was a long pause. “You think I’m some kind of ogre, because you don’t know me. I get that. What makes it so strange for me is that I know you—”

“Except you don’t.”

“I’m not even talking about the file we put together, the bio stuff. I look at you, and yeah, I know you. You’re the high school star, the scholar-athlete, the center of the high school universe. Guys like you, we used to call you the barbarians. The warrior class. You could get anything you wanted, any girl you wanted.”

“Yeah, right,” Tanner said.

“Everyone always sucked up to you, even the teachers. Everyone wanted to get on your good side. Whereas I didn’t have a side. I was the kid you never looked at twice. I mean, Dad was dead by the time I was fourteen. Mom worked as a receptionist for a dentist — she sold houses on the side to keep us afloat — but there was a lot of coupon clipping going on. Maybe I had the wrong brand of sneakers. Or my clothes didn’t fit the way they were supposed to. Or maybe I’m just making excuses. I was the guy who ran for class treasurer in college and got his ass handed to him. But you know what? It took me a while, but I found a place.”

“Good,” Tanner said. “I’m glad.”

Will looked uneasy, as if he’d talked too much. Then, crisply, he said: “I suggest we take the Acela back to Boston.” That was the relatively high-speed train between Washington and Boston.

“Isn’t flying faster?”

“I have a problem with flying.”

“Well, I don’t mind the Acela,” Tanner said.

A moment of silence passed while Will turned onto Route 301 heading north to DC. Tanner was looking at something on the right of the road. Then he turned back to him and said, “So how’d you convince them?”

Will smiled. “I speak with the authority of a powerful US senator. The higher-ups listen. They get it. Isn’t that why you called me?”

“Partly.”

“As long as we’re clear.”

“I’m clear. I give you the laptop and we never have to see each other again.” Tanner said it in a not unfriendly way, though.

“You also have agreed not to talk about whose laptop it is and what’s on it. In return I ensure the NSA leaves you alone.”

“Okay. As agreed.”

“From now on you’re protected. But no more passing documents on to reporters. You go back to your life. And don’t look back. Don’t turn into a pillar of salt.”

“Got it. So why are you so desperate to get this laptop back?”

“Desperate? I’m not desperate. This is Washington, man. I can’t let them own me.”

“Own you?”

But Will just shook his head. Because I don’t want the NSA to make Senator Robbins their bitch; that’s why. Because that’s how the game is played here. Once they own us, the NSA will basically be able to ram through Congress whatever program they want. Senator Robbins was the most powerful, most respected member of the committee. Of course they’d want to own her.

He could feel his throat start to pulse. “So let me ask you something,” he said. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why didn’t you tell them how we know each other?”

A long silence passed, and Will began to worry about what Tanner might say.

“Because I think we have a common interest,” Tanner said. “You don’t want the NSA to get the laptop, and I want to stay alive. And out of prison.”

Will nodded.

“I knew if I told them everything I’d never get out of that damned prison,” Tanner said.

He looked like he meant it.

“So did you look at the documents?” Will asked.

“Yes.”

“You read them?”

Tanner nodded.

“Understand now you’ve picked up a hornet’s nest?”

“Yes,” Tanner said.

“You understand, I hope, that if you leak any information regarding CHRYSALIS, you’ll be arrested. That’s not a threat. That’s just— That’s what would happen, and you should know it.”

“Is this a program that’s already in existence? Or is it... being debated?”

Will hesitated, looked like he was about to say something, then shook his head.

“You don’t know, but you won’t tell me?”

Will didn’t respond.

“Holy shit,” Tanner said.