Simple Genius (Sean King & Michelle Maxwell 3)

“What are we doing here?” Hayes asked.

“It’s called surveillance. I’m assuming you’re acquainted with the concept.”

“Who the hell do you think you’re running surveillance on? The head of Camp Peary!”

“Is there a law against it?”

“Hell, probably.”

Fifteen minutes later a car pulled up to the entrance of the building and a woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties got out. She was tall, tanned, leggy and blond with a figure that demanded not just a second but possibly a third look. As she approached the front door, Whitfield and his shadow came out. The woman spoke to Whitfield for a few moments and then he limped away with Six-Pack, climbed in a black sedan and drove off, leaving the woman looking more than a little put out.

“Interesting,” Sean said. “She’s either Whitfield’s wife or mistress.”

“Or girlfriend.”

“Uh-uh, Whitfield was wearing a wedding band.”

While they were talking the woman got in her car and drove off. Sean put the cruiser in gear and drifted after her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hayes demanded.

“Following her.”

“Sean, we could get in trouble for this.”

“I’m already in trouble.” Hayes sat back with an air of resignation.

Sean smiled and said, “Still glad you decided to partner with me?”

“No!”

“Good, that means we’re really starting to click as a team.” And that remark made Sean remember that in a few hours’ time Michelle would be here. Normally Sean would look forward to seeing his real partner. Yet Horatio’s words kept coming back to him. Michelle could be dangerous, to herself. She shouldn’t have left the facility. She wasn’t cured. She was coming down here. And who the hell knew what would happen?

CHAPTER

39

MICHELLE TOOK ADVANTAGE of the drive down to call a girlfriend of hers who worked at the National Intelligence Center after a stint at the Secret Service where Michelle had helped her along the career path. She called the woman at home figuring her phone at work would be monitored.

After a bit of chitchat, Michelle said, “Not looking for any secrets, Judy, but what can you tell me about Camp Peary?”

“You mean the DOD’s Armed Forces Experimental Training Activity?”

“Come on, Judy, give me a break. We’re talking CIA.”

“Okay, okay, forgive the automatic official response.” Her friend gave her the physical dimensions of the place, a thumbnail of its history and its official mission. “Most of the advanced training is now done at the Point in North Carolina,” Judy said. “But it’s still the CIA’s primary Field Tradecraft center. Actually, the Pentagon’s thinking about establishing its own espionage school and setting up intelligence op commands around the world.”

“Sometimes too much intelligence is a bad thing,” Michelle said wryly.

Judy laughed. “I officially can’t comment on that. Now the current head of Camp Peary is a man named Ian Whitfield. Ex-military, Delta Force, I believe. Vietnam War hero. Not a guy you want to mess around with. He came over to the intelligence side sometime in the 1980s. He was stationed in the Middle East for the last several years. Now that he’s back stateside, word is he’s doing all he can to bring Camp Peary back to prominence.”

“How’s he going about that?”

“What’s your interest?”

“Got a job down there. Someone was found dead on the property.”

“I read about that in the newspaper. I thought it was a suicide.”