The Lost Key (A Brit in the FBI 2)

He tapped on the keyboard a few more times, moved the mouse around. The files separated themselves and flew about, rearranging on the screen. When they finished moving, she could see fifteen small blue folders, each with a name. But the names themselves weren’t logical, they were jumbles of letters and numbers.

She was nearly plastered against him, as excited as he was. “Will it take you long to sort out who these folde

rs belong to?”

“Too long, far too long. I have a better idea, but I’ll need some help.”

“What can I do?”

“Hand me the phone. Time to go to a higher power. I want to call Savich.”

“Savich? He’s not your boss directly, but he’s certainly part of our chain of command. He might feel like he’s undermining Zachery.”

He stared up at that blond ponytail, her scrubbed face. She looked like she’d be carded for sure for a beer. “Nah, he won’t.”

She picked up his cell and handed it to him, only to have “Born in the U.S.A.” trill from its small speaker.

Nicholas looked at the readout, raised a brow. “And isn’t this something. What is this guy, psychic or something?” When she didn’t smile, he said, “What?”

“As a matter of fact, he is, at least that’s what I’ve heard.”

“Sure thing. Right. Savich? How are you and Sherlock keeping this fine evening?”

37

10:30 p.m.

Savich said, “Sherlock and I are tossing more popcorn to Astro than we’re getting in our own mouths. Now, listen, Nick, you want to tell me why I’ve been asked to sit on a SIRT board about you tomorrow morning?”

“Ah, so you’ve heard.” He looked at Mike, who had an eyebrow raised. “Savich, Mike’s here with me. Let me put you on speaker.”

“Hello, Mike. Now, Nick, I’ve got to say you’ve set a new first-day-as-an-agent record. Are you okay? I heard you’d been shot, glad you at least followed one protocol today and wore your body armor. I trust you’re fine physically?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine, no problem. But I can tell you this for a fact, a real bullet to the chest hurts more than the rubber ones we used in training at Quantico. The vest stopped the bullet in its tracks, a right relief, but it still knocked the wind out of me. Since there was also a flash bang in the mix, I went down. I thought for a minute it was all over.”

“And Mike?”

“I’m good,” Mike said to Sherlock.

Sherlock said, “We heard about Nicholas killing the man who had a gun against your head, Mike. Thank goodness you’re both okay. Dillon’s right, a very hairy day.”

“An afternoon neither of us want to repeat,” Nicholas said, but Sherlock heard the layer of excitement in his voice. “Mike didn’t flinch, a gun to her head and she didn’t move an inch. The woman’s brave, maybe a bit of crazy, too, remains to be seen.”

“Yeah, right,” Mike said, and smacked him on the shoulder.

“Savich, don’t worry about tomorrow, it was a clean shoot. Everything will come out in my favor.”

“I believe it will. Now, I had a feeling you needed something, so what can I do for you, Nicholas?”

“Well, if you have a moment, I’d like to talk to you about the case.”

You’re on suspension, Agent Drummond. There is no case, but Savich didn’t say that, rather, “Tell me what you need.”

“I need MAX.”

“As it happens, one of your agents, Gray Wharton, called me an hour ago and asked for MAX as well. Talk to me.”

“What did Gray ask for?”