“God,” said Jamison with a shiver. “Knowing she’s dead, this is creeping me out.”
Decker looked at the time stamp on the film. “Ten days ago.”
“She looks…normal enough. Not like anything’s weighing on her mind,” observed Jamison.
“You mean like a spy ring about to be cratered,” said Decker. “And she arrested for espionage?”
Jamison snapped her fingers. “Maybe that’s where she got the money.”
“Maybe. But Agent Brown didn’t tell us how long this had been going on. And we still can’t find a connection between Berkshire and Dabney.”
“Well, Dabney obviously had another life that was invisible to those who knew him. Maybe Berkshire was also a gambler and they met that way.”
“Right, pick someone with a gambling addiction like yourself to convey secrets to. I’m sure nothing could go wrong there.”
“It’s still possible,” persisted Jamison.
“But why would he need her, Alex? What skill set or advantage does a substitute teacher offer to a connected guy like Dabney who’s selling government secrets?”
“Maybe teaching is a cover. Maybe she’s an actual spy. That’s why we can’t find anything on her going back past ten years.”
“That
might be,” said Decker, though his tone evidenced he was not convinced of this. “We need to run the plate.”
“You think it’s registered to someone else?”
“No, I don’t. I think it’s registered to Anne Berkshire, just under another address. And maybe another name.”
“So you do think she’s a spy or something.”
“Or something,” replied Decker.
When she looked at him he added, “Brown said that critical secrets were stolen by Dabney. He had to pass them along to someone. If they were working together, you’re right, Berkshire had to be part of some spy ring. If she didn’t pass the secrets on yet, we might be able to stop the apocalypse that Brown was describing.”
“But if she was a spy why wouldn’t she have passed on the secrets by now?”
“There could be any number of reasons.”
Jamison added, “And pray that our enemies don’t have them already. Or else we’re in deep shit.” She paused. “You don’t think Brown was talking nukes, do you?”
Decker looked at her. “Keep saying prayers, because I don’t know if she was or not. But the lady didn’t strike me as someone who overstates the case. So her worst-case scenario is probably Armageddon.”
“Wonderful.”
CHAPTER
18
“DAMN!”
Todd Milligan stood shoulder to shoulder with Decker as they surveyed the house the next morning.
The rundown on the Honda’s license plate had led them here. A ramshackle farm cottage down a rural road in the middle of Loudoun County, Virginia.
Decker nodded at Milligan’s exclamation. “From multimillion-dollar condo smack in the middle of upscale suburbia to this.”
“But why would she even have this place, Decker?”
Decker started walking toward the house. “That’s what we’re here to find out. But Berkshire’s starting to strike me as someone who had a purpose behind every act. So let’s start with that notion and see where it takes us.”
There was a small outbuilding behind the cottage, more a lean-to than anything else. But inside it was the Honda.
“We might need a warrant to search the house and car,” Milligan pointed out.
“The only person able to object is dead,” replied Decker.
He tried the car door but it was locked. “The keys might be in the house,” he said.
They trooped to the front door. It was also locked.
“The cellar door also had a new hinge on it.” Decker took the flashlight from Milligan and aimed it at a patch of dirt in a far corner.
Milligan drew closer and said, “Footprints. Small. A woman’s.”
“Berkshire’s.”
“Good eye, Decker,” said Milligan.
Decker didn’t seem to hear him. He leaned against the stone wall of the cellar and cast the light beam around. The illumination