The truth, Tom realized as he followed his brother-in-law through the quiet neighborhood, was that Alex was the one under scrutiny. By putting Kaliningrad on his watch list, Alex had inadvertently put himself on the CIA Director’s radar, and the director was demanding answers. Now he was simply trying to apply the same pressure on Tom that he himself was feeling.
The idea of having his oversized brother-in-law by the testicles brought a smile to Tom’s face.
“Who’s your source, Tom?” Alex suddenly demanded, his voice low and insistent.
“Jesus, is that the tone your Director used when he asked you that same question?”
“Answer the question.”
“Did it happen to occur to you – maybe somewhere between getting your ass chewed out and jumping on a flight to Flagstaff – that I just might have come up with this on my own?”
“Sure it did,” Alex replied as he looked over at Tom with a wry expression. “But we both know you’re not that smart. Someone must have helped you.”
“Well, I’m smart enough to know that you’re the one that will get fucked by this if any more Petronus employees meet an early demise, so you might want to check your attitude. As far as you and the CIA know, I am the source.”
Alex spun around and glared at Tom. “Listen to yourself, Tom!” His voice trembled with anger. “Do you have any idea how fucking ridiculous that sounds? No one – and I mean no one – could have found a link between these deaths without some kind of inside knowledge. I’d give you the benefit of the doubt if this was just putting a few pieces of the puzzle together, but whatever you stumbled upon here is way beyond that… and way out of your fucking league.” He leaned over and pressed his index finger into Tom’s chest. “You’re right, my ass is on the line thanks to you, so stop fucking around and tell me what you know. Family or not, I swear to god this is my last offer to make this easy.”
Tom took a step back from Alex and sized him up. He had never seen his brother-in-law in this state of panic before. How much of it, he wondered, was real? Was Alex really in jeopardy, or was this just the act of an experienced agent trying to extort information? He didn’t know his brother-in-law well enough to know.
“Ok Alex, I’ll tell you what I know. But it’s going to come with conditions.”
“Start talking.”
Tom turned around and started walking back towards the old downtown. “Do you and your invisible friend mind if we start heading back? It’s fucking cold out here.”
Alex looked around cautiously before nodding his head. “Fine.”
Tom paced quickly a few steps ahead of Alex, his mind racing. If Alex were to find out the truth – that his source was a handful of letters hanging in an old saloon just a short distance from here – he’d probably arrest Tom just for spite. But he didn’t know the truth, and Tom would make sure that it stayed that way. This was his investigation, his smoking gun, and most importantly, his chance to prove to the CIA that he was a worthy member of their agency.
Of course, it wasn’t going to be easy. Tom needed to give Alex enough information to act on, but not enough to lose his own leverage or value in the investigation. The obvious challenge was deciding exactly what to tell Alex. Lying to his brother-in-law wasn’t an option. Alex would have no qualm with throwing him in jail if he suspected Tom of lying or intentionally misleading him – especially if this was going to be a high-priority CIA investigation. Nor was Alex going to settle for too many vagaries or gaps in the intelligence being provided.
For the second time this evening, Tom was faced with the delicate task of delivering the facts of the story in his favor.
“A few weeks ago, an acquaintance of mine mentioned that a friend had been receiving odd letters from an anonymous man traveling abroad, and asked me to take a look at them.”
“What’s the nature of the correspondence?” Alex asked, walking a few paces behind Tom.
“Well… love letters essentially, although apparently the recipient, a young local woman, has never had prior contact with the author.”
Alex chuckled cynically. “I find that hard to believe.”
“So do I, but let’s put that aside for a moment. The letters seem to be just rambling confessions of love. No apparent substance or meaning beyond that. The only thing I found particularly curious about them was the author’s location. Each letter was written from a different country.”
“How many letters?”
“Five so far,” Tom said as he glanced over his shoulder. “Would you mind walking next to me? I feel like you’ve got a fucking gun pointed at me back there.”