Detective Danny Cavanaugh 01 - The Brink

goes, at least one Secret Service agent goes with him, whether he knows it or not.”
    Devon , Danny thought. He pictured Agent Peter Devon hiding at the cemetery, using a similar device Chip used to record their conversation.
    “So, if you had his confession recorded, why agree to us going back in after the lawsuit?” Sydney asked, her anger evident in her tone.
    “I needed to be sure it was real, that you two weren’t just making it up. Plus, having a copy gives me insurance. In case any of the other Bilderbergers get any ideas, we threaten to go public with it.”
    “But how does that stop them?” Sydney asked.
    “We investigate Booker Halsey. We show how he’s tied to Phoenix Oil. Then we investigate Phoenix’s operations, which will shed some light on people who, above all else, treasure their anonymity. The last thing they want is publicity.”
    “Sounds like you are intimately familiar with the Bilderbergers, Admiral,” Danny said.
    “I wouldn’t be a good director of National Intelligence if I didn’t know who the puppet masters are.”
    Sydney continued to hound Fielding. “But Danny gave you the copy he made in Simon Shilling’s office. My copy is still inside the president’s credenza.”
    Danny took the liberty of answering Sydney’s question. “But as director of National Intelligence, Admiral Fielding himself will be in charge of securing all classified documents inside the Oval Office after the president’s assassination. I’m sure it’s being sealed off as we speak.” Danny’s eyes met Fielding’s. “That only leaves one loose end. Simon Shilling.”
    “Shilling will resign his post citing emotional distress. You can rest assured that he will live out his life in quiet anonymity.”
    “All in a day’s work, huh Admiral Fielding?” Danny asked.
    Fielding couldn’t hold back a sly grin. “A little more than the typical day, but keeping the world balanced is a bitch sometimes.”
    “So what happens to us to keep things balanced?” Sydney asked. “Are we still free to go, like you promised?”
    Fielding looked at her through the rearview mirror. “Your employers still believe that you were either killed or kidnapped down in Mexico. Turns out, when the attack on the monastery occurred, you escaped and hitchhiked toward the border. You will be found wandering the streets of Nuevo Laredo in a few days. Then, you will go back to your post at the ICJ and back to your life in Monte Carlo. With Fantroy and other key members now dead, the Bilderbergers have lost their way. I’m sure that if you don’t go off making wild accusations about international financial conspiracies or phantom lawsuits, nothing will happen to you.”
    “Spoken accusation is nothing without evidence to back it up, right?” she asked Fielding. Danny’s familiar line made him look at her.
    “Something like that.”
    Sydney pressed him. “What about Danny? What happens to him?”
    Fielding kept his eyes on the rearview mirror. “Like I said, he’s free to go as well.”
    Fielding’s tone made Danny press him. “But?”
    Fielding finally swung his eyes over to Danny. “For things to work out, you gotta remain a fugitive, Sergeant. Sorry.”

Chapter 114
    Grace Styles shucked off her $400 Jimmy Choo silver platform shoes and sprinted up the sidewalk along Executive Avenue toward the commotion. Two dozen Secret Service agents were swarming a vehicle parked in the lot that faced the southwest corner of the South Lawn. Grace’s mind, trained by years of journalism, sought out the easy pieces of information first: the vehicle’s make, model, and color. But there were so many agents dressed in tactical gear, all Grace could see was a wall of writhing black.
    Her producer’s exasperated voice shot through her earpiece, filling her head. “What’s going on, Grace? What the hell can you see?”
    Where most people’s natural reaction was to avoid confrontation, Grace’s legs, also trained over the years to chase down stories no matter how dangerous, carried her toward it. A Secret Service agent accidentally shoved her aside as he backed away from the fracas, crushing her toes underneath his heavy boot. Fueled by the same adrenaline she was still hooked on after all these years, Grace barely felt it. She plunged further toward the vehicle. She could finally make out the description. It was a dark green, late model Nissan Pathfinder. But as she looked through the open passenger door and caught a