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Secretary of Defense.”
    “Yeah, well, he doesn’t have a chance in hell of being confirmed as Secretary now. His hearings start tomorrow, and I’m guessing the President will pull the plug before then.”
    “All right. So who else?”
    “The other biggie is some guy from the IRS … Smith … no … crazy name … Schmidt. Wolfram Schmidt. From Texas if you can believe that. The Justice Department guys are working with DEA to try to track down drug connections because of the stuff they found in the sisters’ condo. IRS is following the money. They’ve found a bunch of accounts in the Caymans registered to Thompson. Lot of money there, a lot of recent large transfers.”
    “That’s crazy,” Bear said. “What else?”
    “You heard Adelina Thompson and her daughter Jessica turned up? They ran across the border of Canada on foot while some asshole was shooting at them with a rifle. The daughter’s in the hospital now. And get this: Adelina Thompson—the wife of the Secretary of Defense—asked Canada for political asylum from the United States, because she claims her husband hired assassins to kill her.”
    “Whoa,” Bear said. “What happened to the shooter?”
    “He tried to get away, but the Bellingham Police got him. And now they’ve got a big jurisdictional dispute going on, because the shooter was arrested in Bellingham, but the Justice Department and Customs and Border Protection want him.”
    “Huh,” Bear said. “What’s his name?”
    “Nick Larsden. He’s a … a grifter. Small time bounty hunter from LA, he makes his living tracking down bail jumpers. He makes a big deal about having been a veteran, but he was a personnel clerk in Germany when he was in the Army. Failed as a private investigator, then migrated into bounty work.”
    “That’s a big help, Kelly. It’s huge. Larsden’s the guy I want to talk to.”
    “Good luck. Everybody wants a piece of him. What’s your angle? Why are you working this on your own?”
    “Let’s just say something about the official story stinks. Richard Thompson may be a scumbag, but I don’t buy that his daughters were his couriers and enforcers and shit. That’s crazy.”
    Kelly shrugged. “I’ve seen crazier.”
    “Yeah, well, I’m operating on the assumption that there’s a different angle. For one thing, from what I understand, Thompson’s daughters found files related to the Wakhan Massacre in his office, right before the house was destroyed. Then a few days later, the Sunday Guardian runs a special report implicating Thompson in the massacre. I want to know what the links are, and who else was involved.”
    Bear’s mind ran back to the photograph in Thompson’s personnel file. The photo which was stolen from his apartment, along with the rest of the documents. He remembered who was in the photo. “Here’s who I’m interested in … Prince Roshan of Saudi Arabia. Leslie Collins. Richard Thompson. Prince George-Phillip of England.”
    Kelly’s eyes widened. “You don’t think small.”
    “That’s why they call me Bear.”
    “Bullshit. They call you that because you’re so hairy.”
    “Seriously. I need to know everything I can about those four.”
    “You want everything. Files on the chiefs of intelligence of three countries, including ours. Access to a criminal who the feds are fighting over.”
    “Yeah. Can you make it happen?”
    Kelly stared at him. Then he said, “I’ll do what I can.”
    “I’ll be headed west then, on the cheapest flight.”
    “Yeah? You going on vacation?”
    “I was thinking Washington State.”
    “Nice. Catch you later, Bear.”
    Bear stood up and stretched. He walked out of the building, thinking hard. How the hell could he get at Larsden? And who hired him? Richard Thompson? That didn’t make sense, unless he had a massive vendetta against his wife. Which was possible. He’d never seen two people less suited for each other.
    He needed more information, and he didn’t have any resources.