The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [117]
“And in the process, making The Roman’s so-called scoops look like day-old newspapers.”
“Which takes us back to the crossword—if it really was a trust list—if Manning and his chief of staff used the puzzle to try and figure out who was leaking to the press, maybe that’s who Boyle was looking for,” Rogo said. “The only thing I don’t get is, why would Manning and his chief pass notes in secret code when they could just wait a few hours and discuss the matter in private?”
“Private? In a building where they once had secret tapes recording all conversations in the Oval?”
“Is that true? They still do those recordings?”
“Don’t you see? That’s the point, Rogo. In that world, everybody’s listening. So if you plan on saying something bad about one of your top lieutenants, you better be sure not to say it out loud.”
“Even so, how’s that get us any closer to figuring out who Manning was singling out in the puzzle?”
“You tell me. What’s it say in the files?” Dreidel asked. “Any other names mentioned in there?”
Rogo glanced around at the thirty-eight boxes and 21,500 sheets of paper, hundreds of schedules, and thousands of briefings they still had to go through. “You really think we can get through all this before the library closes?”
“Have a little faith,” Dreidel said, fingering through a set of files. His eyes lit up and a sly grin spread across his face. “For all we know, the smoking gun is right in front of us.”
“What? You got something?”
“Only Boyle’s personnel file,” Dreidel said as he plucked the inch-thick file from its box. “Which means we’re about to find out what the President really thought of his old buddy Ron Boyle.”
70
Listen, I’m kinda busy,” Kenny said as he closed the door on O’Shea and Micah. “Maybe you can come back another—”
O’Shea jammed his foot in the doorway, forcing it open. From his pocket, he pulled his FBI badge and slid it through the opening toward Kenny’s nose. “Now is actually a better time for us,” O’Shea insisted. He wasn’t surprised by Kenny’s reaction. After family, old friends were the hardest to crack.
Kenny’s Popeye eye glared at Micah, then back to O’Shea’s badge. “Wes is a good kid,” he insisted.
“No one said he wasn’t,” O’Shea replied as he and Micah stepped inside. O’Shea quickly scanned the kitchen. It didn’t matter that Wes was gone. What mattered was what he saw while he was here.
“So you from Key West?” Micah asked as he made eye contact with his partner. Micah stayed in the kitchen. O’Shea took the living room.
“No one’s from Key West,” Kenny shot back, already riled.
“Then where do you know Wes from?” O’Shea asked as he approached the wall of black-and-white wedding photos.
“D’you mind telling me what this is about?” Kenny asked.
“These are beautiful,” O’Shea replied, stepping toward a shot of a short-haired bride playfully biting the ear of her groom. “You take these?”
“I did, but—”
“Did you work at the White House with Wes?” Micah interrupted, keeping him off balance.
“Kinda,” Kenny replied. “I was there as a—”
“Photographer,” O’Shea blurted as he scooped up the framed photo of President Manning checking his reflection in the White House water pitcher. “I remember this one. You’re a hotshot, aren’t you, Mr.—I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“I never gave it to you,” Kenny said.
“Well, why don’t we fix that?” O’Shea demanded, laying the silver frame flat down on its back. “I’m Agent O’Shea and you’re . . .”
“Kenny. Kenny Quinn.”
“Wait . . . Kenny Quinn?” Micah asked. “How do I know that name?”
“You don’t,” Kenny said. “Not unless you’re a photo editor or working the White House press pool.”
“Actually, I spent some time in D.C.,” Micah said, leaving the kitchen and heading toward Kenny in the living room.
Just behind Kenny, O’Shea eyed the closed three-ring binder on the cocktail table.
“You’re the guy who won the award, didn’t you?” Micah asked, working hard to hold Kenny’s attention.
“The Pulitzer,” Kenny replied dryly.
“So you were there that