When the Wind Blows - James Patterson [17]
He thought about Dr. Frank McDonough again. Dr. Mc-Donough had been on his list. McDonough, and also David Mekin and his wife. He had wanted to meet with Dr. McDonough—a pediatrician with a background in embryology.
Unfortunately, he’d been a day late getting here. Blame his boss, Peter Stricker, for that. Hell no, blame himself.
Dr. McDonough was victim number four. Four doctors had been murdered that he knew of. Four doctors with suspicious pasts, dubious presents, and now, no futures at all.
He watched a couple of paragliders off in the distance. They almost seemed to be flying. They looked so free.
“Okay, let’s go down,” he finally said to the rent-a-chopper pilot. He had his overview, anyway; he had the lay of the land. It was the right first step for the investigation.
The pilot grinned and gave Kit a thumbs-down signal. What a jerk. “Hang on to your insides… Kermit.”
F-you, Sky King, Kit thought. He didn’t say anything, didn’t want to start a scene up here. Especially not up here.
The helicopter swooped and went into a steep dive. He knew it was a physical impossibility, but his stomach seemed to drop before the rest of the chopper and its contents.
He was feeling unsatisfied and uptight as he left the tiny “High Pines” Airport at around ten-thirty in the morning. He needed help, but knew he couldn’t ask for it from the Bureau. He was on his own, and that really sucked.
Chapter 17
HAVE FAITH AND pursue the unknown end. Oliver Wendell Holmes said it and Kit had always believed it. He still did, so here he was in the Rocky Mountains. Pursuing the unknown end, and trying like hell to keep the faith.
He needed answers, or maybe he just wanted to hear a familiar voice. He called Peter Stricker’s office in Washington. This was going to be tricky, but he thought he could pull it off. He might just be able to get a little help from the Bureau.
Peter Stricker was in charge of the Northeast sector of the FBI. They were still pretty good friends. Up until two and a half years ago, Peter had actually worked for him.
Then Kit’s world turned upside down, and he wound up working for Peter. And last week, Peter had threatened to can him if he didn’t make his job priorities the same as the ones the Bureau had for him. And Peter had put the warning on paper.
Even before the official threat there had been signs. He’d been passed over for promotion after the accident in ’94—though God only knows if that was the reason. More likely, it was his stubbornness and insubordination that had stalled out his career in the FBI. Also, his obsessiveness with cases that fascinated or scared the living shit out of him. Like this case that had brought him out to Colorado. He could see potential leads, looming problems, possible solutions where others didn’t.
He had always been an “unusual” FBI agent. Hell, that was why they said they had recruited him out of NYU Law. During his interviews he’d been told that the Bureau wanted him because they were too straitlaced and traditional, and therefore too predictable. He was supposed to represent a new, evolved kind of agent. And he sure had! For a while, anyway.
They had sold hard on the idea of breaking out of the envelope, working outside the box; but once he was inside the organization, he discovered that the FBI really didn’t want to change very much. Actually, the Bureau had tried to change him. And when he wouldn’t budge, they resented the hell out of it. One of his superiors said, “We didn’t join you, Tom. You joined us. So why don’t you cut the prima donna horseshit and get with the program like the rest of us?”
Because he was different. He was supposed to be different. That was the deal—and a deal was a deal.
Except that the Bureau wasn’t keeping their end.
They resented the corduroy sports jackets, unlogoed ball caps, the jeans, the dock shoes he insisted on wearing to work, and not just on Fridays. And that he read “serious” novels like Underworld and Mason