The 22nd Secret (18 page)

He
looked
a
t h
i
s w
a
tch.
It w
a
s al
r
e
a
d
y
11
a
m
. He
h
a
d thr
e
e
ho
u
rs b
e
f
o
re h
i
s me
e
t
i
ng
with
J
ohnson
a
nd
S
tanl
e
y
, pl
e
n
t
y
of time
to
g
e
t a bite
t
o
ea
t
a
nd
c
a
ll
H
a
nk.
H
e
got up and
wa
lked out of
his of
f
ice
a
nd h
ea
d
e
d
f
or
his c
a
r.

He
a
te
a
t
t
his
M
c
Don
a
l
d’
s oft
e
n. Not ma
n
y
C
I
A
p
e
ople
a
te lunch
a
t Mc
D
o
n
a
l
d
’
s. He
h
a
d to pass two
c
loser
loc
a
t
i
o
ns to r
e
ac
h th
i
s on
e
.
H
e
got h
i
s f
a
vorite
me
a
l, a
d
o
uble qu
a
rt
e
r po
u
n
d
e
r with ch
ee
se
c
ombo, sup
e
r
-
si
z
e
d with
a
Diet Cok
e
.
He
quiet
l
y
loo
k
e
d
a
rou
n
d to
m
a
ke
sure
he didn’t r
ec
o
g
ni
z
e
a
n
y
one.
W
h
e
n he
w
a
s finish
e
d,
h
e
w
a
lked to
t
he
p
a
y
pho
n
e
in
t
he
p
a
rki
n
g
lot
b
y the str
ee
t. He
d
i
a
led a
lo
n
g
dis
t
a
n
c
e
number
a
nd
e
n
te
re
d Ron
Ma
c
k
’
s
c
r
e
dit
ca
rd n
u
mb
e
r.

“
An
c
ho
ra
g
e
Holid
a
y
I
nn
Airp
o
r
t
, how
ca
n
I
dir
e
c
t
y
o
ur
ca
l
l
?
”

“Tom
m
y
Ch
a
n
’
s
room ple
a
s
e.
”

“
H
e
l
l
o.”

“
H
a
nk
?
”

“
Y
ea
h
.”

“
L
is
t
e
n.
I
’m p
re
t
t
y
su
r
e
P
a
t
t
y
’s
a
l
i
ve
a
nd
w
a
i
t
ing
f
or
us to
c
onta
c
t he
r
.
”

“
You su
r
e
a
bout
t
h
a
t
?
”

“
No, but i
t
’s
a
ll
we
g
ot.
S
o h
e
r
e
’s
wh
a
t
I
w
a
nt
y
ou
to do. This is
the phone
number
a
nd
a
ddr
e
ss of the
An
c
ho
ra
g
e
F
B
I
of
f
i
c
e
. The
man in
c
h
a
r
g
e
is
M
ike
T
u
r
n
e
r. Write it down.”

“
Hold on.”
The
c
onv
e
r
s
a
t
i
on p
a
used
while
H
a
nk
got a p
e
n
c
il
a
nd p
a
p
e
r. “
O
k
a
y
,
wh
a
t’s that
a
ddr
e
ss
?
”
Tom
g
a
ve
him
the
a
ddr
e
ss.

“
L
e
t
B
ob
b
y
kn
o
w
w
h
a
t’s
h
a
pp
e
ni
n
g
,”
T
e
ll
him
to cont
ac
t h
i
s pe
o
ple.
T
e
ll
him
y
ou’ll d
e
l
i
v
e
r Pat
t
y
L
a
w
r
e
n
c
e
a
round
noon to
m
o
r
ro
w
.
T
hink
y
ou
c
a
n do i
t
?
”

“
Do
I
h
a
v
e
a
c
ho
i
ce
?
”

“
No.”
Tom p
a
u
s
e
d a
m
o
ment.
“
H
a
nk, be
ca
r
e
ful
a
round
the Chin
e
s
e
. O
k
a
y
,
bud
d
y
?”

“
Y
ea
h, t
h
a
nks.
I
wil
l
.
I
s
that
a
l
l
?
”

“
One
more
th
i
n
g
, the
o
w
n
e
r of
th
i
s lodge is n
a
m
e
d
J
i
m M
i
tch
e
l
l
. H
e
’s a
f
o
rm
e
r n
a
v
y
S
E
A
L
.
I
fi
g
u
re
h
e
’s t
r
y
i
n
g
to h
i
de
P
a
t
t
y
f
rom the
a
uthorities. The
she
r
if
f
’s n
a
me is
B
i
l
l K
e
l
l
e
r,
e
x
-
A
r
m
y
S
p
ec
i
a
l
F
o
r
ce
s.
He
m
a
y
be
in
on th
i
s too.
W
a
tch th
e
se
g
u
y
s
. T
h
e
y
c
ould be d
a
n
g
e
rous. T
r
y
to
ca
tch Pat
t
y
a
lone.
I
f
th
e
y
don
’
t know w
h
a
t
’
s
g
oi
n
g
o
n
,
I
’d just as s
o
on k
ee
p it
that w
a
y
.
I
’ll
b
e
a
t
t
his
W
hi
t
e
B
ea
r
lod
g
e
b
y
to
m
o
r
r
o
w
a
ft
er
noon. Good lu
c
k, H
a
nk.”

“
Th
a
nks.
I
’ll n
e
e
d i
t
”

Th
e
y
h
a
n
g
up without
s
a
y
i
n
g
g
ood
b
y
e
,
for
r
ea
so
n
s neither
w
a
nted to th
i
nk
a
bout. Tom h
e
ld onto
t
he
re
c
e
ive
r
.
H
e looked
a
t h
i
s w
a
tch
a
nd
saw
that
it
w
a
s 12:45.
H
e
dial
e
d the numb
e
r to the
A
n
c
horage
F
B
I
of
f
i
c
e, hoping
T
u
rn
e
r
would be
i
n
.
L
is
t
e
ni
n
g
to
t
he
ph
o
ne
r
ing Tom thou
g
ht t
i
m
i
ng
f
or
the n
e
x
t f
e
w
d
a
y
s
would be
e
v
e
r
y
th
i
ng,
t
i
m
ing
a
nd a
l
i
t
t
le lu
c
k.

“
This
i
s Dir
ec
tor S
t
a
nl
e
y
,
”
Tom said.
“
P
ut
m
e
throu
g
h to Mr.
T
u
r
n
e
r
.
”