Page 15 of Code 6

“Kate! That’s the third strike. I should be hanging up now.”

“No, don’t! Stop jerking me around and just tell me what you want me to do.”

She worried he might hang up, but she was glad she’d said it.

“Okay. I can respect that. I want you to meet me between Fourteenth Street and the old Fifteenth Street across from the National Mall. One hundred Raoul Wallenberg Place.”

“When?”

“Four o’clock.”

“But—”

“That’s the only slot I have. I have to check into rehab by six.”

Kate would have to skip her favorite class, but a meeting with a Broadway director had to qualify as an excused absence for a course called the Law and Lawyers in Modern Literature.

“I’ll be there. Should I bring my script?”

“No. I said rewrite, not revision. The old script will only hold you back. This is your first research trip on a brand-new act one, scene one, page one. You’ll understand when you get there.”

Oddly enough, Kate, too, was feeling inspired. And intimidated. “Okay,” she said, but Bass had already hung up before she could add “Looking forward to it.”

Kate put her cellphone away, and then took a minute to gather upthe tangerine peelings, stray pieces of popcorn, empty water bottle, and other evidence of what passed for lunch in law school. She was trying to decide if her energy bar wrapper was trash or recycling when her phone rang again. Her first thought was that Bass had already changed his mind. She was wrong.

“Kate, hey, it’s Noah. Sorry to bother, but I need to talk to you right away.”

She returned to her seat at the table. “What about?”

“Buck Technologies.”

“I think you have the wrong Gamble.”

“I’m serious. This is important.”

Kate could hear the tightness in his voice, which underscored his words. “Okay. I’m listening.”

“I can’t do this over the phone. Where are you now?”

She could only guess as to why it had to be in person, but when someone who prosecuted cybercrimes for a living told you not to talk on the phone, you followed his lead.

“I’m at the law school.”

“Can you meet me outside the Judiciary Square station?”

She knew it well. It was near Georgetown University, where she and Noah had met, and even closer to the U.S. Attorney’s Office, where he worked. “Sure. I’ve already blown off my afternoon class. I can be there in thirty minutes.”

“Thanks. See you then.”

“You’re not even going to give me a hint as to what this is about?” she asked.

There was a moment’s hesitation, and then his reply. “See you in thirty,” he said, and the call ended.

Christian Gamble checked into the Mayflower Hotel and went straight to his suite. He’d been staying in hotels since Elizabeth’s death, no plans to return to the penthouse at Tysons Tower. His selection ofthe Mayflower, however, was not without purpose. He was there for a wedding as a guest of the groom. Had it been anyone but David Walker, he would have sent his regrets.

Gamble had known David Walker nearly as long as Buck Technologies had existed. Like most tech companies, Buck could never have succeeded without the backing of a venture capital firm. Walker was the head of BJB Funding, the initials standing for “Bond, James Bond,” the introduction made famous by Ian Fleming’s iconic hero. The Bond connection was lighthearted but no accident. Following the terrorist attacks of September 11, 2001, the CIA was on a mission to fund elite tech companies, especially data-integration firms. A clever team of lawyers pointed out to the CIA’s director that, under the United States Code, the agency’s funds “may be expended without regard to the provisions of law and regulations relating to the expenditure of Government funds.” In other words, while a typical venture capital fund raises money from passive investors such as pension funds, BJB could receive annual funding for investment purposes as part of the CIA’s budget for the Directorate of Science and Technology. Some might consider it an odd use of taxpayer dollars, but that hadn’t stopped Walker from steering millions from the CIA’s very discretionary budget to Buck Technologies at a time when it was desperately needed.

No one regretted it more than Christian Gamble.