Chapter 20
Austin
“Anything?”
Gibson looked up from his laptop, his longer than regulation curly brown hair sticking up at odd angles.
“Nothing new.”
We’d been at it for hours, scouring old reports and following leads that led to dead ends.
“What the fuck happened?” I asked; it was rhetorical, but Gibson answered anyway.
“Fuck if I know.”
“How did so many files go missing? How the hell did two CIA officers disappear without a trace and no one went looking for them?”
“Foul play?” Gibson leaned back and ran his hand through his hair.
“No shit, Sherlock.” It was quickly becoming our most used phrase.
Gibson laughed as he shut his laptop and stood. “Let’s get out of here. Maybe a change of scenery will help.”
“Beer?”
“Beer.”
We couldn’t talk openly, but we’d worked together enough to speak in code. In several languages.
“You’re driving,” G said.
We packed up and left, saying goodbye to the few souls still burning the midnight oil.
My case made less and less sense the more I learned.
By all accounts, Travis and Melissa Singer were exemplary officers.
The CIA had awarded Melissa an Intelligence Medal of Merit for going above and beyond in one of her earlier cases.
The math isn’t adding up.