Allegiance: A Jackson Quick Adventure Read Online Free Page B

London?”
    “Yes.”
    I’d always imagined a trip here, though under far different circumstances. I’d gotten my passport because Charlie and I were planning a vacation through Europe after the election was over. It was her idea. London, Paris, Rome, Barcelona. We’d buy Eurail passes and stay in cheap hotels. I felt a tinge of guilt being here without her, but it was my job. I couldn’t tell her about it. I told her I was in El Paso meeting with the county party chairperson.
    “Where are you staying?” Davis asked, but I don’t think he really cared.
    “Kensington,” I said. “Near Earl’s Court.”
    “Nice.” He leaned his woolen elbows on the table. “Many wonderful hotels there. It’s convenient if not centrally located.”
    “What do you do, Mr. Davis?”
    The waitress arrived with my plate and warned me it was hot. I touched the plate anyway. It was hot. Seeing me ignore her warning, she smiled and rolled her eyes.
    “Everybody does that,” she laughed and asked Davis what he’d like, if anything.
    “A margarita please,” he smiled at me as he ordered. It sounded odd hearing someone with a British accent order a mah - gah - reeter . “I hear they’re not to be missed,” he leaned back in his chair and adjusted his coat. Maybe his visit with me would be longer than I thought.
    “You asked me something, Mr. Quick?”
    I studied his expression, which gave away nothing. His face was smooth, the pores small. He took good care of himself, apart from neglected orthodonture. His eyes were bright, telling me he knew more about me than I would ever learn about him.
    “What do you do?”
    “Hmmm,” he tapped his fingers on the edge of the table as though he were playing piano. “I suppose whatever it is needs doing, Mr. Quick.”
    “Must keep you busy,” I remarked. I took my fork and dug into the shell of the chimichanga. Steam rose from the shredded chicken inside the fried shell. The waitress brought his margarita, on the rocks, salted on the rim of the glass.
    “It depends on the season young man.” Davis smiled and took a sip of his drink. “Quite good. Never too early in the morning for a good drink, wouldn’t you say?”
    I nodded and chewed the chimichanga, burning the roof of my mouth. Davis thumbed the salt from above his lip. He licked it off as though he were preparing to turn the page of a book.
    “So, Mr. Quick,” he pushed his drink toward the middle of the table and began his concerto again with his fingers, “you have something for me?”
    I could hear the condescension in his voice. He was much older than I, and obviously more experienced in cloak and dagger exchanges performed over late morning alcohol and European Tex-Mex.
    “Yes, I guess I do.” I put down my fork, wiped my mouth, and turned to my carry-on. I unzipped it and pulled out the iPod, turning it on for the first time since receiving it.
    Davis reached across the table with an open hand. I hesitated.
    “There’s a code, Mr. Davis,” I reminded him. “You need to give me the code. I will unlock it, then it’s yours.”
    “Of course.” A crocodile smile. “Zero, Three, Zero, Two.”
    I tapped the numbers onto the screen and the device unlocked.
    I passed the iPod to Davis. “It’s yours.”
    Without saying another word, Davis slipped the iPod into his interior breast pocket and pushed back from the table. He fixed his jacket and turned to leave. I half expected him to turn around as he walked out of the restaurant. He didn’t. He was gone and it was as if we’d never met.
     
    ***
     
    “Each trip was financed through a bank account connected to some powerful people.”
    I say nothing.
    “What you’re doing would be considered,” The Saint pauses for effect, “sedition.”
    Sedition ? What does he mean ?
    I flinch as he moves behind me.
    “I want to know what was on those iPods.” The Saint is behind my right ear now. “What did you give to your contacts? I know you know what was on them. At