Search: A Novel of Forbidden History Read Online Free Page A

against his chair leg, restless.
    The waiter left.
    “Give me the files.”
    David suddenly saw a chance to accelerate his search. Whoever Merrit and Pinstripe were working for, they had the capability—and the cash—to launch field expeditions halfway around the world on only a few weeks’ notice. Maybe they could help him more directly.
    “I want to change our arrangement.”
    Pinstripe leaned forward, threatening. “Ten grand. That’s it.”
    “It’s not the money.”
    Pinstripe hesitated, confused.
    “You know how I’m getting my information. It’s risky.”
    “So? You’re getting paid.” Pinstripe half turned away, touched his ear, and for the first time David noticed he had a small device in it.
    David tried to recapture his attention. “Look. It takes weeks to run simple searches without being detected. Searches that a dedicated lab could do in a day or two.”
    Pinstripe was already pushing away from the table, getting to his feet.
    David saw his sale evaporating; he retrenched immediately. “Okay, okay. Forget I said anything. I’ll do it your way.” He shoved a hand into his pocket to dig for his keys but stopped as Pinstripe’s next words changed everything.
    “You got an invite upstairs. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

    It seemed redundant to have a presidential suite in a hotel within sight of the White House. Then again, other countries had presidents whose visits required similar accommodations. Tonight, the figure sprawled on the yellow brocade sofa beside a woodburning fireplace was anything but a public official, though he was often a target of their investigations.
    He was oversized himself, six foot five, three hundred pounds, and instantly recognizable from near constant exposure in the news.
    David revised his speculation about potential access to resources. Holden Stennis Ironwood had been on the
Forbes
billionaire list for more than a decade, hovering easily in the top ten even in the throes of global recession. He owned telecom companies, bought and sold entire news organizations, cornered strategic metals, and was building his own orbital tourist rocket in Nevada. This man could buy the world.
    Ironwood held out his hand without getting up. The man’s heavy grip was crushing, and from his predatory smile, he knew it.
    “Now you know who you’re dealing with, you’re thinking you should’ve been charging more.” As familiar as his face, Ironwood’s voice was a raspy baritone with a down-home southern twang, the same as Pinstripe’s.
    “Pretty much.”
    “That’s what I like.” With a grunt, Ironwood swung his bare feet onto the thick Persian rug and sat up. Piles of newspapers and magazines, in many languages, were scattered on the floor around him. “You stay honest, we can do business.” He nodded to Pinstripe, who swept David with a metal-detector wand. “You
are
honest, right?”
    “I’m selling you restricted data from army files that technically I don’t have access to.” The wand squealed as Pinstripe moved it over the backpack. David handed it over without being asked.
    Ironwood’s expression was the look of command, just like Kowinski’s. The billionaire’s good ol’ boy routine was exactly that: a routine. David had no doubt that the mind behind it was as sharp as the creases on the colonel’s uniform.
    “Honest with
me,
” Ironwood said. “The army’s corrupt, just like the government. Stick it to those fools, I say.” He stood up, towering over David, as formidable physically as he was financially. “But you try and stick it tome . . . Well, you’re a smart guy. You can figure it out.” He looked over at Pinstripe. “J.R.—everything aboveboard?”
    J.R. had sorted the contents of David’s backpack on the table in the dining alcove: gym clothes in one pile, two old paperbacks, a small black iPod tangled in earbuds, an even smaller digital recorder, and a phone.
    “So far.” He removed the batteries from David’s phone