The Disposable Man by Archer Mayor Read Free Book Online

on my desk.
    “Just came in—the Logan Airport branch of that rental car company. We faxed ’em the John Doe photo, which they definitely matched, and they kicked this back. Interesting reading—mostly for what it doesn’t say.”
    I sat forward and peered at the document under the light from my desk lamp. It was a rental application filled out in the name of Boris Malik. “Address: Paris; driver’s license: international, original issue Lebanon; company address: Moscow.”
    I stopped reading and sat back. “Let’s follow this up—push whatever buttons you need to gain access to all passenger lists on international flights arriving at Logan in the three hours before he rented that car.”
    The intercom buzzed and the dispatcher’s voice floated into the room. “Joe, you have a call on three—the caller wouldn’t leave his name.”
    I punched the speakerphone on. “Hello?”
    “Lieutenant Gunther?” The man’s tone was soft, almost sleepy.
    “Yes.”
    “Would you mind taking this call off the loudspeaker?”
    I looked at Ron and motioned to him to pick up the phone on the desk just outside my office. I already had a sneaking suspicion who this might be—or at least where he was calling from.
    At a nod from me, Ron and I lifted our receivers simultaneously. “This better?” I asked.
    “Much—thank you. I assume you either have someone listening in or a tape recorder running. That’s not a problem. I just thought it might be more discreet not to have this conversation broadcast all over the station.”
    I put my feet up on the desk. “What’s on your mind?”
    “My name is Gil Snowden. I’m calling from Virginia about a John Doe you recently discovered.”
    “That reminds me of a guy I met once,” I said. “Years ago—very clean-cut, well spoken, an obvious Ivy Leaguer—who told me he’d gone to college in New Haven. Are you being coy that way, too?”
    He allowed a theatrically embarrassed chuckle, and said, “Okay, I work for the CIA. I was wondering if you’d be interested in having a conversation. It might help you put this case to bed.”
    He left it hanging there. Ron raised his eyebrows at me questioningly.
    “You mean down there?” I asked.
    “It would be friendlier face to face.”
    I tried looking at the possible angles, but had no idea where to start. “I’ll have to get back to you,” I hedged. “I’m not my own boss here.”
    “Not a problem,” Snowden answered smoothly and gave me a phone number. “Call me any time.”
    · · ·
    Tony Brandt swiveled his chair around so he could stare out the window, two fingertips of his right hand just grazing his lower lip. It was at moments like this that I knew he missed his pipe the most.
    “Frazier didn’t tell you anything?”
    “Supposedly, Philpot—if that is his name—didn’t tell him anything. Frazier asked who the guy was, hoping for a little buddy-buddy breach of confidentiality. All he got was a one-liner about how the Agency had been looking for someone, but that our John Doe wasn’t him—that they had no idea who he was.”
    Brandt’s eyes stayed fixed outside. “And you’re not swallowing that.”
    “Not when Snowden tells me he can put the case to bed. They’re obviously reading from two different playbooks—one says to stiff us, and the other to scratch our ears till we roll over and go to sleep.”
    “Then why go to Langley? Won’t they just shovel you more bullshit?”
    I turned both my palms heavenward. “What else have we got? A virtually dry-cleaned body, a near-sterilized car, and not a single murmur from all the inquiries we sent out. Ron told me this morning we’re not even getting crank calls for the picture we put in the papers. That’s a first. I’m not saying Snowden’s going to spell everything out like he’s implying. But I am hoping he’ll let
some
thing slip.”
    Brandt finally turned back to face me. “We can’t afford to
fly
you down.”
    · · ·
    I don’t often travel