The Informationist: A Thriller by Taylor Stevens Read Free Book Online Page A

just waiting and hoping that someday someone will bring me news. You are the best at what you do. You have never gone on an assignment and failed to deliver. I know that if you agree to this assignment, you will deliver. And maybe that’s partially what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid that you’ll choose not to do it because you don’t think you can deliver, and that’s why I’m willing to pay you two-point-five million for giving it your very best effort. I don’t know how long it would take before you ran up against a dead end. We’ve been at it for four years. If you give me a year, that’s all I ask, even if you don’t get any further than we have.”
    “So you’re willing to take a two-and-a-half-million-dollar risk on the remote chance that I might get further than you have?”
    “If you want to put it that way, then yes, although I don’t see it as a risk.” He swept his hand around the office. “Obviously, money is not my greatest concern. I have enough to last me several lifetimes. What I don’t have is closure. I can’t handle not knowing—and possibly not
ever
knowing—what happened to my daughter, and time is running out. Each day that passes without bringing new information further seals the outcome. I’ve read some of the reports you’ve put together. You snatch information out of what seems to be thin air. I believe with utmost certainty that if you say my daughter is dead, that she is dead, and if she is alive, that you are the one who can find her. And if you tell me that the trail has ended and there is no hope of going further, I will know that all that can be done has been done.”
    Munroe pulled herself up in the chair and leaned forward across the desk so that her eyes were level with his. “That’s it? I promise to do my best and you hand over payment? What if I signed your contract, took a yearlong vacation in Africa, and simply said that I tried?”
    Burbank smiled and held her gaze. He waited a few seconds before answering, as though choosing his words carefully. “If I’ve come to understand you correctly,” he said, “I don’t think you would even consider that as an option—you have your reputation at stake. However, I am also a businessman—I protect my investments. I would expect to receive progress updates from you on a frequent if not regular basis, and I retain the right to send one of my people to assist you if I deem it necessary.”
    “You do realize,” Munroe remonstrated, “that I have never been babysat on a job before, and I have no desire to start now. I work alone, Mr. Burbank, and I very carefully select the people who help me. If I should choose to accept your assignment, what makes you think your ‘people’ are qualified? If they were, you wouldn’t need me.”
    Burbank reached into his desk and withdrew a second folder. “This is Miles Bradford,” he said. “I trust him with my life. He has been with me through hell and back, and it was he who recommended you to me. Miles is no stranger to Africa, and although it wasn’t mentioned in the background documents, Miles was on the investigative team that traveled from Windhoek to Brazzaville, Congo. You are free to research him yourself. If you feel he’s unqualified, let me know and you can have your pick of the people within my organization whom I would trust with this.”
    Munroe glanced briefly through the file and then took her own file off Burbank’s desk and handed them both to Breeden. “All right, Mr. Burbank,” she said. “I will think about your offer. After I’ve reread the information on your daughter’s case, then read the information on Miles Bradford and the dossier you have on me, I’ll get back to you. You should hear from me through Ms. Breeden within seventy-two hours.”
    “Thank you, Michael,” Burbank said, his voice softer. “That’s all I ask.”
    T HERE WAS SILENCE in the elevator on the way to the lobby. Breeden tapped on the thick files and said, “I’ll