Read Online Abandoned: A Thriller by Cody McFadyen - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Cody McFadyen
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and sigh. “Oh, well,” I mutter.
“Knock ’em dead,” Shirley says, her eyes twinkling more than I like. She, apparently, sees plenty of humor in the situation.
I go to the door of the office, take a deep breath, and open it. I enter and see both AD Jones and Director Rathbun standing. They don’t look like they’ve been talking. They look like they’ve been waiting. Off to the right I see another figure I recognize. Rachael Hinson. She’s blonde and stands about five feet five. Her face is a blank sheet of paper, her eyes, watchful. She holds a BlackBerry and wears a Bluetooth earpiece and is murmuring to herself quietly as she speaks to someone on the phone. Hinson is Director Rathbun’s assistant, or hatchet woman as I think of her. She’s the go-to gal, the one who knows where the bodies are buried, because she did the burying.
Samuel Rathbun sees me and cranks up the wattage, smiling his trademark politician’s smile and holding out his hand for me to shake. I glance at AD Jones, whose eyes slit briefly in a go-with-the-flow gesture. I return Rathbun’s smile and shake his hand. Firm, of course, but not too firm.
“Thanks for coming, Smoky,” he says. “I know you were busy.” He smiles again, crinkling his eyes and indicating my dress, the picture of good humor.
“I live to serve, sir,” I chirp, earning a look of warning from the AD.
“Glad to hear it,” Rathbun replies, either not getting the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. “Let’s all take a seat.”
AD Jones sits down behind his desk. Director Rathbun and I sit down in the chairs in front of the desk, angled slightly to face each other. Hinson remains in the background, murmuring to herself in the shadows.
I take stock of the Director of the FBI. I can’t help it. He’s a political animal, but he’s still the boss of bosses, so he inspires a little bit ofawe. Samuel Rathbun is in his early fifties. He’s got dark hair, cut Bureau-short (but stylish) with just the right amount of salt and pepper left in. He’s handsome enough for his type. Not honest enough for me, but I’d guess the Hinsons of the world find him desirable. He’s reputed to be ruthless but fair, although the fair will get tossed aside if needed to save his own ass. I don’t really hold this against him. He exists on another playing field, answering to the president and the attorney general and the like. He keeps us funded. I imagine that requires a unique mind-set.
I have no complaints about my own brief brushes with him. He’s been pretty straightforward, and he, too, seems results-oriented. He used to be a cop before joining the FBI and, like the AD, worked his way up the ranks. He has my grudging, if cautious, respect.
“I’ll get right to the point, Smoky,” he says.
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“We’re going to be forming a national strike team tasked with solving serial murders, child murders, and abductions, stuff like that. I want you to head it up.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. Of all the things I could have expected hearing when I walked into this office, this is the last I would have conjured.
“Say that again, sir?”
He smiles at my surprise. It’s a more genuine smile than the earlier ones. I guess he understands. He relaxes, settling back into his chair. “Post 9/11, the whole mandate of the FBI has been shifting. We’re being asked to focus our attention on terrorism, and that’s where the majority of our budget is heading. There’s a lot of pressure to force locals to solve their own serial crimes and to reduce the FBI duties to simple areas: profiling, CODIS, ViCAP. Support activities as opposed to active investigation.”
CODIS is the Combined DNA Index System. ViCAP is the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. Both are FBI-maintained and-administered databases that exist for the collation of evidence. CODIS indexes DNA evidence collected in the investigation of violent crimes throughout the country. ViCAP houses all
“Knock ’em dead,” Shirley says, her eyes twinkling more than I like. She, apparently, sees plenty of humor in the situation.
I go to the door of the office, take a deep breath, and open it. I enter and see both AD Jones and Director Rathbun standing. They don’t look like they’ve been talking. They look like they’ve been waiting. Off to the right I see another figure I recognize. Rachael Hinson. She’s blonde and stands about five feet five. Her face is a blank sheet of paper, her eyes, watchful. She holds a BlackBerry and wears a Bluetooth earpiece and is murmuring to herself quietly as she speaks to someone on the phone. Hinson is Director Rathbun’s assistant, or hatchet woman as I think of her. She’s the go-to gal, the one who knows where the bodies are buried, because she did the burying.
Samuel Rathbun sees me and cranks up the wattage, smiling his trademark politician’s smile and holding out his hand for me to shake. I glance at AD Jones, whose eyes slit briefly in a go-with-the-flow gesture. I return Rathbun’s smile and shake his hand. Firm, of course, but not too firm.
“Thanks for coming, Smoky,” he says. “I know you were busy.” He smiles again, crinkling his eyes and indicating my dress, the picture of good humor.
“I live to serve, sir,” I chirp, earning a look of warning from the AD.
“Glad to hear it,” Rathbun replies, either not getting the sarcasm or choosing to ignore it. “Let’s all take a seat.”
AD Jones sits down behind his desk. Director Rathbun and I sit down in the chairs in front of the desk, angled slightly to face each other. Hinson remains in the background, murmuring to herself in the shadows.
I take stock of the Director of the FBI. I can’t help it. He’s a political animal, but he’s still the boss of bosses, so he inspires a little bit ofawe. Samuel Rathbun is in his early fifties. He’s got dark hair, cut Bureau-short (but stylish) with just the right amount of salt and pepper left in. He’s handsome enough for his type. Not honest enough for me, but I’d guess the Hinsons of the world find him desirable. He’s reputed to be ruthless but fair, although the fair will get tossed aside if needed to save his own ass. I don’t really hold this against him. He exists on another playing field, answering to the president and the attorney general and the like. He keeps us funded. I imagine that requires a unique mind-set.
I have no complaints about my own brief brushes with him. He’s been pretty straightforward, and he, too, seems results-oriented. He used to be a cop before joining the FBI and, like the AD, worked his way up the ranks. He has my grudging, if cautious, respect.
“I’ll get right to the point, Smoky,” he says.
“I appreciate that, sir.”
“We’re going to be forming a national strike team tasked with solving serial murders, child murders, and abductions, stuff like that. I want you to head it up.”
I stare at him, nonplussed. Of all the things I could have expected hearing when I walked into this office, this is the last I would have conjured.
“Say that again, sir?”
He smiles at my surprise. It’s a more genuine smile than the earlier ones. I guess he understands. He relaxes, settling back into his chair. “Post 9/11, the whole mandate of the FBI has been shifting. We’re being asked to focus our attention on terrorism, and that’s where the majority of our budget is heading. There’s a lot of pressure to force locals to solve their own serial crimes and to reduce the FBI duties to simple areas: profiling, CODIS, ViCAP. Support activities as opposed to active investigation.”
CODIS is the Combined DNA Index System. ViCAP is the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. Both are FBI-maintained and-administered databases that exist for the collation of evidence. CODIS indexes DNA evidence collected in the investigation of violent crimes throughout the country. ViCAP houses all
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