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on it just yet.
    He called around until he found a motel with a vacancy on the west side of town. It was his third room in as many nights and he experienced the rare sensation of wishing for some stability.
    As a Specialist his stability was the team, not the location. Sleeping in the same bed two nights in a row had never been that important to him. This was the wrong time to be thinking of anything other than the enigma that was this case.
    It took him twice as long as it should have to reach the place and Jason was thrilled to finally be out of the car. He tossed his bag on the bed and set his laptop on the desk, turning it on. While it booted up, he put the frozen pizza he’d picked up from the kiosk in the lobby in the microwave. Before he left town he vowed to have a thick steak at the best steak house in the city.
    He was about to put the flash drive in the port when his cell phone rang. He waited for the second ring to display the caller’s information, but the unknown number icon flashed on the screen along with a local area code. “Jason Grant.”
    “It’s Casey.”
    Adrenaline fired in his veins. “Sir. Are you safe?”
    “For the moment, but I haven’t reached the resort yet. Agent DeRossi needed to ask me a few questions away from the office.”
    Jason actively listened for any distress in the director’s voice, any clues to his location. It was a relief he sounded at ease, if not relaxed, but he would have preferred some direction.
    “Sir, I’ve been ordered—”
    “I’m changing your orders. I need you to pull an immediate background check with last known location and contact on a criminal known as Whelan. Off the record.”
    Jason wanted to explain his current assignment and give the director some warning but it would have to wait. “Should I report back at this number?”
    “No. Send it on to Lucas Camp. He’s at the lodge with the wedding party.”
    “Sir?”
    “I’ll explain later. This information is only for Mr. Camp.”
    Jason promised, and surprisingly the director thanked him before ending the call. He was used to Holt’s more abrupt style of barking an order and hanging up before anyone had a chance to ask a question.
    Tempted as he was by the flash drive, Jason worked on Whelan’s background first. Being a Specialist gave him access to several databases that didn’t officially exist, but going through normal channels meant someone would know he’d been poking around.
    He didn’t think that’s what the director had in mind. Whelan was widely known throughout the intelligence community as a creative genius with all things that could catch fire or go boom. He was also known for selling his skills to the highest bidder and he regularly evaded custody and prosecution for his destructive and usually lethal devices.
    Jason had only bumped into his work once before. Twice if he counted this afternoon. Assuming the director’s inquiry meant he thought Whelan was behind the explosion at the airport parking lot.
    Fortunately, he still had discreet friends who could help him learn what Casey needed to know. He winced as he checked his watch and did the math, knowing he’d wake up Brian O’Marron, his pal he’d met during a short stint with Interpol.
    He entered the number and waited for it to ring on the other side of the Atlantic. The motel phone would have been more secure, but O’Marron wouldn’t bother to answer an unknown caller at this hour. While Mission Recovery analysts might dump his phone logs if things fell apart on this assignment, Jason knew that would take some time. And if questioned, he could offer other valid reasons beyond the director’s concerns for making this call. With the phone to his ear, he rubbed his temples trying to get ahead of the tension headache he felt building behind his eyes. This was the safest of his limited options to get the information the director needed.
    Provided O’Marron ever answered his damn phone.
    After exchanging not-so-pleasant