“So Lancer and Draymont, and, I suppose, Patty Kelly, are dead because of Kanak Roe and something he did, what, while he was still in the Secret Service all those years ago? For me, that stretches plausibility to the breaking point. Why wait so long to take action?”

  “That’s what we have to find out. And maybe they already took action, three years ago.”

  “You mean, when Kanak disappeared?”

  Roe came back out at that moment looking at her phone.

  “Okay, his name is Arthur Dykes. He and my dad were close friends for a long time. Came up through the Secret Service ranks and worked side by side for quite a few years. He should be able to tell you some things I might not know.”

  “Can you give him a heads-up that we’ll be in contact?”

  “Yes. But I can’t believe this has anything to do with my father’s past.”

  “That’s why we’re checking. To either rule it out or not.”

  “Did your father have any enemies?” asked White.

  Roe stared directly at her. “In this life, we all have enemies.”

  Chapter 69

  THEY STAYED OVER IN MIAMI, and the next morning Decker called Arthur Dykes, who had long since retired and was living in Punta Gorda, north of Fort Myers. They made arrangements to meet with him, then left Miami and drove straight to see the retired agent.

  Dykes lived in—What else? Decker thought—a golf community. They took the elevator up to his condo and were invited in.

  Dykes was medium height and had kept a trim, active figure, though he was now around eighty. He also had a full head of silvery hair. His home was free of knickknacks and the clutter one sometimes saw in the homes of the elderly. He was a widower, he told them, as he invited them in. His four kids were spread out over the country.

  Over iced teas as they sat at an outdoor deck, Dykes told them about his time with Kanak Roe and the Secret Service.

  “Kanak was driven, focused, wanted to make a career out of it,” he said.

  “But he didn’t,” pointed out Decker. “He left nine years short of his full pension. Do you know what changed his mind?”

  Dykes looked uncomfortable. “You could retire with twenty years’ service at age fifty, but Kanak wasn’t close to being that old. He wasn’t even forty when he left the Service. He was hard to read. I mean, he was a really good friend for many years, but we came from really different backgrounds. He left his home country when he was a kid, but he saw some crazy shit, let me tell you. And I know it affected him. As good friends as we were, there was a side of Kanak that no one else ever saw, including me.”

  “Anything unusual with his Secret Service career?” asked Decker.

  “We joined up at the same time. Went through training together. We did normal rotations, worked on protection details for several presidents, including Reagan. Everything was going smoothly. Then, bam, he checked out.”

  “So he never talked to you about his abrupt career change?” asked White.

  “Not in so many words, but Kanak became…different.”

  “When and how?” asked a suddenly tense Decker. “Be as precise as possible.”

  “I’ve given it a lot of thought, particularly after I found out you wanted to meet. And I can actually pinpoint it to one specific time.”

  “Let’s hear it,” said Decker.

  “We were protecting Reagan at the time. This was about eight months after Hinckley shot him. The Service, of course, had changed its protocols to make sure that wouldn’t happen again. Anyway, we’d been on that particular protection detail for about three months. And don’t believe what you see on movies or TV, there’s nothing glamorous about it. It’s just a grind. Tedious as hell ninety-nine percent of the time. The other one percent? You’re screwed if you mess up one little bit.”

  “I’m sure,” said White.

  “We were in Miami for a speech Reagan was giving. Nothing special, just another fund-raiser. When it was over, we rotated off duty after the president got back to his hotel suite and went to bed. Some of us guys went out for a late dinner and drinks. But Kanak didn’t. He stayed at the hotel. The next morning he…he was different.”

  “How?” asked Decker.

  “He was normally the first down for the briefing, but I had to go up and get him. He was still dressed in his clothes from the previous night. Looked like he hadn’t slept. At first, I thought he was hungover because he just seemed out of it, but he assured me he hadn’t had a drop. There were no bottles that I could see, and no smell of liquor on his breath or clothes. And he was pretty much a teetotaler, so I believed him. I asked him what was wrong, but he wouldn’t say anything. He…he just looked stunned, I guess.”

  “Keep going,” prompted White.

  “He pulled himself together and did his job that day. But after that things got weird.”

  “How so?” asked Decker.

  “He’d get phone calls in the office but would never say a word about them. Who was calling or why. He’d leave early to go meet someone, but he never said who. His work suffered, and he got written up a couple of times. I would have thought he was having an affair, but he wasn’t married back then.”

  “Maybe he was seeing someone who was married,” suggested White.

  “Maybe, but Kanak was such a straight arrow, I just couldn’t see that. I had him over a few times for dinner with me and my wife, you know, trying to get him to open up. But he never really did.”

  “Did he say anything at all that might explain what had happened?” asked Decker.

  Dykes mulled over this. “He and I were sitting in my apartment just shooting the breeze one day. Suddenly, he looked over at me and said, ‘Artie, I wish one thing.’ He said, ‘I wish to hell I had gone out with you guys that night in Miami.’”

  Decker and White glanced at each other. He said, “Did you ask him why?”

  “Of course I did, but he clammed up like nobody’s business. Couldn’t get another word out of him on the subject. And believe me, I tried. I talked to some other agents who had stayed at the hotel that night, but they couldn’t tell me anything useful. They just hit the sack and woke up the next morning. Seems like whatever happened, only happened to Kanak.”

  “You ever tell anybody about this?” asked White.

  “Just my wife.”

  “I’d keep it that way, for now,” said White. “Until we figure this out.”

  Dykes glanced at her with an anxious expression. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Anything else you can tell us?”

  “Just that it was about six months later when he resigned from the Secret Service and moved to Florida to start his business. Then he got married and, later, his daughter was born. He sent me an announcement.”

  “Career change, marriage, baby. That’s a lot in a very short period of time,” noted Decker.

  “Yeah, it was.”

  “Were you surprised?” asked White.

  “Flabbergasted was more like it. Me and everybody else. I mean, he was walking away from a great pension, health care, everything. But, as it turned out, he made the right decision. I mean, the guy became rich.”

  “Did you see him after he left the Service?”

  “Yeah, he came to some reunions, birthdays, retirement parties. He was a big shot by then. Drove up in a Rolls-Royce one time, with a driver and everything. I could only shake my head.” Dykes chuckled. “He brought his daughter to one event. Hell, she was probably only ten or twelve, but you could tell he was already grooming her to be his heir apparent. She was clearly in awe of him. Heard she went the Secret Service route, too. That was long after I retired. Now she’s running the show at Gamma.”

  “You heard what happened to Kanak?” said Decker.

  “Yeah, I did. Crazy. I mean, we’d lost touch by then. Last time I saw him was maybe ten years ago. Ann, my wife, was still alive. He looked good, happy, content.”

  “Did he mention anything when you saw him last?”

  “No, it was all superficial ‘how ya doing’ bullshit. He was just a totally different guy by then. We just had our years at the Service in common by then, and it had been a long time. When I heard he went missing on his boat, I thought, what the hell was that about? It was like he just wanted to disappear. I mean, they never found any wreckage or anything. And you’d think they would have found something if the boat went down.”

  “You’d think,” said Decker. “You ever see Kasimira again?”

  Dykes nodded. “I went to his memorial service. They couldn’t really have a funeral, of course. She spoke at it. Very moving stuff. I was crying like a baby. She loved her father, that was for sure.”

  “You have any inkling what could have happened back in Miami that night?” asked Decker.

  Dykes eyed him. “All I can say is, whatever did happen, must’ve been goddamn life changing. Because it did change Kanak Roe’s life.”

  Decker glanced at White before asking, “What hotel in Miami?”

  Dykes took on a wistful look. “The Fontainebleau. Reagan liked it because the hotel had been used for a bunch of movies and TV. Jerry Lewis and Sinatra did stuff there. Lucille Ball, Bob Hope, and Judy Garland all stayed there. They filmed some of that Bond movie Goldfinger there. Reagan just ate it up. You know he was an actor before he was president.”

  “Yeah, I heard. Was anyone else of note staying at the hotel at the time?” asked Decker.

  Dykes shook his head. “I mean, after POTUS, everyone else is way down the pecking order.”

  “Was his wife with him on the trip?” asked White.

  “No, Mrs. Reagan was back in DC. It was only the one night. We flew back home the next morning. All routine stuff.”

  Decker handed him a card. “If you can think of anything, give us a call.”

  Dykes took the card and looked up at him. “What is going on here, Agent Decker?”

  “I wish I knew. But we’re going to find out.”

  As they walked to their car, White said, “Let me guess. Back to Miami and the Fontainebleau?”

  “Where else?”

  Chapter 70

  I​T WAS NOW KNOWN AS the Fontainebleau Miami Beach. It had undergone a two-year, billion-dollar renovation and reopened in 2008. There was a Michael Mina steak restaurant, a slew of bars, and also Italian and Cantonese cuisine. The lobby was vast and expensive looking.

  “Surprised the Service could afford the rates here on their per diem,” said White as they walked toward the concierge desk.

  “It was cheaper back then, no doubt. And what the president wants the president gets.”

  “Yeah, you’ll catch me at the local Marriott, thank you very much. A meal here probably equals one of my paychecks.”

  “You know what they say, if you have to ask the price…”

  They flashed their creds at the concierge, who, after they had told him what they needed, made a phone call and then directed the pair to a small office off the lobby. There a young woman rose to greet them.

  Pamela Lawrence was in her twenties with an energetic manner and dancing blue eyes. “FBI, huh? That’s not something we see every day.”

  “I hope not,” said White.

  They sat down across from her. Decker said, “We’re interested in the hotel’s history.”

  Lawrence said enthusiastically, “It is very historic. It’s on the National Register. And in 2012 the Florida chapter of the American Institute of Architects ranked the hotel number one on its list of Florida architecture.”

  “Congratulations,” said Decker. “We were interested in another part of its history.”

  “Okay, what?”

  “In 1981 President Reagan gave a speech here.”

  She looked at him blankly. “Reagan? I wasn’t aware of that. But that was almost twenty years before I was even born.”

  “Do you have records that might address that event? I mean, it’s a pretty big deal when the president comes to your place.”

  “We’ve had lots of big names here. When the hotel reopened in 2008, Usher and Mariah Carey performed.”

  “Wow,” said White. “That’s some firepower.”

  “Right?” said Lawrence, smiling. “I mean, I was only eight back then, and I don’t really follow their music, but I’m sure it was pretty cool.”

  “Now you’re really making me feel geriatric,” quipped White.

  “But a president, now that’s really cool,” said Decker in a prompting manner. “So, do you have an archive or something we could look at?”

  “We do actually, but I helped put it together, so I know it doesn’t include this speech by President Reagan. I’m sorry. Maybe I should go and research that.”

  “I suppose there’s no one working now that was here at that time?”

  Lawrence went on her computer and checked. “Our longest-serving employee started in 2010.” She glanced up. “Hospitality has a high turnover rate, even in a place like this.”

  “I’m sure it has nothing to do with the attitude and behavior of the guests,” said Decker.

  “Isn’t the customer always right?” said Lawrence brightly.

  “Ask yourself that in two years.”

  They left. White drove while Decker checked his phone.

  “Okay, Google was no help, maybe we need to do it the old-fashioned way.”

  “Meaning?”

  “The local newspaper. Reagan’s in town to give a speech? It might be in their news morgue.”

  “Now you’re really showing your age.”

  “And there’s something else.”

  “What?”

  “Arthur Dykes said that Reagan was there to give a fund-raising speech.”

  “Right, so what? Politicians do those all the time.”

  “Dykes also said it was eight months after John Hinckley shot Reagan. Well, Reagan was shot in March, so eight months later was November of 1981.”

  “Which was before I was born!”

  “The point is, why would Reagan be doing a fund-raiser not even a year into his term? I know how politics has gotten nowadays, but back then you didn’t need a billion bucks to run for president.”

  “I guess that is odd.”

  “But he might have been doing a fund-raiser for someone else.”

  Chapter 71

  THEY SAT IN THE PARKING lot while Decker accessed the digital archives of the Miami Herald. To do the searches necessary Decker had to activate a free membership. He plugged in Reagan’s name and the year and hit the search key.

  A story came up about Reagan’s speech. Decker read that it was well received, but he didn’t really care about that. What he did care about was the fact that the fund-raiser was being held for the benefit of Mason Tanner, who was seeking the seat of a retiring U.S. senator in Florida.

  Decker looked at a picture of Reagan and Tanner shaking hands. Tanner was tall, in his midforties, with thick dark hair and an easy smile. However, Decker didn’t like the look of the man. He seemed fake and smarmy. Then again he didn’t care for most politicians, so that might just have been his own bias.

  He held up his phone so White could see the image. “Mason Tanner. Candidate for the U.S. Senate.”

  “The fund-raiser was for him?”

  “Yeah. Although according to this, he didn’t really need the money. The story says his grandfather was a bigwig in Standard Oil and he inherited a ton. And his wife was one of the heiresses to the E. F. Hutton fortune.”

  “Nice birth luck, if you can get it.”

  Decker Googled something on his phone. “Says here he won the following year, by quite a large margin.” He looked at another article. “He served three terms and is now retired and living in New York.”

  “Whatever happened to Kanak Roe back in 1981 may have nothing to do with the speech or Tanner.”

  “We won’t know for sure until we rule it out.”

  “So do we go to see Tanner and try to get some answers from him?”

  “I don’t think it would be much help.”

  “Why?”

  “According to this article he’s now in his late eighties, lives in New York City, and has late-stage Alzheimer’s.”

  White let out a long sigh. “Great. Nothing like running into a brick wall around every corner.” She glanced at him. “I thought you solved your cases fast?”

  Decker shot her a look. “We’ve only been on this sucker a few days.”

  “Says Superman.”

  “You called me shrimpy before.”

  “I didn’t know you then,” she shot back.

  He wrote out a long email and sent it off.

  “Who did that go to?” she asked.

  “Alex.”

  “Trying to replace me already?”

  “She’s in New York. I asked her to check and see if Tanner maintained an office there, or had relatives who we could talk to.”

  “Good idea.”

  “For a guy to change his whole life over something that happened one night, it must’ve been something really terrible. I mean, Kanak was a seasoned agent by then. And whatever happened rocked him to his core.”

  “If that’s what happened, yeah.”

  “Yeah,” said Decker thoughtfully.

  “But?”

  Decker didn’t answer. He had nothing to say.

  Chapter 72

  A​S SHE SAT IN HER car, Alex Jamison glanced up at the four-story brownstone located on New York’s Upper East Side. This was the home of the extremely wealthy octogenarian Mason Tanner.

  In his email, Decker had given her a rundown on where his investigation stood, and Jamison knew she was taking a risk coming here. She was not assigned to this case, and Tanner, a former U.S. senator, was a very prominent citizen. Still, when Decker asked, her instinct was to deliver as much as she could. And she thought, as he did, that whatever had happened in Miami that night might have something to do with Tanner, or someone connected to him. At the very least, if she could help rule it out, that would assist Decker.