Free A Knife Edge by David Rollins

had. Then perhaps he'd still be alive.”
    Yeah, maybe. Boyle was one condescending asshole:
“As you may or may not know, Agent Cooper, many Asian people don't have the gene that allows them to metabolize alcohol effectively.”
I tabbed the memory button again.
    “Dr. Tanaka wasn't discovered missing for some time—twelve hours, according to statements. Isn't that a long time to not notice somebody missing?”
    “It might seem that way, but no, not really. The expedition was over and everyone saw how drunk Tanaka was when he left. I guess everyone assumed, as I did, that he was in his room, sleeping it off.”
    Did you see him leave the party?
I'd asked. Boyle had replied,
no.
A few minutes later, under a bit of stress, suddenly everyone including Boyle is watching Tanaka reeling out of the joint legless. Did this mean something? Or nothing? Very few statements contain no contradictions. The ones that don't more often than not tend to indicate coaching. And yet—
    “Ah, Cooper, you're back,” said Captain Schaeffer, interrupting my thoughts, his head peering around the edge of the door. “What are you doing?”
    “Sir,” I replied. “The report on the death of Dr. Tanaka. I'll send it over in about half an hour.”
    “Forget about it for the moment. I'm afraid you have some visitors. I did warn you…”
    Warned me? What about?
    The two men swept into the room like a couple of big cats released from their cage, circling the space in front of my desk, ready to eat. One was Caucasian; his buddy, Asian. Both were in plainclothes. Actually, there was nothing plain about their clothes. Their suits were possibly Italian and improbably expensive, and they carried themselves a little like spooks, but far more like stockbrokers with a pitbull cross. I recognized their manner immediately. I was getting a visit from the most feared government department in D.C.: the General Accounting Office.
    Schaeffer closed the door. I pictured a steel bolt slamming home. Escape was futile. “What can I do for you gentlemen?” I asked.
    They flipped their credentials at me and then glanced around for something to sit on. The room was empty except for my desk and a faded color photo of our last President stuck with tape to the wall behind me. If they wanted to sit, they had the choice of the floor or my desk. Both chose to hang a cheek off the latter. I leaned back in my chair to get out of their personal space, or rather to get them out of mine.
    “Don't think much of your decorator,” said the white guy.
    “I'm living in it for a while before I renovate,” I said. “You guys got names?”
    “De Silver,” said one.
    “Wu,” his partner said. “We've had our eye on you, Cooper.” They were playing Good Accountant Bad Accountant.
    “Really, which one are you sharing?” I asked.
    “Watch your mouth, Special Agent. We can make this pleasant or we can spoil your day. Your choice.”
    “You're too late,” I said. “It's already curdled.”
    Wu slapped down a piece of paper on the desk in front of mykeyboard. I leaned forward to get a closer look. It was DD Form 1351-2. Receipts were attached.
    “That yours, Cooper?”
    “Looks like.” I glanced over the figures. “Problem? Didn't I carry the one?”
    “We sent you a priority e-mail about this and the system told us you never opened it.”
    “Right, the e-mail. I filed it.” It was a half-truth. I still hadn't emptied the trash.
    De Silver took a notebook out of his inside jacket pocket and opened it. “You went to a Sea Breeze Aquarium three weeks ago?”
    “Correct,” I said.
    “You got a receipt for a cab ride there that cost thirty-five bucks. Seems the return journey cost just ten.”
    “And?”
    “Why the discrepancy?”
    “So this is about twenty-five bucks?”
    “It's not just the twenty-five dollars, Cooper,” said De Silver.
    “No, then what is it about?” Actually, I was anxious to know because, among the three of us, we'd already blown more than