Free The Buried by Brett Battles

in the best hotel, providing the car that would take them to and from the game, and supplying the guide who would see them to their seats and handle the procuring of any food or drinks or souvenirs they wanted. They would do more than enjoy their evening. They would never forget it. And the friend would be sure to let the senator know.
    Bennett spoke to the man for a few more moments, and then left before the conversation could turn stale.
    The affair was informal. There were places to sit but most people stood, making it easy to see who was still new at this. They would be the ones balancing plates of muffins and fruit and sausages and eggs as they attempted to remain relevant to whatever conversation they were participating in.
    Bennett, ever the professional, never touched the food at this type of event so he could move from lawmaker to lawmaker hands free. He was heading toward Representative Loggins when someone tapped him on the shoulder. Turning, he found Ryan Barkley, his assistant, holding an envelope.
    “This just came for you,” Barkley said.
    “From who?” Bennett asked as he took the envelope.
    “A man in the lobby. I’ve never seen him before, but—”
    Bennett was about to rake his assistant over the coals when he turned the envelope over and caught sight of the single word printed in the upper left corner.
     
    VALOR
     
    “Thank you,” he said. Barkley had only been following instructions. Anything marked VALOR should immediately be brought to Bennett. “You can head back to the office. We’re done here.”
    Barkley looked confused. “There’s still another—”
    “We are done,” Bennett said firmly.
    “Yes, sir. I understand. Don’t forget the meeting at noon with General McFadden.”
    “Reschedule it.”
    Barkley still looked unsure, but this time he only said, “Yes, sir,” and left.
    Bennett made his way to a quiet alcove and opened the envelope.
     
    The Hayes girl has surfaced. Current alias: Danielle Chad. Obtain.
     
    Below this was a series of numbers that, once he entered them in his computer, would take him to a secured web page with additional information.
    How about that? he thought.
    He pulled out his phone.
     
    BERLIN, GERMANY
     
    T HE ASSISTANT TRADE attaché at the Russian embassy answered the phone on the second ring. “Komarov.”
    “Good afternoon, Herr Komarov. This is Karl Schwartz, Schwartz Engineering. I believe you were expecting my call.”
    Komarov froze. At one time perhaps, he had been expecting it, but that had been years ago. “Of course, Herr Schwartz,” he said. “I am happy to hear from you.”
    “I hope I am not catching you at a bad time.”
    “Not at all. It is always a pleasure to speak to someone of your business experience.”
    “That’s kind of you to say. I am calling concerning the project we are working on outside Moscow.”
    “The Dishinki Hotel?”
    “Yes. Exactly.”
    The conversation continued in the same boring fashion, the whole time Komarov writing down the key words. After they said good-bye, the attaché rose from his desk, made sure his door was locked, and retrieved the book that served as the code key from the secret compartment at the back of his filing cabinet.
    After he deciphered the message, he composed an e-mail, similarly encoded, and sent it to the address he had memorized before being sent to Germany.
    He then settled back in his chair and picked up working where he’d left off, hoping his involvement in the matter was now done.
     
    CHICAGO, ILLINIOS
     
    R ICKY ORBITS—NOT his real name, but his favorite—leaned back on his sofa, wearing only an open silk robe. He picked up the TV remote and began hopping through the channels.
    SportsCenter. Nope.
    He actually loved the show, but couldn’t stand watching it on days after his beloved White Sox lost. It was especially bad today since last night it had been to those damn Detroit Tigers.
    He clicked again. Pawn Stars . Another show he loved, but he’d seen the