Sleeper: A Jack Beckett Thriller

By D.G. Baxter

Since arriving in the nation's capital, someone's been trying to kill FBI Agent Riley O'Connor. It might be another FBI agent, but she's not sure. She's not sure of much except her friend and fellow agent committed suicide. But one thing is also evident. The more she pushes for answers, the more clues suddenly appear. She figures if she pushes hard enough, something is going to give. They will get her, or she will get them.

Praise for Jack Beckett Thrillers. "Jack Beckett reminds me of Jack Reacher. If you enjoy lots of action, read any Jack Beckett book." – Terry "The Beckett series is one of the best. I really need more. I can't get enough of the characters and especially the banter." – GMR

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.G. Baxter
• Release date: May 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201831349

Book preview

1

Sam Cunningham was in a good mood. Thanks to Riley O’Connor and her friend, Jack Beckett, his office had prevented what would have been the biggest diamond theft in San Francisco history. That kind of case gets noticed further up the chain of command. In fact, Cunningham had received a call from Bud Webster, the FBI Director himself. A case like that reflected well on the entire organization. Before calling Cunningham, Webster had received a call from the Attorney General who told him that the President had picked up on the story when he saw it on CNN. Webster got a pat on the back, and he was passing it along. The media made it sound like the plot of a Hollywood movie.

So Cunningham wanted to show his appreciation to the people who made it happen, Agent O’Connor and Beckett. He invited them to join him at the Top of the Mark, one of San Francisco’s better-known restaurants. The conclusion of the case came at a time when several high profile cases had hit the San Francisco office. The cases had all ended well, and it was time to celebrate. Cunningham suggested that O’Connor show up in a cab because he planned to include several bottles of expensive wine with dinner. In other words, the boss planned to drink, and O'Connor was expected to join him.

Dinner was good, and the second bottle of wine was nearly finished when O'Connor’s phone rang. She thought she had silenced it, but apparently, she didn't. She looked at the number and realized she should take it.

Sam, I need to take this. I’ll be right back. Ask Beckett again how I saved his life.

That brought a laugh. She got up and said hello to the caller and asked if they would hang on a second, then she walked to a private area near the lounge.

Hello, Rob. It’s been a long time. How are you?

Rob was Rob Dawson, an old friend from her academy days who now lived in New York.

I'm fine, I suppose, but I have bad news to share.

I was afraid of that. It must be after 2 am back there. Not a good time for a social call.

I don’t know how to say this other than straight up, Riley. Charlie is dead. I found out an hour ago. They’re calling it a suicide.

O’Connor was stunned. Rob, Charlie, and she had trained at Quantico at the same time. Rob had dropped out; he wasn’t cut out for the FBI. But Charlie and O’Connor had stuck it out and finished near the top of their class. The three remained close friends in the years that followed. Now one was dead.

When did it happen? How did it happen? she asked.

I’ll tell you all that I know, Rob said. Apparently it happened three days ago, but I was only called tonight. The bureau wanted to be sure of the cause of death before they made the announcement. They ruled out homicide, and the autopsy ruled out natural causes. It was a gunshot to the head with his own service gun.

I don’t believe it, O’Connor said. I knew Charlie like a brother. He wouldn’t take his own life.

That was my reaction. But you were even closer to him than I was. Glad to hear you see it that way, too.

That’s all you know?

For now, he said.

Who investigated?

William Bonfire, Assistant Director of the Inspection Division. One of his agents called me. I was in Charlie’s phone directory.

I am, too, O’Connor said. Unless he had my number memorized.

Maybe you weren’t. The guy who called said he was contacting Charlie’s friends.

O’Connor paused, then asked, Were they looking for foul play, or were they sold on the suicide?

Agent Savage was the one who called me. I didn't get the sense that they were probing too far. I got the sense that they were on board with the suicide by the time they called me.

This doesn’t feel right, O’Connor said. I’m going to see what I can find out.

Ok, he said. But keep me in the loop. I was his friend, too.

I’ll do that, Rob. Thanks for calling me.

You’re welcome. I wish the news had been better.

O’Connor made her way back to the table. She did her best to pull herself together. She was with a good friend, Beckett, and her boss, whom she liked. With her parents dead, this was the closest she had to family. As she sat down, she noticed that Beckett had a guilty look on his face. Then she saw the empty wine bottle.

Couldn’t save a drink for a girl, huh?

Then Beckett smiled and pulled a glass of wine from beneath the table, holding it with his right hand.

I saved the last one for you, he said. Sam Cunningham broke out laughing. It was apparent the two of them were having a good time.

O'Connor grabbed the glass when Beckett put it in front of her. I could use this, she said. Before anyone could say anything, she took a long pull on the glass of expensive wine. When she put the glass down, a tear came to her eye. Beckett saw it right away.

What happened? he asked. Was that call bad news?

O’Connor was quiet for a few seconds, then looked at both men before she answered.

My best friend, aside from you guys, is dead.

Beckett put his hand on hers but didn't say anything.

Charlie Cooper, an agent working out of D.C., took his life, at least that’s what the bureau is saying. We went through the academy together and became good friends. He was a great guy.

I’m sorry, Beckett said.

Me, too, Cunningham said. When did this happen?

Supposedly three days ago. O’Connor then told Beckett and Cunningham what she knew, which wasn’t much. She added that she wasn’t buying the suicide. At least not now. Not without absolute proof. He wasn’t the type. It didn’t fit.

No one said anything for a few minutes. Then Cunningham spoke.

You should take some time off, he said. You’ve got it coming. Take a few weeks, or whatever you need.

The night ended a short time later. O’Connor was distracted but did her best to stay in the here and now. But her heart just wanted to curl up in her bed and let sleep take her away. Beckett suggested they take one cab, first to her place, and then he would continue to his place. O’Connor agreed, but when they got to her place, he ended up spending the night on her couch. Having another human being a short distance away was comforting. On Beckett’s part, he was happy to be the silent sentry, standing guard over his friend in her hour of need.

The next morning O’Connor awoke to the smell of coffee. Was it a dream? No, she suddenly remembered that Beckett had spent the night. She threw on her robe and slippers and walked to the kitchen. Beckett was at the round table in the nook, drinking coffee. He saw her and smiled.

Coffee’s ready, he said.

So, I noticed, she said.

He wanted to ask how she was doing but decided to wait until she poured a cup and joined him. She looked good in her robe and unbrushed hair. It wasn’t a sexual thing, more a natural moment when someone is their authentic self. She was many things, but she was also this.

O’Connor poured her coffee and sat down next to him, taking a small first sip.

You make good coffee, Beckett.

Trial and error, I’m afraid to say. I’ve made my share of undrinkable mud.

I like honesty in a man. She laughed, and Beckett was relieved.

How did you sleep? he asked.

Like a rock, but only after I decided what I need to do.

He could have predicted her answer but asked anyway.

And that is?

I’m going to Washington, D.C. I need to know what happened to Charlie.

Official or unofficial visit?

Can’t be official, she said. I’ll ask Sam for a leave of absence. I need to be there in an off-duty capacity. This could get political really fast if I’m not careful.

I can see that, Beckett said. Might be dangerous, too.

How’s that?

What if you turn over a rock that doesn’t want to be turned over?

O’Connor was quiet. Close to a minute passed as she thought about it.

Want to come along? she asked.

When do we leave?

2

The DC field office was on 4 th Street NW, about six blocks from the White House. O’Connor booked two rooms in the Hyatt Regency, a few blocks from the field office. She had decided to play it straight, more or less. She was an agent from California with time off and had planned a DC visit for over a year. She was strictly a tourist visiting friends, including her old buddy Charlie. One of her friends was Jack Beckett, who flew in from New York to do a little sightseeing with her. She didn’t know Charlie was dead; it had been a week since they talked. He told her to swing by the office when she got into town.

That’s how she was playing it. Let the people in charge know she was in town and watch how they played it. What would they tell her when she showed up? She would just play dumb and see what fell out of that.

Beckett agreed. They were going on a fishing expedition. If that didn’t give them anything helpful, they could start to poke around. They decided one of two things happened. Either Charlie committed suicide, or someone killed him. Since O’Connor was adamant suicide wasn’t in the cards for Charlie, it had to be the latter. Beckett trusted O’Connor’s assessment, but at the same time was disbelieving that the FBI would cover up a homicide, especially involving their own agent. O'Connor couldn't think of a case when that happened. But just because it had never happened, nothing precluded it could take place at some point. As the saying went, there’s a first time for everything.

They landed at Reagan National and found the cab stand just outside the baggage claim. O'Connor brought her firearm, so they had to claim her bag before they moved outside. It was mid-September, and the weather was mild. The summer humidity was gone. It was just past seven, and the evening sky was pink as the last glow of day was fading to darkness. Beckett suggested they check into the hotel and investigate their dining choices. Twenty minutes later, the cab dropped them off a few steps from the lobby. They both checked in under their real names.

The dining room was comfortable and offered a choice of cuisines. There was no reason to venture out, and that meant a good night’s sleep was in the cards. O’Connor ordered Maryland crab cakes, and Beckett went with the New York steak. They skipped the wine and ordered a large Perrier instead.

So tell me about Charlie, Beckett said. If I’m going to be investigating his death, I should know something about him.

Besides the fact he was a great guy? Yeah, sure. He was smart and funny. He reminded me of you in that regard. Easy going but tough as nails when he had to be.

Beckett expected another comparison, but O'Connor just smiled, having read his mind.

Like me, he lost his dad at an early age. Since you lost your mother before age five, we all have something in common. Charlie was a determined kind of guy. Once he made up his mind, he never quit. I know firsthand. His mother was sick, and she died of cancer halfway through our training. He stuck it out. He didn't quit.

I would have liked him, Beckett said.

They agreed to meet in the lobby at 7:30, have breakfast, then walk over to the DC field office. O’Connor’s aim was to walk in at 8:30 and ask for Charlie. She was sure the request would be given to someone in charge of handling any inquiries about the dead agent. The bureau had procedures for everything. That particular base would be covered.

At 8:15, Beckett paid the bill, and a minute later, they walked out of the hotel lobby. It was a little over two blocks to the field office. The agreeable weather from the previous night continued. The temperature was in the low 60s, and the forecast was for a balmy 74. Not too hot, not too cold, just about right as far as Beckett was concerned.

The field office was a nondescript concrete building. However, the front entrance looked formidable with a large entranceway of glass and aluminum that was two stories high. The words Federal Bureau of Investigation Washington Field Office were etched into the glass above a wide revolving door. Beckett estimated the building at eight to ten stories high.

It was 8:29 when they went through the revolving door. The reception desk was in the center of a modern lobby. On one wall were plaques with photos and stories devoted to the history of the FBI. Behind the reception desk was a bank of elevators. O'Connor walked up to the middle-aged man behind the desk.

Good morning, she said. I’d like to see Charlie Regan.

The man typed a name on his keyboard.

What’s your name, please?

Riley O’Connor and this is Jack Beckett. We’re together.

The man typed some more, then asked that they have a seat. He motioned to a corner of the lobby with a small group of modern chairs that looked like they would be at home in the lobby of a big corporation.

Beckett and O’Connor walked over and took a seat next to each other. A man who was also waiting typed away on a laptop, but there were no magazines or other reading materials. Several people dressed in business attire got out of one of the elevators and walked to the entrance and went through the revolving doors.

Barely a minute passed when a tall man in a dark suit approached.

Are you Riley O’Connor?

That’s me, O’Connor said.

May I see your ID?

"O’Connor opened her shoulder bag and retrieved a leather wallet. She opened it to her FBI badge and handed it to the man.

This is not an official visit. I’m here on vacation and wanted to touch base with an old friend.

The expression on the man’s face was neutral, and he said nothing. He glanced at Beckett after he skimmed the ID. Beckett recognized something very familiar. It was the look he had seen many times when an opponent in the boxing ring approached the referee before starting a fight. It was challenging but also determined. It said we are going to fight fair, but I plan to beat you.

The man looked back to O’Connor. "Follow me, please. Your friend will