Donovans 01 - Amber Beach

Conroy’s obvious disgust. “You’re more cynical than you used to be.”
    “I’ve been in charge of search-and-rescue operations that I couldn’t recognize when I read about them the next day. Makes you wonder about the rest of the so-called facts behind the headlines.”
    “I always knew you were bright. You get tired of the Coast Guard, you can work for me.” Jake’s smile faded. “If I still have a business.”
    “Stay off the Tomorrow. Whatever Kyle Donovan did isn’t going to go away. He’s the biggest local interest story since the plywood factory shut down.”
    “I’d love to stay clear of the whole mess. I can’t.”
    “Try harder.”
    Jake took a sip of his beer, decided that the risk of telling Conroy the truth was outweighed by the potential of gaining an ally, and started talking.
    “The amber Kyle stole came from a government mine in the former Soviet Union. Emerging Resources brokered the deal. The amber was being transferred from Emerging Resources’s care to the purchaser, Donovan International. The U.S.—and apparently the Russian government—believes that a piece of stolen art might have been part of the shipment. The Russians want it back.”
    “Why are they breathing on you?”
    “Either Kyle took it or I did,” Jake said flatly. “Donovan International is pointing the finger at me. All I know is that I signed over the shipment to Kyle Donovan. It was the last time I saw him. Donovan International says the transfer never was made.”
    Conroy’s eyes narrowed.
    “The Donovans have a lot more leverage with governments than I do,” Jake said. “My company is being set up to take the blame for the theft of the raw amber and whatever else might have been along for the ride. If I don’t prove my innocence, Emerging Resources goes under and I go with it.”
    Conroy whistled softly through his teeth.
    “The Donovans are slamming doors in my face all around the world,” Jake said roughly. “I’ve already been kicked out of the Baltics and Russia for asking too many questions. I want Kyle Donovan’s ass.”
    “You think he’s still alive?”
    “I was pretty sure he wasn’t. Now I’d bet on either side of the question. Frankly, I’m hoping he’s alive. I’d really like to have a talk with that boy.”
    “You aren’t the only one.”
    “Don’t tell me that he violated Coast Guard regulations,” Jake said dryly.
    Conroy hesitated, then reached his own decision. “I wish it was that easy. This whole thing stinks of politics, the international kind where nobody wins and everybody loses.”
    Jake grimaced and drank more of his beer. “I hear you.”
    “Are you sure you can’t walk away?”
    “I don’t have anywhere to walk.”
    “Shit.”
    Conroy took a drink, pulled out a cigarette, and set fire to it with an ancient Zippo lighter.
    “I thought you quit,” Jake said.
    “Four times and counting.”
    “Try getting off the light cigarettes. From what I hear, they have more nicotine than the regular ones. The better to keep you health-conscious sorts hooked, no doubt.”
    Conroy looked at the cigarette with distaste but no surprise. “Figures.” He took another drag and blew out smoke. “If my superiors find out about this talk tonight, I’ll need that job you mentioned.”
    “Since when is having a beer with an old friend a crime?”
    “Since I ran the registration numbers on the boats that were playing tag with you.”
    In the bar’s dim light, Jake’s eyes glittered like crystal. “You don’t have to say another word.”
    “Just trying to even the odds. Any time nameless men in suits start giving direct orders to men in uniform, I get real nervous.”
    “Politics.”
    With a grunt, Conroy flicked ash into the smudged ashtray next to his beer. “Some Washington type—and I mean D.C., not state of—has been camped by a radio, waiting for me to call in every time you change heading.”
    Without looking away from the other man, Jake took a drink. The expression of distaste he wore could have been due to the lukewarm beer, but it wasn’t. He was thinking about fairy dust and the fabled Amber Room.
    “You don’t look surprised,” Conroy said.
    “I don’t look like anything but what I am—pissed off and interested in equal parts. Did the suit say which branch of the government he works for?”
    “No. He didn’t give me name, rank, serial number, or anything but a code name for this operation you don’t need to know. He could be