Full Fathom Five by Melissa F. Miller

Author:Melissa F. Miller [Miller, Melissa F.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Brown Street Books

6

On a hunch, Sasha reviewed her printouts. She pulled out the materials from the online archives related to the bomber’s crash and subsequent disappearance and cross-referenced the passenger manifest against Archie Cowman’s list of rescued men: the pilot, Major Charles Lee Morgan; co-pilot, Captain Adam Strauss; Sergeant Ronald Jones; Airman Second Class Trent Williams; and one Jack Calvin Pierce, identified as ‘guest, R.A.F.’

If Jack Calvin Pierce was the mysterious J.C.P. identified in the photograph in Cowman’s box, and if R.A.F. stood for Royal Air Force, it wasn’t too great a leap to imagine that Cowman had, for some reason, believed the R.A.F. officer was working on behalf of his country’s intelligence apparatus.

She opened an internet browser and cracked her fingers, glad Connelly wasn’t nearby to scold her for the habit. The only questions were whether she could manage to locate Jack Calvin Pierce, and, if so, would he still be alive?

She could, and he was.

She closed her laptop and went off to find Connelly in the playroom, engrossed in the epic battle between the misunderstood monster with a raging toothache and the feisty princess with dreams of becoming a dentist. She lingered in the doorway until the big musical number ended, and then caught Connelly’s eye. He extricated himself from Finn’s hug and gently moved Fiona off his knee.

“What’s up?” he stage whispered as he joined her in the hallway.

“I’m pretty sure J.C.P. is a man named Jack Calvin Pierce, a retiree who hails from a charming fishing town in Pembrokeshire, Wales.”

“No kidding. You found him?”

“His PicaPage profile is public. He’s an open book, er, page.”

He clicked his tongue against his teeth. “That’s a bit odd for a former MI6 agent, don’t you think?”

“Well, his bio lists him as retired from the Royal Air Force. I assume if he is MI6, he wouldn’t say so. You know, like someone else I know.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Sure, but I don’t have a PicaPage page, or a Snapagram handle, or any of that. You know how I feel about putting our life out there on the internet for the entire world to see.”

“Oh, I do. Apparently, Mr. Pierce doesn’t share your concerns. Or maybe someone helped him set up his page, and he doesn’t know how to lock down his privacy settings. Or it could be that he’s in his late eighties, and he figures any enemies he’s made are already dead and buried . . . or not much of a threat at this point. Whatever his reason, he was easy to find.”

“So, did you send him a private message? I mean, I know it’s the middle of the night in Wales, but he’ll see it in the morning.”

“I didn’t send him a message yet, and he’s not in Wales.”

“I thought you said—”

“I did. But he posted a Boxing Day picture. In the comment thread, he said he was popping off to the States for a visit to his grandkids.”

“He’s in the country?”

“Connelly, he’s in the county. Just today, he was tagged in a photo that I definitely recognize.

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