Page 59 of Knight Moves

“J. P.? I thought his name was Joseph.”

“It was. Joseph Patrick. But his family and friends called him J. P. for short.”

“Oh, okay. Anyway, I saw a newspaper photograph of my father at your husband’s funeral. That’s how I found out about you and looked you up. Do you mind if I ask how your husband died?”

“He died in a freak boating accident. It was the craziest thing, because J. P. was afraid of the water. He couldn’t swim. I’ll never understood what possessed him to take theAhabout on the water that day alone.”

“Ahab?” I asked puzzled.

She chuckled, the memory obviously a good one for her. “Yes, that’s what we called our boat—after the captain in the novelMoby Dick. I was an English literature major and also the mariner in the family. So why J. P. decided to go out on theAhabwithout me that day, I’ll never know.”

It did seem unusual that a man who couldn’t swim would take a boat out on the water alone. “He didn’t have a life jacket on?”

“No, he didn’t. Apparently, the boat capsized and he drowned.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said, sadness filling me. “The police didn’t suspect any foul play? Your husband didn’t have any enemies?”

“Oh, Lord, no. J. P. was the most soft-spoken, sweetest man I’ve ever known. He never raised his voice to anyone, not even me.”

I shifted on the bench, wrapping my coat tighter around me. “The article I saw online from the newspaper said a man named Isaac Remington gave a eulogy at the funeral. Do you know who he was?”

“He was my husband’s and your father’s supervisor at King’s Security. It was kind of him to give the eulogy. I appreciated it.”

I wondered how to word my next question, wondering if she’d even answer it. “Mrs. Lando, do you know if your husband ever worked for the NSA?”

“The NSA?” Her voice sounded surprised. “No, he never worked for the government. I suppose it’s possible they worked on a project for the NSA. J. P. did have a top-secret security clearance, but he rarely spoke about his work, and he never said anything about working for the NSA.”

“Do you happen to know what project he was working on when he died?” I asked.

“I believe it was some kind of top-secret encryption project.”

“He was a mathematician, like my dad, right?”

“Yes. Computers, coding, cryptology—those were J. P.’s first loves.” She sighed, and her voice sounded sad. “He was such a good man. I miss him.”

“I’m sorry for your loss.” I, better than most, understood the pain she felt. She’d lost her husband, and I’d lost my dad. So many lives hurt and altered irretrievably.

Why? Were J. P.’s death and my father’s disappearance connected?

I thanked her for her time and hung up. I felt like I was making progress on finding out what had happened to my dad, but I had no idea where the trail was leading. What had happened to cause my father to so suddenly abandon his family and promising career and vanish off the face of the earth? What did the NSA have to do with it?

I didn’t have the answers. Yet.

But I felt closer than ever.

Chapter Thirty-Two

ISAAC REMINGTON

“Give me some good news.”

Isaac and Glen Sampson stood at the edge of a lake in a secluded park about thirty miles from the NSA. It was a Sunday afternoon, but the forest around the lake was surprisingly devoid of people. They’d both taken significant steps to ensure they weren’t followed and their meeting would be protected from prying eyes and ears. Isaac hadn’t seen anyone at all during his hike to the spot. The air was cool, so Isaac flipped up the collar of his trench coat and adjusted his scarf to ward off a chill on his throat.

“I don’t have any,” Sampson said. “The girl hasn’t washed out of UTOP, at least not yet. No one has.”

“That’s surprising. Do you think they’re watering down UTOP?”

“Who knows? Don’t worry. This coming week will be the toughest. The third week always loses the most students.”

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