Gallows Pole, page 18
“He doesn’t have to. Because he’s the almighty FBI Director. In fact, what worries me is that he wants to talk to you, and you alone, in the first place.”
She grimaced. “It’ll be fine,” she said. “I’m going to be told to be a good girl. A team player.” She said the last two words as if they tasted bad in her mouth.
He looked at his watch. “It’s time.”
She squared her shoulders. “Well, wish me luck.”
“Mel,” he said. “I’ll go in with you if you want me to.”
She put a hand on his arm and smiled. “Thanks, Dave. But I don’t want you to get in trouble.”
“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m worried about you.”
She felt the impulse to lean forward and kiss him on the cheek, but she remembered Bishop’s words. He’s infatuated with you. She squeezed his arm instead, then turned and walked into the conference room.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The room was empty. All the usual clutter of notebooks, pads, and cups had been swept away. The only feature of the room was a flat-screen video monitor set up at one end of the table. The monitor showed an empty desk with a vacant chair. She stood for a moment, not knowing what to do. Finally, she took a seat in the chair closest to the monitor. It put her at an oblique angle to the screen, so she reached out hesitantly and turned it to face her. The light in the center top of the monitor glowed green, indicating the screen’s built-in camera was on. The chair remained empty. She could hear a murmur of voices in the room at the other end of the connection. After a moment, she cleared her throat. The voices stopped. There was a brief pause, then the Director slid into the chair. He frowned at the camera for a second, then reached out and adjusted it. The adjustment seemed to satisfy him and he smiled at her. It was a broad, brilliant smile, a politician’s smile, full of perfectly capped teeth and empty of any sincerity.
“Agent Saxon,” he said. “I wanted to congratulate you personally. Your team really came through in the clutch on this one.”
She struggled to keep her voice neutral. “Thank you, sir,” she said, “But I’m not sure the case should be closed.”
The Director shook his head. “No, Melissa,” he said, in a patronizing tone that set her teeth on edge, “It’s done. The confessions were clear and unmistakable. Your girl Parr pulled them right out of Rutledge’s computer. And they corroborated evidence we already had.” His smile grew wider but, if anything, less sincere. “It’s a slam dunk.”
“They had to have been…” she stopped. They had to have been planted there, she was going to say, but she suddenly realized how crazy that would sound. And if it was true, and they linked up with evidence the Bureau had shared with no one outside, that meant that whoever had done it had had help. Help from someone in the Bureau itself. Maybe even someone on her own team. Her mind raced through the possibilities. Parr? Hobart? My god, could it have even been Collette? He said he’s stayed behind to make sure she hadn’t done anything stupid. Was that really what he meant? Or was he here to make sure she was really playing ball? She shook her head. The shock and paranoia were making her head spin.
“Are you okay, Melissa?” The smile had been replaced by a look of concern. One thing’s for sure, she thought, the Director has to be in on this. And who else? Whose voice had she heard in the background before this conversation began?
“I’m okay, sir,” she lied. “Just a little tired.”
He nodded. “Understandable. Maybe you should take some time off. Get ready for your big move.”
Here it comes, she thought. Where are they shuffling me off to?
“Move, sir?” she said.
“Oh, I guess you haven’t gotten the word.” The smile was back. “I’d like to be the first to congratulate my new Division Chief in the Chicago office.”
Of course, she thought. A promotion. To buy me off.
“Thank you, sir,” she said. “I’m…I’m honored.”
He noted the hesitation and his expression hardened. “You should be, Agent Saxon,” he said. “You’re being promoted over some people with seniority.”
Which means he’s made enemies for me among the people I’ll need to work with, she thought. She knew that kind of thing, rather than advancing someone’s career, could actually cripple it.
“Thank you, sir,” she said again.
“There’s one more thing, Melissa,” he said. “Because I’m sure you’re aware off the national security implications in the Rutledge case, everything connected with it has been classified. Special Access. By order of the Department of Defense. You understand what that means?”
“Yes, sir.” Special Access was beyond Top Secret. The designation was applied to, in the words of the manual she’d had to study, “Any extremely sensitive activity requiring special protection from disclosure to prevent significant damage to national security or the reputation or interests of the United States.”
“So I can count on your discretion in this matter? And that you’ll let it drop?”
“Well, sir,” she said, “I think I think I will take that time off. So don’t worry.”
“That’s not a ‘yes’, Agent Saxon,” he said stiffly, then looked off-camera. She could hear a low voice, speaking in urgent tones. She couldn’t catch the exact words, but she caught the look of shock on the Director’s face, quickly covered up. He turned back to her.
“Agent Saxon,” he said, “was there some kind of incident this morning?”
“Not sure what you mean, sir,” she said, as she stood up. The big room suddenly felt smaller, like a trap. She needed to get out.
“We have a report…wait, where are you going?”
“Got to go get the paperwork started for the leave of absence, sir,” she said, moving to the door.
“Wait…hold it…Agent Saxon, SIT DOWN!” the last word was a shout, cut off by the door closing behind her. But as it did, she looked back and saw, on the monitor, the expression on the Director’s face.
The man was terrified.
***
In the Director’s Office, Rusk reached over and shut down the video link. “Well,” he said, “you did what you could.”
“Let me talk to her again,” the Director said.
Rusk shook his head. “I’m afraid Mr. Campbell’s instructions were very specific. She got one chance. And she didn’t take it.”
“She didn’t say no.”
“She didn’t say yes, either. Mr. Director, I’m afraid in this situation, you really are either for the interests of the United States or against them. Agent Saxon has made her choice. Now, I hope you make the better one, and let us do what we have to do to contain this.”
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
She passed her office on the way to the elevator. A sudden thought made her stop and enter. All the Hangman files-investigative notes, lab reports, witness interviews— were on the laptop computer on her desk. She was glad she hadn’t taken it home with her, or else it’d be as useless as every other electronic device in her car. She hoped that they hadn’t thought to take it yet.
They hadn’t. But she knew it was only a matter of time. And if she ever got it back, she suspected that all of her files on the Hangman case would be gone or altered beyond recognition. She shoved the computer quickly into its carrying bag and slung the bag over her shoulder. The phone on her desk started to ring. She ignored it.
“Melissa?” Collette caught up with her at a dead run as she reached the elevator. She turned to him as she hit the button.
“I need to get out of here, Dave,” she said.
“What? Why?”
“Go to New York, Dave,” she said. She hit the elevator button again. “Take the job. Forget you ever knew me.”
“What the hell is going on?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” she said. “But someone’s in the Director’s office right now. I think it’s that Rusk guy.”
“Who?”
She turned to him. “You say you don’t know him?”
“No,” he said. “I don’t. I never heard the name before this investigation. Why are you looking at me like that?”
The elevator door opened. She stepped inside. Collette tried to follow. She put a hand on his chest.
“Melissa,” he said, and the hurt in his voice made her waver. He’d been a good friend, her best friend in the Bureau, really. He couldn’t really betray her. Could he? She took her hand away. He didn’t move, just stood there, in the door, his face a picture of confusion and misery. The door tried to close, then opened again when it sensed Collette still in the doorway.
“Go ahead,” she said, “Get in.” He did and she punched the button for the lower-level parking garage.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I just don’t know who to trust.”
He reached out and pushed the stop button. A sudden jolt of fear ran through her. She backed against the wall of the elevator.
“Dave,” she said, her voice trembling.
“You can trust me,” he said quietly. “I wish I could make you believe that.” He stepped forward and put a hand on each of her shoulders. “I wish I could make you see how I feel about you.” He tried to pull her towards him.
“Dave,” she said. “No. Please.” She put her hand on his chest. “Not now.”
He looked at her for a long moment, then turned silently and pressed the down button. The elevator started moving again. He didn’t speak, but stared straight ahead.
“I’m sorry,” she said again. “I know you’re on my side. I know you’re my friend. And I could use some friends about now.”
“Is it Bishop?” he said.
The question startled her. “Is what Bishop?”
“Is he the one making you so paranoid? Is he filling your head with all these fantasies about the Director being in cahoots with some deep dark conspiracy that planted evidence for us to find? And why would you trust him instead of me?” He turned to her. “Are you attracted to him, Melissa?”
“Dave, for God’s sake!” she snapped.
“Right. Sorry. Whatever.” He turned back to the door just as it opened. Two men in dark suits and sunglasses were standing there. At the sight of her, one of them produced a badge. “Agent Saxon?” the one on the left said. He went on before she could answer. “Office of Professional Responsibility, ma’am. We’ll need that computer. And you’ll need to come with us. You’re under arrest for theft of government property.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
She turned to Collette. “You sold me …” she began, but the words died on her lips as she saw the look on his face. He was, she realized, as surprised as she was. He recovered first, however, and stepped forward, palm out, to stop the man in front of him who was moving toward Melissa. “Hold on there, buddy,” he began. “OPR can’t…” The man brushed the hand aside, stepped forward and sucker-punched Collette in the stomach.
The blow nearly doubled Collette over, and he groaned with the pain. The man in front of Melissa was distracted by the altercation, and from the ugly grin on his face, he was amused, but only for a moment. As he turned back towards Melissa, his hand going inside his coat for a weapon, Melissa wiped the smile off his face by kicking him as hard as she could in the crotch. The man let out a high, whistling, almost girlish scream and went down. As his hand came out of his coat, she grabbed the pistol from his nerveless fingers. It wasn’t anything like a standard FBI weapon; it was strangely light and seemed to be made of plastic. She used her grip on the barrel to smash the man in front of her on the top of the head with the butt of the weapon. He toppled over and lay still. She turned slightly and saw Collette struggling with the man in front of him. “Run,” he grunted. She ignored him. She flipped the gun around in her grip and pointed it at the man’s head.
“Federal Agent!” she shouted, out of reflex. “Let him go!” the two men continued to struggle, the unknown assailant driving punch after punch at Collette’s midsection. Collette was larger and had more reach, but the man was inside his range and incredibly fast. It was all Collette could do to block the punches from connecting again. The first blow had taken its toll as well, and she could see Collette laboring to catch his breath. Melissa put her finger on the trigger. “Last chance,” she growled through gritted teeth.
From a few feet away, she heard a familiar metallic sound, an unmistakable mechanical ratcheting. She stole a glance off to her left, and her heart sank.
Two more men in the same type of dark suit were standing a few feet away, next to a concrete pillar. They each had a submachine gun. “Drop your weapon, miss,” one of them said. “And tell your boyfriend there to stand down.”
She stepped back and lowered the weapon to her side. “Dave,” she said in a small, hopeless voice.
But Collette had already noticed. He stepped back from the man in front of him, hands held high.
“The weapon needs to be on the floor, miss,” the man who had spoken said. She took a breath that was almost a sob and dropped the weapon to the floor. The clatter as it hit the tiles echoed in the cavernous space of the parking garage.
The man in front of Collette stepped forward and slugged him hard on the point of the chin. Collette sagged, and the man hit him again on the side of the head. She stepped towards them as Collette fell, his head striking the floor with a sickening thud. “Dave!” she cried out. The man turned away from Collette and advanced on Melissa. Before she could react, he had grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the wall, so hard her vision blurred. He put his face an inch from hers, his grin filling her vision. He’d had coffee this morning, a lot of it, and the stench on his breath made her gag almost as badly as the hand wrapped around her throat.
“You just wait till I get you home, young lady,” he said, then giggled. It was a sickening sound, full of the promise of pain.
“Come on,” she heard a voice say. “We only got a short…” the words died in a strangled scream that sounded like it was being squeezed out through clenched teeth. Suddenly the hand at her throat was gone. She sank to the cold concrete floor of the parking garage, retching. When she looked up, she saw the two men who’d recently been pointing machine guns at her, writhing and convulsing on the floor. Behind them stood two more figures. One was tall, one short. They were dressed in long coats, and each one cradled a shotgun in the crook of one arm.
“Those things work pretty good,” the shorter man drawled. She recognized the voice of Bonaparte Sims.
“I had my doubts,” the other one said. It was Bishop. He sounded completely relaxed. “I mean, a Taser in a shotgun round? Who’d’ve thought they could do that?”
“You’ve been away too long, sir,” Sims said. “These are the days of miracles and wonders.” He hefted the shotgun to point it at the man still standing by Melissa. “Hands in the air, asshole,” he said and racked the shotgun to load another round. “The next round’s double-ought buck, so….”
“Fuck you,” the man snarled, and started for his gun. Melissa, still on the floor, skidded towards him and lashed out with her right foot, catching the man at the knee. The force of her kick slammed the knee joint sideways, bending it in a direction it was never intended to bend. She heard a sound like a paper bag tearing as ligaments and tendons sheared, followed by a harsh scream as the man dropped. He rolled on the floor howling, both hands clutching the ruined knee, his gun forgotten. Sims stepped over the two machine gunners, the shotgun still raised, and stood over the screaming man. He raised his boot over the man’s head and stomped down hard, and the screaming stopped. “Not bad, Agent Saxon,” he said. He flipped the limp form over with his boot. “Not bad at all. Can you walk?”
She got slowly to her feet. “I can walk,” she said, “But we need to help Dave.”
Sims had taken his BlackBerry out of his coat. “Leave him,” he said. He pointed the device at the man writhing at his feet and snapped a picture. “Let his own people pick him up.”
“I don’t know who our people are any more,” she said. She went to Collette, who had raised himself up to a sitting position, his back to the wall. He looked up at her, his eyes unfocused. “Mel?” he whispered.
“Come on,” she pleaded, trying to take his hand and raise him to his feet. “Come on, Dave. Get up. Please.” She turned to Sims. He was shaking his head. No help there. She looked at Bishop, who was snapping a picture of the other machine gunner. “I’m not leaving without him,” she said. He started to say something, but she cut him off. “You don’t leave your people down in enemy territory,” she said. “Don’t ask me to.”
That shot struck home, she saw. Bishop nodded, his face a grim mask as he slid the BlackBerry into his coat. “Sims,” he barked, “Get him up.”
Sims only hesitated a fraction of a second. “Yes, sir,” he said. He looked at Melissa and held up his shotgun with one hand. “I figure you know how to use one of these.”
She stood up and held out her own hand without speaking. He tossed the shotgun to her and strode over to kneel at Collette’s side. Collette was trying to get to his feet.
“Easy, there, cowboy,” Sims said gently. “Simmer down a sec and look at me.”
Collette glared at him. “What…the fuck…,” he rasped.
“Pupils look okay,” Sims interrupted. “Won’t know for a bit, but I don’t think they cracked your skull.” He grinned. “Not surprising, considering how thick it is. Can you walk?”
“Of course I can…” Collette tried to get to his feet, using the wall to brace himself. He got halfway up before he began to slide sideways. Sims slid easily beside him and draped one of Collette’s arms over his shoulder. “You got your bell rung pretty good,” he said. “Lean on me till you get your legs back under you.”
The two men who’d previously held the submachine guns on them were stirring and moaning. One tried to sit up, but was stopped by Bishop’s shotgun in his face.
“Don’t,” was all Bishop said. The man lay back down, hands at his sides. He looked at Sims and Collette. “You got him?” he asked Sims. Sims was the smaller man, but he supported Collette easily and there was no strain in his voice as he answered. “Got him.”
