Part 5 (1/2)
”Maybe it was suicide. Sure looks like suicide.”
”Maybe it was. But knowing what you now know, the alternative gains a little added weight . . . don't you think?” She gave me a moment to think about it, then said, ”Now you persuade the Arlington police that it was was suicide. And bring back that briefcase.” suicide. And bring back that briefcase.”
”Are you ordering me to lie to the police? I want to be clear on this.”
”Did I say that?”
”In so many words . . . yes.”
I couldn't see her smile, but I could picture it. She said, ”You're a lawyer, Drummond. Handle it.”
”Am I part of this investigation?”
”Do you want to be?”
”No.”
”Then now you are. Is that settled?”
”Not yet. Who am I working for?”
”You report to me.”
”And who do you report to?”
She ignored my question and said, ”The Agency inspector general and the FBI already have an ongoing investigation, of which Daniels was a subject. But we'll handle them as parallel efforts. Ours will be kept separate, quiet, distinct.”
Interesting. ”And will one hand know what the other hand is doing?”
”I receive ongoing updates on what they're doing.”
”That's not what I asked.”
”Figure it out.”
I figured it out. Phyllis would hold all all the cards. I asked, ”What am I investigating?” the cards. I asked, ”What am I investigating?”
”Whether Daniels was murdered or not. We'll see where it leads from there.”
”And Major Tran?”
”Yes . . . I'm glad you brought her up. Do you feel you can trust her?”
”As much as I trust you.”
Now I was sure she was smiling. She asked, ”More relevantly, does Major Tran trust you?”
”Absolutely. As we speak, she's on the other side of a gla.s.s slider, trying to read my lips.”
Phyllis laughed. She asked, ”Can you work work with her?” with her?”
”I can work with you you, so I'm sure I can work with her.”
I thought I heard a sharp breath. I think I had just worn out her patience for my insolence. Part of the fun of this job was seeing how far I could push it. The Army, peculiar inst.i.tution that it is, tends to be fairly stiff regarding such issues as insubordination and disrespect to superiors. Candor is permitted, even encouraged, so long as it is rendered respectfully. Of course, one senior officer's interpretation of respect can differ substantially from another's, so you have to watch your P's and Q's. The CIA, also a fairly hierarchical organization, is sort of a halfway house between a martial culture and a civilian one, and you have a little more leeway to be a pain in the a.s.s.
Back to Phyllis. She said, ”I think it would be invaluable to have the Defense Secretary's own investigative staff in on this. The Pentagon is, after all, a fortress of sorts. You should . . . partner with her.”
”You mean, use her as a Trojan horse?”
”You know how much I dislike a.n.a.logies. You shouldn't oversimplify complex situations.” She added, after a long pause, ”But yes, that one fits.”
Lest you think I'm a complete fool, it was Phyllis, after all, who dispatched me to this death scene in the first place, and nothing she does, or thinks, is serendipitous. She is well aware of my nosy, mulish ways, my propensity to rush around corners, my . . . well, enough virtues. The larger point is, I was the sole military person in her office, Mr. Daniels was an employee of the Pentagon, and it was suddenly clear why she picked me for this job.
And now she was exploiting one Trojan horse to recruit another-- a frightening display of how her mind works.
The truth is, our relations.h.i.+p is no more or less complicated than that between a cat and a mouse. I'm nimble and quick. And so is she, with a facile mind and razorlike paws. It's sort of fun, also scary, and often dangerous. But the larger truth is, I wanted a piece of this case.
Phyllis mentioned, ”Incidentally, Bis dat qui cito dat Bis dat qui cito dat.”
In plain English, he gives twice who gives promptly--and I understood what she meant, and why. As soon as Clifford Daniels's ident.i.ty was nailed down, via witnesses, personal ident.i.ty cards, dental records, and/or fingerprints, the Arlington Police Department public affairs people would issue a standard public notice. With luck, the local press might not recognize the significance of Daniels's name before they filed their late edition; without luck, some enterprising reporter would run Clifford's name through Lexis, Google, or Yahoo! and get an interesting hit. Either way, by morning, the nuts and junkies would be on this like flies on p.o.o.p.
Was.h.i.+ngton has always thrived on juicy rumors and corpulent conspiracy theories, fueled by amateur Oliver Stones--people with dark outlooks, overheated imaginations, whose mental bolts could stand a good tightening. But the proliferation of cable news channels, talk radio, and Internet blogs has changed a beltway pastime into a national frenzy. Every paranoid idiot now has an outlet and an audience. A few even have network anchor jobs.
I informed Phyllis, ”That isn't my problem.”
”It is now. Speed, Drummond. Get this done quickly.” Right.
She agreed to call Major Tran's office and work out some kind of bureaucratic entente, and I told her what I needed when I returned to the office . . . starting with a new job.
I snapped shut the cell, stepped back inside, and rejoined Major Tran, who was still pretending to study a piece of faux artwork on the wall.
I nodded at her. She nodded back.
”When did you first figure me out?” I asked her.
”I don't know. Maybe . . . the instant you claimed you're FBI.”
”Really? I was obnoxious, overbearing, and a p.r.i.c.k. What gave me away?”
”You were all of the above. You just don't fit the mold.”
”I'm . . . devastated.”
”You'll get over it.”
”I'm even wearing fresh undershorts.”