|
13
Colonel Jankowsky was waiting when David returned from lunch. As David shut the ornate wooden building door, Jankowsky stepped into the hall and said: “You remember our friend the violent private? IQ of 70, emotional age in the Terrible Twos, long rap sheet before he decided to join the Army?”
“Sir, you’re a little bit ahead of me.” They walked together to David’s office.
“They found him dangling from his belt in the stockade in Oklahoma.”
“Pardon me?” The picture did not make any sense. David knew the suspect’s kind were generally self-loving, emotionally shallow individuals who always blamed their crimes on other people.
Jankowsky slapped faxes down on David’s desk. “Charges were never actually filed. Mary Corcoran has had an emotional breakdown. She’ll be discharged from the Service, 100% disabled.”
“A damn shame, Sir.”
“He’ll never bother her again.”
“Just in a thousand nightmares.”
“The case is a wrap, David. I have your report, and we’ve got to put it behind us.”
“Sorry, Sir. It just seems so pat. And it’s odd, this guy wasting himself.”
“I was thinking that too.”
“No word on Shoob, Sir?”
“Nothing.” Jankowsky paused. “We need to talk.” He closed the door. David, feeling alarmed, sat down at his desk. Jankowsky leaned against the wall by the window. Oddly, he lowered the venetian blinds, and stood toying with the cords. “I’m going to level with you, David.”
“Okay, Sir.” Good God, what have I done? What is he going to say?
“David, we were talking earlier, and we’ve said several times that nothing here is what it seems.”
“Yes?”
“I ran a security check on you. Pushed it through, top priority.”
“Yes?”
“You now have a Maximum Secret clearance. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“It means you could, if necessary, start working for the Secret Service this afternoon. It’s the same as a Presidential clearance.”
David was relieved and stunned.
“This means, David, that if you violate the terms of your clearance, it’s not just a misdemeanor or a federal crime. If you accept this clearance, and if you betray our trust, you will be guilty of high treason. That still carries the death penalty under some circumstances. So I’m giving you a chance to back out now. Go to some other unit where you can push paperwork around and go home at 4:15 and be a sorry ass.”
David sat gaping.
“If you want to be part of this team, and I think you do, now is the time to say so.”
“I don’t know, Sir. Sight unseen—I have no idea what you are talking about.”
“I understand. I don’t blame you.” He paused. “If it’s any help, I’ve reviewed your records. You have a solid combat record from Gulf III. I’ve watched you in action. You’re a heroic man. You have a sense of honor, and common sense to boot. I think you’d welcome a chance to serve your country.”
David nodded. “Okay. If I can serve. I’m in.”
“Thanks.” Jankowsky shook David’s hand. “See, not everything is what it seems. Like my little unit here. We don’t really need to have a separate I.G. detachment here.”
“I wondered about that, Sir.”
“The truth is, while I am an I.G. officer, and this is my I.G. detachment, we are a cover for a Federal investigation. A civilian investigation involving several agencies—the FBI, the IRS, Treasury, and various state police forces.”
“Geez, who are you after?”
“Robert Lee Hamilton.”
David whistled.
“I should properly not say we are after Mr. Hamilton. When I say we, I mean these agencies. I am a facilitator, if you will. This is on orders from the White House. Need to know is Maximum Presidential. We believe Shoob really did stumble onto something. You didn’t tell me you were meeting him at the observatory.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be. You weren’t prepped. You were acting expediently, trying to get to the Corcoran matter, which is stirring up some other issues. But more of that another time. We need to find Shoob because we need the list. We know there is a conspiracy involving CON2, but we don’t know who or why. If we had the list, we’d know whom to investigate. The President believes insiders in the White House and the Government conspired to kill Vice President Cardoza and pin it on militia groups. The President has ordered us to monitor—not Hamilton, which would be illegal—but certain individuals who might reasonably be expected to be contacted by Hamilton—if indeed Mr. Hamilton is guilty of anything, this is all if’s—and offered any bribes to throw the convention one way or the other. We have wiretap authority under a sealed memorandum from a federal district magistrate. The reason I’m telling you all this is because it’s important that you know what really is going on so you don’t fall on your face. Shoob might try to contact you, or he might have left the list with someone else. Right now, you are a magnet of sorts. You will continue your activities as I assign cases to you, but everything will be secondary to finding Shoob.”
“As a matter of fact, Sir, I’m going to be looking for him this evening. With Lieutenant Breen, his unit X.O.”
“The gorgeous woman who dropped you off?” Jankowsky’s eyes twinkled.
“I didn’t think anyone saw, Sir.”
“You’ve been tailed every minute since you arrived in Washington.”
“No kidding.”
“All part of the spook game. You’ll get used to it. We had your clearance under investigation while you were in I.G. school. Remember Colonel Rick Sutcliff at Ft. Bragg?”
David nodded, stunned. He clearly recalled the Afro-American officer, a West Pointer, who’d made such a big deal of reviewing the A.R.’s and moving David safely to this command to preserve his best interests and those of the Army.
“Sutcliff was scouring the Army for a guy just like you. It was fate that you showed up on his doorstep with the broken legs and the career problem.” Jankowsky rose. “Come on, David. It’s time for you to see your other office. You have two places to hang your hat.”
Jankowsky slipped on his saucer cap and raincoat. David did the same and followed Jankowsky down the stairs and into the back alley. Their booted feet crackled on gravel. They walked along the building, passing several rear service doors. David noticed again the dim outline of stained glass windows behind protective wire mesh. Jankowsky knocked on a door, and they were admitted by a trim, husky buck sergeant in fatigue uniform and side arm.
Jankowsky led the way up a narrow, dimly lit flight of wooden stairs. At the top he knocked on another door. As they waited, David noticed a surveillance camera turning to look at them. A buzzer sounded, and the door slid open.
Jankowsky and David entered a rich looking, though subdued, tiled foyer. It was round, with a domed ceiling, and a curving stairwell running to a higher story. David heard a hum of activity, a chatter of voices in small offices along thickly carpeted hallways. A short, lively man, brawny and dark-haired, stepped out to shake their hands. Introducing himself to David as Special Agent Tony Tomasik, FBI, he led them into a small office whose walls were lined with books. It was a small but cozy work space, with a stained glass window. Tomasik noticed David staring at the scalloped and ogived concrete window triplet that contained glowing red and blue stained glass. The theme was abstract and hard to make out. “This was a chapel at the turn of the century. Belonged to an order of religious educators. They sold to a university, which made it a drama playhouse. Finally it was partitioned into offices, and here we are.”
Jankowsky said: “My I.G. detachment is kind of a Trojan Horse. I’m a reserve Army general, and I was indeed an I.G. officer. “The President realized that it would be insensitive to assign Military Intelligence directly to snoop on CON2, so we’re playing this shell game, with civilians investigating civilians under civilian court order.”
Tomasik said: “Welcome to U.S. Federal Task Force 20XX Dash 97A. You’re still working directly for Colonel Jankowsky, but I’m in your matrix of operations. We’ll work very closely together when the time comes.”
|
