CHAPTER 51

We drove down this coastal highway, through Santa Oxnard, and south toward the City of Angels. The water was on our right, mountains to our left. Blue skies, blue water, blue car, Kate's blue eyes. Perfect.

Kate said it was about an hour's drive to the FBI field office on Wilshire Boulevard, near the UCLA campus in West Hollywood, and also near Beverly Hills.

I asked her, "Why isn't the office downtown? Is there a downtown?"

"There is, but the FBI seems to prefer certain neighborhoods over others."

"Like expensive, white, non-inner city neighborhoods."

"Sometimes. That's why I don't like lower Manhattan. It's incredibly congested."

"It's incredibly alive and interesting. I'm going to take you to Fraunces Tavern. You know, where Washington bid farewell to his officers. He got out on three-quarter disability."

"And went to live in Virginia. He couldn't stand the congestion."

So, we did the California – New York thing for a while as Kate drove. Then she asked me, "Are you happy?"

"Beyond happy."

"Good. You look less panicky."

"I have surrendered to the light." I said, "Tell me about the L.A. office. What did you do there?"

"It was an interesting assignment. It's the third largest field office in the country. About six hundred agents. Los Angeles is the bank robbery capital of the country. We had close to three thousand bank robberies a year, and-" "Three thousand?"

"Yes. Mostly druggies. Small-time cash snatches. There are hundreds of small branch offices in L.A., plus there are all these freeways, so the robbers can make easy escapes. In New York, the robber would be sitting in a taxi for half an hour at a stop light. Anyway, this was more of a nuisance than anything else. Very few people got hurt. I was actually in my bank branch office once when it was getting robbed." "How much did you get?"

She laughed. "I didn't get anything, but the perp got ten to twenty."

"You collared him?" "I did."

"Tell me about it."

"No big deal. The guy was ahead of me in line, he passes a note to the teller, and she gets all nervous, so I knew what was coming down. She fills a bag with money, the guy turns to leave, and finds himself staring at my gun. It's a stupid crime. Small money, big Federal rap, and between the FBI and the police, we solved over seventy-five percent of the bank robberies."

We chatted about Kate's two years in L.A., and she said, "Also, it's the only field office in the country with two full-time media representatives. We got lots of high-profile cases that needed media fixes. Lots of celebrity stalker cases. I met a few movie stars, and once I had to live in this star's mansion and travel with him for a few weeks because someone had threatened his life, and it looked like a serious threat. Then there were the Asian organized crime syndicates. The only shoot-out I ever had was with a bunch of Korean smugglers. Those guys are tough cookies. But we have some Korean-Americans in the office who have penetrated the syndicates. Am I boring you?"

"No. This is more interesting than the X-Files. Who was the movie star?"

"Are you jealous?"

"Not at all." Maybe a little.

"It was some old guy. Pushing fifty." She laughed.

Why was I not having fun yet? Anyway, it appeared that Kate Mayfield was not the naive hick I thought she was. She'd been around the dark side of American life, and though she hadn't seen what I'd seen in twenty years on the job in New York, she'd seen more than your average Wendy Wasp from Wichita. In any case, I had the feeling that we had a lot of history to learn from each other. I was glad she didn't ask me about my sexual history because we'd be in Rio de Janeiro before I was finished. Just kidding.

All in all, it was a pleasant drive, she knew her way around, and before long we found ourselves on Wilshire Boulevard. Kate pulled into the big parking lot of a twenty-story, white office building, complete with flowers and palm trees. There's something about palm trees that makes me think nothing serious or deep is going on in the vicinity. I asked her, "Did you ever get involved with any Mideastern terrorism?"

"Not personally. There's not much of that here. I think they have one Mideast specialist." She added, "Now they have two more."

"Yeah. Right. You maybe. I don't know beans about Mideast terrorism."

She pulled the car into an empty space and shut the engine. "They think you do. You're on the Anti-Terrorist Task Force, Mideast section."

"Right. I forgot."

So, we got out of the car, walked into the building, and took the elevator up to the sixteenth floor.

The FBI had the whole floor, plus some other floors that they shared with other Justice Department agencies.

To make a long story short, the prodigal daughter had returned, there were hugs and kisses all around, and I noticed that the women seemed as happy to see Kate as were the men. This is a good sign, according to my ex, who explained it all to me once. I wish I'd been listening.

Anyway, we made the rounds of the offices, and I pumped a lot of hands and smiled so much my face hurt. I had the impression I was being shown off by… by my… fiancée. There, I said it. Actually, however, Kate didn't make any announcements along those lines.

Somewhere in this labyrinth of corridors, cubicles, cubby holes, and offices lurked a lover or two or maybe three, and I tried to spot the little shit or shits, but I wasn't getting any signals. I'm good at spotting people who are trying to fuck me, but not very good at spotting people who are, or have, fucked one another. To this day, I'm not sure if my wife was screwing her boss, for instance. They do travel a lot on business, but… it doesn't matter anymore, and it didn't matter then.

As my good luck would have it, the fellow I'd spoken to here on the telephone the other day, Mr. Sturgis, Deputy Agent in Charge of something, wanted to meet me, so we were escorted into his office.

Mr. Sturgis came around his desk and extended his hand, which I took as we exchanged greetings. His first name was Doug, and he wanted me to call him that. What else would I call him? Claude?

Anyway, Doug was a handsome gent, about my age, tan and fit, and well dressed. He looked at Kate, and they shook hands. He said, "Good to see you, Kate."

She replied, "It's nice to be back."

Bingo! This was the guy. I could tell by the way they looked at each other for a brief second. I think.

Anyway, there are many forms of hell on earth, but the most exquisitely hellish is going someplace where your spouse or lover knows everyone, and you know no one. Office parties, class reunions, stuff like that. And, of course, you're trying to figure out who had carnal knowledge of your mate, if for no other reason than to see if he or she at least had good taste and wasn't fucking the class clown or the office idiot. Anyway, Sturgis offered us seats and we sat, though I wanted out of there. He said to me, "You're exactly as I pictured you on the phone."

"You, too."

We left that alone and got on to business. Sturgis rambled on a bit, and I noticed that he had dandruff and small hands. Men with small hands often have small dicks. It's a fact.

He tried to be pleasant, but I was not. Finally, he sensed my mood and stood. Kate and I stood. He said, "Again, we thank you for your good work and your expertise in this matter. I can't say I'm confident that we'll apprehend this individual, but at least we've got him on the run, and he'll cause no further problems."

"I wouldn't bet on that," I said.

"Well, Mr. Corey, a man on the run can be a desperate man, but Asad Khalil is not a common criminal. He's a professional. All he wants now is to escape and not draw any further attention to himself."