Crintz was an old friend, one who for the past five years had been bought and paid for by a special slush fund-a hidden pile of cash created for the worthy purpose of buying CG friendships in a city filled with underpaid midlevel bureaucrats.

But Crintz, a Christian of the born-again variety and a dedicated family man, would never take cash to fix a contract or favor a bid. That would be a gross violation of his professional ethics and the law. He provided inside scoops and tips, nothing more-also a breach of the law, just not as serious.

Five thousand a month in the Bahamian bank of your choice only bought you so much loyalty.

“So what’s this about?” Paley asked.

“I’m not sure. Are you people under investigation over the polymer?”

“Don’t think so. Why?”

“Because someone’s getting real interested in it, and you.”

“Be more specific.”

“DCIS. Agent named Jenson. She’s been crawling all over our contracting office the past few weeks.”

Crintz held a low-level position in the office of the Pentagon’s inspector general, an obscure job but one that gave him a bird’s-eye view of everything. He had started his career in procurement, and after gaining considerable expertise in contracts and accounting made a midcareer shift to oversight of his old activities. His insights were invaluable, worth vastly more than $60K a year to CG.

True to his background as a contracting agent for Uncle Sam, he was being flagrantly ripped off and was too stupid to demand more.

“What’s she asking about?”

“Hasn’t asked anything,” Crintz answered. “She demanded all existing files on the contract. Everything.”

“All right, what do you think she’s interested in?”

“Hard to tell. She hauls the files upstairs, I guess to make copies. She returns them a few hours later.”

Paley remained quiet and thought about it a moment. “Who handled the contracting process for the polymer?”

“You know her, I think. Sally Gramble. Johnson and Hughes assisted, but they’re both new and very junior. You probably already know this, but they weren’t the driving force. Mostly they did what they were told by people upstairs. Everything was top-down on that contract. I doubt you have anything to worry about from any of those folks.”

Paley gripped the steering wheel and thought about it a minute more. “I’m not sure it’s a problem anyway. The contracts are pretty clean, aren’t they?”

“Strictly boilerplate. Form contracts with a few alterations to tailor them to the requirement.”

“Then what does she want with them?”

“That’s what I’m asking you.”

They were on the GW Parkway now, headed toward the McLean exit, stuck in the right lane and driving slowly, with traffic whizzing by on their left.

“I’m not worried, it’s probably nothing,” Paley repeated. “What do you think?”

“I think DCIS agents don’t collect hundreds of pages of contracts for light reading. I think anytime a DCIS agent is interested in you, it’s bad news. I’d worry, if I were you boys.”

“I’ll pass the word,” Paley assured him with another glance in the mirror. “You want to go anywhere special?”

“Back to the Pentagon, and step on it. I’m hungry and this is my lunch break.”

An hour later, Paley was standing, grim-faced, in his boss’s office relaying Crintz’s report. His boss immediately picked up the phone and called the CEO.

22

Phil Jackson was right.

Mia Jenson showed up on Jack’s doorstep shortly after nine on a dark Tuesday night. Ernie and Howie, the TFAC crew on duty, saw her pull up in a strange car then park, in Jack’s driveway. They immediately ran her plate via a deal they had with the local cops; ten seconds later, they had her name and address in D.C. Thirty seconds after that, they had her identity as a federal law enforcement officer.

This hurried research was handled by Howie, the man inside the van. Ernie, the on-site watcher, was parked at a curb, two houses down. Ernie had poor hearing so he whipped out his bionic ear and sound booster, jammed the earphones over his head, stuck the amplifier out his car window, scooted down in his seat, and listened.

Mia walked directly to the front stoop, pushed the doorbell, and waited. He could hear her breathing, the sound booster was that good.

The front light popped on, and a moment later Jack opened the door. “Are you selling Girl Scout cookies?” he asked. A real wise guy.

“Not quite, Mr. Wiley.” Mia shoved her shield in his face. “I’m a federal agent with the Defense Criminal Investigative Service. I have a few questions.”

Jack didn’t look surprised in the least. “Should I get my lawyer?”

“That won’t be necessary.”

“What’s your name?”

“Jenson. Why don’t you invite me inside?”

“I’d rather talk here. You won’t be staying long.”

“Is that the way you want it, Mr. Wiley?”

“Look, Miss… What’s your first name?”

“Agent. Special Agent, if you prefer to be formal.”

“Lovely name.”

“Thanks, I’m quite proud of it.”

“What’s this about?”

“Do you know a man named Perry Arvan?”

“Yes, so what?”

“Did you approach the Capitol Group with a proposal to take over his company, Arvan Chemicals?”

“I might have.”

“How did you learn about the polymer Arvan developed?”

“How did you learn that I learned about it?” Jack countered, smiling nicely.

“None of your business.” No smile in return.

“Okay, it’s none of yours either.”

Ernie pulled a sandwich out of a greasy brown paper bag and turned up the volume full blast. His wife had made him this snack, pastrami on rye, his favorite. He took his first large bite and chewed slowly. This was getting fun.

“Why did you choose the Capitol Group as your partner?”

“Is that a question?”

“Didn’t it sound like a question?”

“No, it was too stupid for a question. The Capitol Group’s one of the richest, most powerful corporations on the planet. The polymer’s right down their alley. I considered four other companies and settled on them. Call it a no-brainer.”

Then, out of the blue, she asked, “Do you know Representative Earl Belzer?”

Ernie had no idea who Belzer was, wasn’t sure why she asked, but had enough common sense to know she was hedging at something important. He put down the sandwich and listened closely.

After a moment’s hesitation, Jack said, “Can’t really say I do. Why?”

“What if I told you I have pictures of you and Belzer together?”

“I’d say you’re a liar,” Jack told her cheerfully.

“Do you like Chinese food, Mr. Wiley? You barely touched the dim sum, so I’m curious.”

After a long moment, Jack said, “I think we’re done talking.” Any hint of nonchalance or bluster evaporated from his voice.

Mia quickly shoved a hand against the door before he could close it in her face. “We’re finished when I say we’re finished. Listen close, because I’ll only make this offer once. I’m going to bust up this nice little racket you boys are running. I’ve got a barrelful of evidence already. I collect more every day. It might take another week, or a few more months, but I’m going to come down on you and your pals at CG. It’ll be one of the biggest busts ever.”

“If you’re so confident, why haven’t you moved yet?”

“It’s going to happen soon enough, believe me. When I do, you and plenty of others are going to jail. Not some federal country club, but a real prison with the worst scum we scraped off the streets. They adore spoiled rich men in prison, Mr. Wiley. Do I need to explain what happens in those places? You watch movies. Surely you have the picture. A big good-looking Princetonian, you’ll be a big hit in the shower room.”

“Very funny. Do I look frightened?”

“Oh, it won’t be a comedy, Mr. Wiley. Only one or two of you will get a chance to avoid that fate. One or two of you will get smart, cut a deal, and turn state’s evidence. I’m offering you that opportunity, Mr. Wiley, the rare chance to be the first on your block. If not you, it’ll be somebody else. In this game, believe me, it’s not fun to be near the end of the line.”