So I looked at Larry, Bob, and Bill and, speaking clearly into their recorder, I said, "Sean Drummond has the right to remain silent. .." and they sat quietly and watched dumbly as I gave myself a Miranda warning.

When I finished, Bill, with a disappointed pout, said, "That's not helpful."

"It's very helpful, Bill. If I had twelve and a half million bucks salted away, would I confess?"

Bob said, "We know it's not in your possession yet."

"How?"

Nobody answered. Nobody needed to answer. They had staked out my apartment, probably tapped my phones, and surely accessed my minuscule checking and savings account. That meant they had a court order, and that meant I had at least one foot in the crapper.

No further good was going to come from this conversation, so I stood and, directing my words at Larry, announced, "Unless you have a warrant, I'm outta here."

Larry replied, "We don't have a warrant-yet."

Phyllis said to the three gentlemen, "Actually, he works here, and he's not leaving. You are."

Larry nodded. He reached into his pocket, withdrew a business card, and flipped it at me. He said, "If you rediscover your conscience, give me a call." Then Larry and Bob and Bill collected their notepads and recorder, and with nasty expressions filed out the door.

The door closed and there was a moment of silence. Phyllis finally said, "Sean, look me in the eye and tell me you don't have the money."

I looked Phyllis in the eye. "It's mine, all mine. You're not getting a dime of it."

I thought I heard a sigh of relief.

She said, "It's preposterous. I assigned you this case. How could you have arranged this when you had no intimation you would become involved?" She confessed, "I now feel a certain burden of guilt for involving you in this."

I made no reply to that. However, I did make a note in my mental chitpad that she thought she owed me one. I said, "Well… I'm not worried."

"You should worry."

"I'd be very worried if they made me meet them across the river, rather than here. I'm a lawyer, Phyllis. Trust me."

She did not comment on that oxymoron. She said, "They presented a very convincing case, Sean."

"A pile of dough's missing, and the accountants in the basement are demanding a pass from internal investigations. Standard procedure. They have to shake the bushes."

"You're missing something."

"Am I?"

"George Meany He was fired this week. Of course, 'fired' wasn't the expression used, because it seldom is. But you know how it works. A lot of people are dead, and somebody had to take the blame. It was announced that George is the new assistant to the Bureau's spokesperson."

This was news to me. "I had nothing to do with it. George was in charge, and rank and responsibility are a double-edged sword. And at the end he chose to be in the wrong place, at the wrong time, and ended up without any helpings of glory."

"I believe that what matters is not what you think, what matters is what Meany thinks."

Good point. She continued, "He has a vindictive streak, Sean, and he's not without connections within the Bureau." She added, "Incidentally, Mark Townsend submitted his resignation as Director this morning. The President is going to accept it.

Also, your friend Jennie is now the acting ADIC, and I hear there's a good chance that'll be made permanent."

"She earned it. I'm sorry about Townsend."

"Me too. And about Margold, yes, she did earn it. She did better on this case than anybody" After a moment she added, "As did you."

I had turned toward the door, and I spun around and faced Phyllis. Had I been seated this unexpected praise would've caused me to fall out of my chair. "Thank you."

"Think nothing of it." She added, "I'll give you two days to get your professional and personal affairs sorted out. The Agency doesn't need this messiness, nor do you. Fix it."

"Yes ma'am."

Actually, I did have a big problem. It was even possible I had two big problems, one personal and one professional. Worse, there was a chance my personal problems were my professional problems. But I wasn't ready to say that yet.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

The FBI's Washington Metropolitan Field Office is among the four largest and busiest field offices in the country.

I located a place to park near the corner of 4th Street, NW, crossed the street, and passed through the surprisingly nondescript entrance. I flashed my CIA credentials and was allowed by the nice front-desk guard to sign a form and wiggle through the metal detector directly into the inner sanctum. His directions were good and I had no trouble locating the office with the plaque that read, "Senior Agent in Charge, National Security." At least, very little.

I opened the door and entered the office, which turned out to be an outer office with a door leading to the boss's office. Elizabeth, Jennie's nosy, chatty executive assistant, looked up and was surprised, though not delighted, to see me. She said, a little uncertainly "It's nice to see you again, Mr. Drummond."

I smiled back. "Nice to see you, too, Elizabeth. That's a… lovely dress you're wearing."

"Oh… well…" Actually, her dress was surprisingly ugly, a pink paisley top with a bright red skirt, and I wondered if Elizabeth was color-blind, or, these days, I guess, "chromatically challenged." She giggled self-consciously and confessed, "I made it myself."

"Well… who would ever have guessed?"

"Do you think?"

"I think you should open a business… start a line. You'll be the talk of Washington in no time," I informed her with some insight. "So is her ladyship in?"

"I'm… well, you should have called ahead. She's in a meeting downtown."

"I see." Actually, only forty minutes before I had called ahead, though Elizabeth could be forgiven for her faulty recall, as I think I might have been a little confused and identified myself incorrectly. So I knew that Jennie had left the building twenty minutes before, and I knew she would not return till one, which was fine. I said, "I wanted to surprise her. Take her to lunch." I leaned against Elizabeth's desk and complained, "Now that the case is over, we're experiencing a little trouble connecting. Her schedule… my schedule…"

Apparently something on Elizabeth's computer screen suddenly became very absorbing, because she avoided my eyes. "Yes, it's certainly gotten… hectic… around here. Miss Margold is now carrying two very demanding jobs." Just in the event her boss's butt wasn't covered enough, she pointed at a stack of message slips and added, "She doesn't even have time to return her calls."

"Of course. I just wanted to be sure she's okay. Considering what's going on."

"She's fine. Very busy as I said."

"Good. I'm glad the internal investigation's not weighing on her. I mean, if I had something like that hanging over my head, I'd be a wreck… I couldn't sleep or-"

"Investigation?"

"Yeah… about the missing money"

"I don't think I know what you're talking about."

I withdrew from my pocket Larry Boswel’s business card, which I displayed for Elizabeth's benefit. "This guy dropped by to see me this morning. What nonsense. Twelve million in bounty money's missing. Do you believe they suspect Jennie has it?"

Oops, there I went again, getting my identities confused. The thing is, this Lady was very protective of Jennie and, given the sensitive nature of this office, was not likely to be forthcoming with me. Sometimes it takes a lie to get truth; the point is, I needed to know if Jennie had spoken with Larry, and I needed to know whose side she was on.

Elizabeth eyed the name on the card, and I detected a note of recognition. I said, "I mean, in the event Jennie didn't know they were interviewing people behind her back, I thought… you know, I'd give her a heads-up."