I said, "I'd fly back here and knock his teeth in."

He smiled derisively. "I'll bet you would." He continued, "Daniels was an analyst, not an operator. Handling a field asset is an intricate and demanding art. They're under terrific psychological stress, many are pathetically conflicted, and most are phobic. What I'm suggesting is this: He flipped his own asset into Iran's arms."

Bian had obviously given this some thought and suggested back, "Alternatively, Charabi became worried that he would lose our support and decided to make the Iranians his insurance policy. So he passed along what Daniels gave him, and now, as a quid pro quo, the Iranians owe him a favor. At the very least, they won't actively oppose his rise as a Shia leader." She added, "And with Daniels dead, we would never know."

He replied, "That could be what you're seeing in these messages. Charabi has begun playing both sides against the middle-us against Iran. For him, the best of both worlds."

Bian noted, astutely, "Except it only works as long as the U.S. remains blind to this deal between Daniels and Charabi. After all, he betrayed us."

This seemed like an appropriate moment to ask, and I did. "Do you think Charabi had Daniels murdered?"

Don replied without hesitation, "He would be my number one suspect. As Bian said, with Daniels dead, so was the secret. But don't rule out Hirschfield and/or Tigerman either. They may have been privy to this exchange between Charabi and Daniels-they might even have been behind it-and maybe they were frightened about what Daniels might say before the House investigating subcommittee." As if we needed to be reminded, he said, "They are hyper-ambitious men. Don't underestimate how far they might go to keep his mouth shut."

Once again, Don and I were in agreement. In fact, I was about to ask another question when Phyllis stood and walked around from behind her desk. She approached Don, saying a bit curtly, "Thank you for dropping by. I'll pass on to the Director how helpful you were."

Don looked a little surprised at this abrupt dismissal. He checked his watch. "I have a little more time. If they have more questions-"

"That won't be necessary."

Don's face registered a shifting mixture of bewilderment and frustration, and eventually settled at resentment. He got to his feet and stood a moment. "I'd like to be kept in the loop about this investigation. Actually, I… I need to be kept aware. This is important to us… to me. You know that."

Phyllis replied, somewhat cruelly, "You'll hear from me at the appropriate moment."

The confidence seemed to drain out of him. For a long moment he maintained eye contact with Phyllis. He opened his mouth and started to say something, thought better of it, and then spun around and left.

Bian and I remained perfectly still as the door closed loudly behind Don, and as Phyllis returned to her seat behind the desk. She folded her hands in front of her and stared at her desktop, sphinxlike.

Eventually she deigned to speak. "Which of you would like to hazard a guess at what this is all about?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Bian rose to that challenge and replied, "Don is… No, he was the head of the exploitation cell for the Iranian transcripts."

Phyllis nodded. "Yes. On both counts." She looked at me and said, somewhat crossly, "You shouldn't have taunted and humiliated him that way." She added, "We've put him through hell these past three months. The poor man has virtually walked around with a lie detector connected to his tail."

"I handled him as I would any witness who might be lying, quibbling, and withholding." I added, "People without last names bother me."

"I know why you did it. That's why I'm having doubts about you. This is not a criminal case, nor can it be treated in a legalistic manner. I really-"

"Excuse me-it's a murder case."

She gave me one of those looks that suggested I was dancing on thin ice. "Hear me out, Drummond. We are at war. In wars people do stupid things, even venal things, things that very often result in deaths. The lines between stupidity, ineptitude, gullibility, and criminal mischief become very fluid. Do you understand the distinctions?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe won't do." She examined me a moment, and I had the sense the ice was cracking. "You're a soldier, and for various reasons I would prefer to keep you on this investigation. But for the same reasons I'm now experiencing reservations. Do you understand what I'm talking about?"

"I don't exactly…" Care.

She turned to Bian, who apparently was guilty by association. "Do you understand, Major?"

Bian replied noncommittally, "A fuller explanation might clear up any misunderstandings."

"All right." Phyllis studied us both a moment. Her fingers, I noted, were clutched and looked fidgety, for her, the equivalent of a hysterical fit.

I thought I knew why, and also I thought it best to hear her out. She informed us, "I've been in this agency or its predecessor through seven or eight wars. World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, two Gulf wars-fill in the blanks. Were you to closely scrutinize any of these wars, were you to look past the sepia-tinted memories and turn over all the rocks in this town, you would discover a dismaying array of bad decisions, mistakes, misimpressions, incompetence, and in a few cases, outright lunacy. Many tens of thousands of lives were wasted. The historians know barely a quarter of it. I was here, I saw it firsthand, and I doubt I know the half of it. But bad things happen in wars, and had those things become exposed to the public during those wars, our history books might… well, they would look quite different."

"I'm still confused."

"Nothing is black and white here."

"I'm a lawyer, Phyllis. We invented moral relativity. I don't need this lecture."

"And I don't need a legal gunslinger," she snapped. "The mission of this agency is not law enforcement, it's intelligence. I'm suggesting a little… moral patience."

"Don't need that either."

"Well… what do you need?"

I thought I now understood where this was going and replied, "Cliff Daniels committed a very heinous mistake, one that may have crossed over to a crime-possibly several crimes-including espionage and possibly treason. We have the paper trail of his misdeeds. Also, we have two high-level officials, Albert Tigerman and Thomas Hirschfield, who possibly knew about this crime, who possibly ordered or condoned it, and who possibly were coconspirators, or, at the very least, have embarked on a cover-up. Not to be overlooked, there has also been a murder and they are also suspects in that crime. I hope this is not news to you-each of these things have sections and titles dedicated to them in the federal statutes."

She smiled patiently, as if she was humoring me. "That's a lot of possiblys. What would you have us do?"

"What the law requires. Call in the FBI. Let them chat with a federal judge, and do what they do best-read people their rights, threaten, bust nuts, kick down doors, cut deals, until somebody squeals. It might surprise you, but regarding federal crimes, there actually are laws and tested procedures that usually get results."

My sarcasm apparently struck a nerve, because she replied, "I believe I have a little experience in these matters, having lived through it three or four dozen times."

"And may I say that this agency has a wonderful record of handling it right every time."

Her eyes narrowed. She took a long breath, then said, "Use your critical faculties as an attorney-how would you describe the evidence?"

"I don't understand the question."

"I think you do."

"Then why ask me?"

"Weak and inconclusive, right?"

"Well… yes, and-"