Michael Prescott - Mortal Faults

“He’s in a meeting.”

“It’s urgent.”

“I can’t just interrupt-”

“Yes, you can. Buzz him, or I’ll walk in there without an announcement.” She would, too. What the hell, she couldn’t get herself in any worse trouble than she was already in.

The secretary grimaced but yielded. She activated the intercom and informed her boss that SA McCallum requested a few minutes of his time.

Tess expected Michaelson to make her wait, if only as a power play. She was proved wrong when his voice came over the speaker, saying, “Send her in.”

“Yes, sir.” The secretary conceded defeat with a flick of her wrist toward the closed office door. “He’ll see you.”

Tess walked to the door. She had time to wonder why Michaelson had allowed her to come in without waiting. Then her hand was on the knob, and the hard reality of it reminded her of what she was about to do. Michaelson had been looking for a way to undermine her career for years-since the Mobius case, in fact. Now she would hand him the chance he’d been hoping for. She expected him to take full advantage of it. He would show no mercy. He would do his best to finish her.

She opened the door, then stopped, freezing just inside the threshold.

His office was much like hers in Denver, only larger, with an even more intimidating desk flanked by two American flags. And there was an I-love-me wall, of course. Michaelson’s encounters with the great and the near great were lovingly documented in a photo mural that really did take up an entire wall.

The secretary hadn’t lied when she said there was a meeting underway. The ADIC sat behind his desk. Two of the leather chairs facing the desk were occupied. Hauser was in one. Crandall was in the other.

She saw their faces. Cold fury on Michaelson’s face. Disappointment on Hauser’s. And Crandall-he looked away from her for a moment, then steadied himself and returned her gaze. She read defiance in his expression. His face said, I did what I had to do. Tess supposed it was true. She had counted on his loyalty, but in the end she’d given him nothing to be loyal to.

She turned to Michaelson. “I was coming here to tell you.”

“You’re a little late,” he snapped.

She looked at Crandall. “Evidently I am.”

Crandall’s throat made a slow swallowing motion. “It was for your own good, Tess.”

She wanted to dispute the point, but she couldn’t, really. He hadn’t known she was coming. He’d reached the same decision she had, just an hour or two sooner.

“You’re in a great deal of trouble, McCallum.” The nasal voice belonged to the ADIC, whose prominent proboscis had given him the informal sobriquet “the Nose.”

“Please, Dick,” she said easily, “call me Tess.” She sat on the leather couch, another item that was larger and costlier than the equivalent furnishing in her own office.

Hauser was watching her. “Agent Crandall has told us quite a story,” he said carefully. “I’d like to believe he’s misconstrued the situation.”

“He hasn’t.”

“He says you’ve been working with a civilian, covering for her. He says this individual played a key role in the Rain Man case. And she’s been directly involved in MEDEA.”

“All true.”

“And you chose to keep this to yourself.”

“Until now, yes.”

Hauser went on staring at her. His presence meant that Crandall had gone to him first, and then Hauser had brought him to the director. It made sense. A low-level agent like Crandall wouldn’t get in to see the ADIC on his own.

“Was there something else you wanted to say, Agent Hauser?” she asked.

“I had a very high estimation of you.”

She noted he’d used the past tense. “I’m sorry to let you down.”

Hauser’s voice was low. “You let us all down.”

His quiet disappointment was harder to take than the Nose’s more theatrical outrage. Tess said only, “I made some bad decisions.”

“Bad decisions?” Michaelson half rose from his chair, then sat again, as if unable to decide what to do with his body. “Bad fucking decisions? Is that what you said?”

“I didn’t say fucking.”

“Jesus Christ.” Michaelson slapped his desk, a hard percussive sound like a gunshot. “I’ll tell you what you’ve done. Passing Bureau sensitive-information to non-Bureau personnel, falsifying an official report, participation in a cover-up, unauthorized use of Bureau resources, misprision of a felony, misuse of Bureau property, cooperation with a known lawbreaker. That’s just for starts.”

“Abby isn’t a known lawbreaker.”

“You’re saying this friend of yours has never broken the law?”

“I’m saying she’s not known for it. She has no record. And she’s not my friend.”

“Not anymore, apparently, or you wouldn’t be here.”

“She never was my friend,” Tess said quietly. This was possibly true. She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter, anyway.

“If not, then why did you cover for her for the better part of two years? You’re fucked, McCallum. Any way you slice it, you are over and done with.”

She looked at him and caught the glimmer of a brief, furtive, feral smile. Beneath his indignation he was secretly pleased. He’d been waiting for this moment for a long time.

Tess sighed. “I get the picture, Dick. It’s serious.”

“Serious isn’t the word. It’s career-ending. I always knew you would flame out eventually.”

“At least I’m going out in style.”

“We’ll see how much style you have left after OPR is through with you. And after ASU implements your punishment, which, let me assure you, will be maximally severe.” ASU was the Administrative Services Division, responsible for imposing whatever disciplinary measures the Office of Professional Responsibility deemed appropriate. “A letter of censure isn’t going to cut it. At a minimum, you’re looking at suspension without pay. Then reassignment to some choice locale-a resident agency in North Dakota, maybe. And that’s a best-case scenario. Personally, I intend to press for your termination-along with criminal charges.”

The last part was an empty threat. The Bureau would never put an SAC on trial. Too many embarrassing secrets would emerge. But termination was definitely a live option. The review would take time-investigations by the OPR always did-but in the end they would nail her. Tess had run a couple of OPR reviews herself, as every agent on a management track had to do, and she knew that the work was slow but thorough, and nobody was cut any slack.

“And it won’t help you that you never came forward,” Michaelson added. “You never did the right thing.”

“I did the right thing by coming here today.”

Michaelson snorted. “You came because you knew Crandall was going to talk, and you wanted to put your spin on the story before he did.”

Tess smiled a little. It was typical of Michaelson to think that way. That was what he would have done. “Actually, I didn’t think Rick would come here. I guess I…” She tried to find the right word. “I misjudged him.”

Neutral though it was, the statement seemed to pain Crandall. She saw him wince.

“I’m sorry, Tess,” Crandall said.

Michaelson waved off his words. “He has nothing to apologize for-except not reporting your misconduct sooner.”

“You’re right.” Tess nodded. “He has no reason to apologize. He was only doing what he felt was correct.”

She said it while looking at Crandall.

“None of this was his fault,” she added. “It’s mine. All mine. I take full responsibility.”

“You fucking bet you do,” Michaelson snarled. “Now I want to hear it, all of it, from the beginning.”

“Hasn’t Rick told you-”