Brian Haig - PrivateSector

There was silence for a moment as we all considered what this meant.

As though we were too stupid to figure it out, Phyllis commented, “Really, it’s brilliant. The money gets laundered every time Grand Vistas sells the stock. Very large amounts of money. And if Morris Networks’ stock rises in value, Grand Vistas and its clients make scads more money.”

Well, the realities were ever-shifting inside this room. The floodgates were open, and Janet and I were being deluged with disclosures and information-just, notably, not the specific information I had very clearly asked for.

In short, we had their balls in our hands, just not all their balls.

I said, “Explain why George Meany was at my apartment so fast this morning?”

Phyllis replied, “You’ll have to ask George that question.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I don’t have that answer.”

“I think you do.”

“You think wrong. We’re teamed with the FBI on this matter, but we don’t share everything.” She added, “And neither do they.”

No kidding. The CIA and FBI not talking to each other? Could that be? She was probably lying, but the best lies are always grounded in the best truths.

I looked up at Peterson. A minute before, he had realized that his subordinates were withholding information not only from us, but from him. Phyllis and Jack probably now had a few career issues to sort through with him.

But he had either concluded that we’d already heard enough, or that we really did not need to hear the next big revelation, because that next big revelation was very bad-that it was illegal, and completely indefensible. Or perhaps he didn’t want to hear that next confession because he’d lose his plausible deniability. Nobody survives six years in his job who doesn’t know when he’s heard enough.

Changing the conversation, he faced Janet and asked, “Tell me what you think I can do for you. How can we resolve this?”

Janet said, “I want the killer and the people responsible.”

“You’re asking too much.”

“I am not. I want justice for my murdered sister and my father. The murderer and the people who sent him.”

He looked at me. “Can you reason with her?”

Shit -there it was. The Choice; do I screw Lisa’s memory and my friendship, or whatever my exact relationship was with Janet; or trample on my oath of service and my sworn duty to safeguard and preserve what was obviously a dire national secret?

I could feel Janet’s eyes looking into my heart, and I could feel Clapper’s eyes boring into my soul.

I said to Peterson, “The hit man has sworn to kill me, Janet, and our families. You understand this, right?”

“I have no problem with getting the killer. He’s a cold-blooded murderer and deserves to be brought to justice.”

“Define justice.”

He had anticipated this question and replied, “Don’t be premature. We’ll define his justice when we find him.”

And at just that moment, Clapper, who’d been silently witnessing this affair, said, “Director Peterson, I think you should answer Sean’s question.”

I glanced at him, but he wasn’t looking at me.

“All right,” Peterson said. “I won’t pretend or deny that it wouldn’t be hugely convenient if the killer were to resist apprehension and force the issue. There are alternatives, however. If we take him alive, the Director of the FBI and I can classify him as a terrorist, and a security risk, and seal his trial. Are you satisfied?”

No-I wanted this bastard dead and buried. But I was satisfied the legal technicalities were being met.

Clapper asked, “And if we learn the names of his direct accomplices?”

“I can’t, and I won’t, bend on that,” Peterson replied. “His accomplices need to feel secure and stay in place for the continued success of Trojan Horse.” He added, “At some point, indeterminate at this stage, their day of reckoning will come. You’ll have to be satisfied with that.”

Janet’s lips were just parting, so I swiftly said, “We won’t expose the connection to Grand Vistas. But until the killer is stopped, I want protection for Janet, for me, and our immediate families.”

“We can arrange that.”

MacGruder said, “Let’s not forget the matter of this lawsuit he’s threatened his firm with.”

“How do you know-”

He smiled. “The FBI’s person inside the firm keeps us well-informed. You have that firm up in a lather, Drummond. You have to find a convincing way to withdraw your threat and let things get back to normal.”

“We can do that.” I glanced at Janet. She looked shocked, disappointed, but more than that, also disillusioned. At the outcome, most certainly, and, I suppose, in me. I swallowed and said, “Janet, there’s no other way. Half a loaf is better than-”

“Shut up.”

“Right.”

Peterson regarded her a moment, then said, “And do I have your agreement?”

“And do I have a choice?” It wasn’t a question, it was a statement of bitter resignation. She then added, “I’ll do what I have to do.”

“Thank you. I mean that. This is hard to stomach, but it’s for the good of the country.” He then paused a moment before he said, “Now, this is distasteful for me, but I have to warn you both that if there’s a leak, if this operation is compromised in any way, I know where to look. We don’t have an official secrets act, like the British, but there are certain punitive measures that can-and I assure you, will-be brought against you. You understand.”

I nodded, and Janet stared at him a moment, before her chin dipped also.

But Peterson had good intuitive instincts and appeared to recognize that I had just paid a very dear price to seal this bargain.

To make amends, he leaned back on his heels and said to me, “Major, I must compliment you on your remarkable detective work. How you discovered this operation… how you unwrapped this mystery, it’s a great tribute to your integrity and your intelligence.”

Clapper commented, “Before Sean became a lawyer, he used to do a lot of work for your people.”

Peterson nodded, like that explained it. He added, “Well, when this is over, Drummond, maybe you should think about working over here.”

I smiled. “I might like that, Director.”

Of course, I was lying.

And in this building, it made no echo.

It was noon when Janet and I stepped off the elevator onto the twelfth floor of Morris Networks.

I had called Mom, Dad, and brother John, and explained to them that life was going to be a little different for a few days, that stupid Sean had stirred up some stupid shit, and the nice boys and girls of the Federal Bureau of Investigation were going to be hanging around and watching over all of their asses for the next few days. I suggested to John that this might be a good time to visit Mom and Dad-this was easier for the Feds, and cheaper, a point I had been asked to stress by my new government pals.

Mom told me to be careful, Dad snorted that he’d watch after his own ass, and John said he thought that instead of visiting Dad and thirty years of grudges, he would just take a private jet to Tahiti or somewhere obscure like that.

Janet called her family also, but she had become very uncommunicative toward me, and did not inform me how it went.

We had driven over in my car, and while I did not observe any coverage, I had been assured that at least ten federal eyes would remain on moi and Janet wherever we went.

But Tiffany Allison was not smiling as the elevator door opened. In fact, Miss Allison looked positively stunning: coiffed, manicured, and buffed to a fine shine, but indeed, she was not smiling.