David Kent - The Triangle Conspiracy

She nodded numbly. “Yes.” She checked the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet. Her small travel bag was there and packed, as it always was.

“Don’t go home,” Yorkton said. “Leave your office and don’t go back. All your case files are on disks, yes?”

“Yes.”

“All right, then. Take them with you and go to a hotel. Stay in cell phone contact.” Yorkton sighed. “I never thought this day would come. Our existence is now public knowledge, but I may be able to fix it.”

“Fix it? How in the hell could you fix it?”

“I’m not sure yet. I don’t know Ted McDermott. He’s a social issues crusader, hasn’t ever served on the Judiciary Committee, so I’ve never had dealings with him. I’ll think of something.”

“I don’t see how-”

“You don’t have to see how. That’s my job.” Yorkton’s voice sounded far away. “The attorney general’s already called me. The president’s already called him. I know the president likes you, Officer Kelly, but I don’t know if that’s enough. He understands political reality, and the political reality has just changed, quite dramatically.”

“What about my cases?”

“Let them know they’re all right, they’re still secure, and that they will stay that way. They shouldn’t be compromised by this. Call them, then go to ground. I’ll talk to the other case officers. Where’s Simon?”

“He’s with Bankston, the new case, in Kansas.”

“Call him too. He’ll need to go to his emergency identity as well.” There was a long pause. “Go to ground,” Yorkton said for the third time, then hung up.

“My God,” Faith said, still holding the phone. Just a little while ago, she’d kissed Hendler good-bye in her shower. They’d acted like normal people. They’d been sure of their own reality, even if everything about them was shifting. Now not even that was safe.

Faith unlocked the bottom drawer of her desk and took out the envelope that held Kimberly Diamond’s life: driver’s license, Social Security card, birth certificate, even credit cards. Bank account information, ATM cards. Five thousand dollars in cash. A fresh, untraceable cell phone. A gun.

She thought of Sean, wondered where he was. Wondered if her brother was capable of murder.

No. I refuse to go there.

She grabbed all her things, the travel bag, the Diamond envelope. After a moment’s contemplation, she pulled the stuffed fish off the wall and shoved it into her bag. She might never see this office again.

And now, she thought, Sean and I are both fugitives.

She ran out of the office and locked the door behind her.

“HOLY SHIT,” HENDLER MUTTERED.

He and at least twenty others had grouped around the TV in the break room of the FBI’s new complex on Memorial Road in far north Oklahoma City. After McDermott said Faith’s name, all eyes shifted to Hendler.

When the broadcast was over, most of the others left the room, heading back to their own areas. Hendler stayed behind, sitting at the oval table, staring at the TV, even after he’d turned it off.

Department Thirty had been outed.

Hendler couldn’t believe it. It had gone about its mission wrapped in secrecy for so long that it was generally accepted in DOJ that this would always be the case. You just ignored anything about Thirty, did your job, and hoped you didn’t cross paths with one of their cases.

McDermott had actually said Faith’s name on national television.

After all she’s been through already, Hendler thought.

He tried calling her and got voice mail at all three numbers-office, home, and cell. He had to figure that Yorkton was in damage control mode, and had probably sent Faith somewhere. Faith had told him one night a few months ago that she had actually created a new identity for herself, one that she would have to use in case of a departmental security emergency.

He wanted to talk to her, just hear her voice, know that she was okay. Of course he knew Faith handled everything that came her way, but there were times when she wasn’t as tough as she wanted everyone to think. He’d seen glimpses-just a few tiny snapshots of her vulnerability-over the last two years. There weren’t many, but Hendler was mindful of the fact that he was the only person in the world who got to see them. He carried the knowledge with him, saving it like a child with a weekly allowance.

He felt a presence in the break room, and looked up to see Leo Dorsett, the special agent in charge of the Oklahoma City FBI field office. Dorsett was a good boss, and Hendler liked working for him. He was a superior administrator and generally stayed out of the way and let his agents do their jobs. Hendler had been eternally grateful that Dorsett handled the call to Senator Edward McDermott himself yesterday. Dorsett had felt that in the case of a United States senator, a call from the SAC instead of a field agent might be in order.

“How you doing, Scott?” Dorsett said.

“Okay.”

“No, you’re not, but be that as it may, I have to say this. You need to stay away from your girlfriend until all this is resolved. After the case is closed, deal with your personal life however you like, but until then, you need to back off.”

“Look, Leo-”

Dorsett held up a hand. “You know I don’t like internal conflict, and you know I hate dealing with people’s personal issues. But this is a professional matter now.”

Hendler nodded. “You’re right, it is. It’s just not something I thought would ever come up.”

Dorsett shrugged. “Neither did I, or anyone else. Do I need to move you off the case? Perkins can run it.”

“No. I was there, Leo. I saw Daryn McDermott hanging in that tree. I’m on it.”

“Okay, good. Keep in contact with that city cop Cain. There’s going to be political pressure to make sure we’re all talking to each other. We’re about to be under a big magnifying glass.”

“I understand.”

Dorsett left the room. Hendler waited a few more minutes, then went back to his desk. He spent a couple of hours on paperwork, then called Rob Cain.

“Rob, it’s Scott Hendler.”

“My favorite fed,” Cain said.

Hendler heard outdoor sounds in the background. “Where are you?”

“I was just getting ready to call you. There’s something you need to see, since we’re working together.”

“Where?”

“Southeast High School on Shields Boulevard. Meet me in half an hour, in the parking lot as it faces Shields. I’ll be next to a dark green Jeep Cherokee.”

Hendler had a mental image of the morning he’d met Sean Kelly. He and Faith had been out for a run together, and they’d rounded the corner onto her block and seen a dark green Jeep Cherokee sitting in front of her house. At first, until she saw the driver, Faith had been nervous to the point of reaching for her weapon. Then she’d recognized her brother.

“I’m on my way,” Hendler said.

Southeast High School had once been one of Oklahoma City’s thriving schools. Then as populations shifted, enrollment dropped off rapidly, to the point that it was actually closed, only to reopen within a few years as a technology-oriented specialty school.

It sat on Shields Boulevard, a few blocks south of the notorious strip of motels. Its sign was blue and white, an S and an E under the stylized logo of a Spartan, the school’s mascot. School was out for the summer, but a few cars were scattered in the parking lot. Hendler pulled into the main gate and immediately saw the Jeep, under a tree at the far south end. He nosed the Toyota over and saw Cain, along with two patrol officers.

Hendler got out of the car and shook hands with Cain. “What’s up?”