Max Collins - Executive Order

Reeder gave the Director a long, hard look, then said, “Jon, we were never friends — we never shared duty together. But we were friendly enough, and I’ve always respected you. When I tell you that I was attacked by someone, last night, who lost a Secret Service pin in the process, doesn’t that raise any level of interest?”

Briar gave the evidence bag the barest look. “That’s not our pin. What you’re reporting is not a Secret Service matter. You might try the DC police, or because that pin probably originated with some government agency, you could discuss it with your FBI colleague, Agent Rogers, here.”

Reeder rose. “Thanks for the advice, Jon. It’s nice to know that all my years with the Service earned me so much support.”

Briar looked up coldly at the former agent. “Sarcasm doesn’t really suit you, Peep. But let me suggest something. If that pin did belong to a Secret Service agent... and if you were attacked by him... someone above my pay grade would have to have put it in motion.”

Reeder’s gaze was unblinking. “Would have had to put you in motion, you mean.”

“Assume what you like. But I would suggest you’re treading on some important toes. As you say, we weren’t friends, Peep, but we were friendly enough for me to suggest that whatever you’re up to... you may want to find a new hobby.”

“Noted,” Reeder said, and reached for the bag with the pin, but Briar laid a hand on it.

“I’ll hold onto that for you,” the Director said.

Reeder gave Briar an awful smile. “That’s not yours, remember?”

Rogers stood and said, “But it is evidence in an ongoing federal investigation, Director. With all due respect, please remove your hand.”

Briar thought about that for a good ten seconds, then nodded, and let Reeder take the bag.

In the corridor, Rogers asked, “What the hell was that?”

“Briar’s a decent enough director,” Reeder said. “Anyway, he was a good agent. There’s a reason he didn’t cooperate with us.”

“Because he’s covering his own ass?”

“That may be part of it. Mostly, he’s scared.”

Rogers studied that unreadable face and then asked, “What does it take to scare the Director of the Secret Service?”

“Generally not something as small as that pin.”

“That GAO guy is who I saw coming out of Fisk’s office the other day. She said he was there on budgetary matters.”

Reeder raised an eyebrow. “So?”

“Joe, when I got to the AD’s office yesterday, he was there. Already there! What’s he doing... tailing us?”

Reeder thought for a moment, then said, “Worse.”

“How do you mean, worse?”

“He’s out ahead of us.”

Rogers was mulling that as they headed for the elevators, passing various agents and office workers. The older agents sometimes exchanged nods with Reeder, and younger ones all seemed to be whispering to companions, Is that Joe Reeder? Really Joe Reeder?

She was about to push the DOWN button when a male hand butted in from behind them and pushed it for her. She turned to look and there he was — the GAO drone.

The drone politely gestured for Rogers to get on first, and then did the same with Reeder, who was giving the man a blank look that disguised alarm bells going off.

The nearly handsome man with the dark hair and wire-frame glasses said to her lightly, “We have to stop meeting like this.”

Reeder pushed the first-floor button as Rogers said, “I was just telling my friend here that no matter where we go, it seems you’re already there.”

The doors whispered shut.

Unperturbed, the drone said, “Life’s just full of odd coincidences, isn’t it, Agent Rogers?”

Reeder hit the STOP button and the elevator did a little shake and braked. A real alarm bell began to ring now, muffled.

Rogers said, “You seem to know me. Who the hell are you?”

The drone shrugged; his smile couldn’t have been more pleasant. “For now, my name’s unimportant. I’m sure, Agent Rogers, that with a little effort, you’ll soon know.”

Reeder came over and grabbed the drone by the arm, crowding him in the small space. “She asked you a question. Who the hell are you?”

The drone, not at all intimidated, said, “Violence won’t do you any good in this situation, Mr. Reeder.”

The alarm bell rang on.

Reeder let go of the man’s sleeve. “Who are you working for?”

“The American people, of course.”

Reeder grabbed the drone’s arm again. “Listen to me, you son of a bitch...”

With surprising ease, the drone plucked Reeder’s hand off and flipped it away. His voice came back with a new, menacing edge: “No, Mr. Reeder. You listen to me.”

On and on, it rang.

“... I’m listening.”

“Walk away from your investigation, if you want your life back. That is, if you want that life to be a safe one for you and yours.”

Reeder backhanded him.

Briefly, something vile flickered on the drone’s face, then his pleasant expression returned as he dug a handkerchief out to touch the blood at one corner of his mouth.

The alarm bell did not let up.

The drone’s eyes were on Reeder but he was speaking to her now: “Agent Rogers, I believe I have good news for you. I have it on good authority that an Assistant Directorship will be opening up soon. Could well be yours... if you and your friend here can find something constructive to do... such as: nothing.”

The drone punched the button that released the elevator and they started down again.

The alarm bell ceased.

“Not interested,” Rogers said, soft but firm.

“Sorry to hear that,” the drone said. “A wrong decision can get a person into trouble. The wrong outlook can even get a person killed.”

Reeder grabbed the drone’s Men’s Wearhouse jacket by its lapels, and shoved him against an elevator wall.

Though he was clearly rattled, the drone said calmly, “Agent Rogers is the one at real risk here. You, Mr. Reeder, are a public figure. An American hero, and eliminating you would draw an unfortunate amount of attention. That would be less a concern for, say, your wife and daughter. They can’t stay in hiding forever, unless you three are prepared to live in exile.”

Letting go of the drone, Reeder backed away, visibly shaken in a way Rogers had never observed in him before.

The doors swished open and the drone knifed through a group waiting for an elevator that had taken a terribly long time to arrive.

Soon Rogers and Reeder were outside in the sunshine, but gloom nonetheless shrouded them.

“Did that really just happen?” she asked.

“That was a very real and serious threat, Patti, made by someone not afraid to carry it out, if need be.”

They tucked themselves against the outer wall of the building; the sidewalk butted almost up to the building here.

She asked, “Is he who we’re after, do you think?”

Reeder shook his head. “We’re looking for more than one rogue player, and your GAO pal seems more a messenger.”

She was flushed. “I don’t care if Briar is the Director of the Secret Service, I’ll put him in custody and haul his ass to the Hoover Building into an interview room and—”

“No.”

“... No?”

“We take a frontal approach like that, we’ll be lucky to be alive tomorrow. And if that prick knows my wife and daughter are in hiding, he just might learn where.”

“You’re not suggesting we walk away ?”

“No. Not at all.”

“Then...?”

“We go to ground.”

Rogers frowned. “But I need my task force to get anywhere on this thing, and access to my resources at the Bureau, and—”