But fifteen minutes later he got up and strode to the Director’s door.
The assistant said, “Mr. Reeder — you can’t simply—”
But he did, with Rogers following right after, pausing only to give the guardian a condescending smile before shutting herself and Reeder inside.
Fiftyish Director Jonathon Briar, broad-faced on a muscular mid-range frame, his navy suit with red-and-white tie blatantly patriotic, actually started a bit when they came in. To the right as they entered, Briar was seated behind a black slab that was more table than desk, two modern beige visitor’s chairs opposite, a looming framed portrait of President Harrison on the wall behind him. The large, stark office seemed to be keeping as many secrets as the Service itself. To the left was a meeting area with a low-slung black slab table and various modern but comfortable-looking chairs.
“Jesus, Peep,” Briar blustered. “You know better than this!”
Reeder stood at the edge of the desk-thing and stared down at Director Briar.
“You’re right, Jon,” Reeder said. “I should have barged in here the moment your last guest left. I’m getting complacent.”
Reeder was standing between the two visitor’s chairs and Rogers was just behind the one to Reeder’s left. Briar’s eyes met hers and narrowed.
Rogers held up her credentials, but Briar said, “I know who you are, Agent Rogers. Do you mind, Peep, telling me what this is about? Make it quick — I have another meeting in ten minutes.”
“Let them wait an hour,” Reeder said, and tossed a small plastic evidence bag with the smashed pin in it onto Briar’s desk. Briar was wearing his own, somewhat smaller lapel flag pin — did it come equipped with a camera, too?
Then Reeder lowered himself into one of the visitor’s chairs and waved Rogers into the other.
Briar stared at the smashed pin in the bag. “Where did you get that?”
“It fell off someone who attacked me last night, not far from my home. I can show you the bruises on my ribs if you’re interested. You’ll note that that’s an American flag camera pin, a mangled one I grant you.”
“Homeland uses these,” Briar said, with a shrug. “Agent Rogers will tell you they’re not unknown to the Bureau, as well, and several other agencies.”
Reeder reached over and flipped the evidence bag. “Do I have to remind you, Jon, that the SS is the only one who uses that form of ID number?”
“That’s not one of ours,” Briar said without looking at it.
“It’s one of yours, all right. And I want to know who this one belongs to.”
Briar smirked mirthlessly. “Has procedure changed, Peep, since you worked here? You know damn well that if an agent loses one of these, he or she is required to report it immediately. No one has.”
“Why, do you check the reports yourself?”
“Actually, yes. Every day. Are we done here?”
Rogers asked, “Director Briar, who was it that left this office before we came in? In the wire-framed glasses?”
The Director said, “He’s with the GAO. Nothing that concerns you.”
“Would he have a name, sir?”
Briar said, “That’s not information I’m prepared to share with you, Agent Rogers. You seem to have the Secret Service confused with the Smithsonian.”
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?”