“Or good sources. Is he legit?”
“Thoroughly vetted. Totally clean. Graduated from UC Berkeley with a law degree, went to work for a huge firm in San Francisco but hated it. Became a PI specializing in cases that had a legal slant. Did that for eleven years, then moved east a decade ago.”
“Moved east? Why?”
“Found his calling in certain political issues. Figured best place to be is here.”
“You’re comfortable with him?”
“Don’t take my word for it. Talk to him, decide for yourself.”
Uzi shoved the message slip into his pocket as he entered Marshall Shepard’s office.
Shepard was on the phone, his elbows resting on the desk and his face buried in his large hands. Uzi and Hoshi took seats in front of him and waited.
“Yeah, do that,” Shepard said. “Keep me informed.” He pulled off the headset, then slammed it down on his desk. “Christ. That guy drives me up a wall. Up a freakin’ wall.” His face seemed to take in the presence of Hoshi — and the significance of her visit. “She told you,” Shepard said to Uzi.
“What do you make of it?”
“Just got back from a briefing with the director. I was going to fill you in.”
“Now’s a good time.”
Shepard looked at Hoshi. “What did you tell him?”
Hoshi’s cheeks flushed, and Uzi realized he should have come alone.
“Just what we discussed, sir.”
“If Koh here told you what she knows,” Shepard said, “you probably know most of it. Director is placing some restrictions on our investigation.”
Uzi found a toothpick on Shepard’s desk. He pulled it from the wrapper and stuck it in his mouth. “You talk as if it’s not a big deal.”
“It’s not, Uzi, it’s not. There are bigger issues for us to deal with.”
“He’s our chief, but he’s handcuffing us. We need those gun records.”
“We’ve had roadblocks in investigations before. We’ll find other ways of getting the info.”
Uzi shared a look with Hoshi, whose face remained neutral. She was clearly uncomfortable with Uzi’s challenging Shepard.
“Hoshi,” Uzi said, “why don’t you go finish that background sheet on Wheeler?”
Hoshi checked her watch, then glanced up at Shepard for his approval.
“Go,” he said with the flick of a large hand.
She gathered herself and left the room.
As the door clicked shut, Uzi turned back to Shepard. “She’s afraid of you, you know.”
Shepard twisted his lips. “Most of my agents are. Except you. Why is that?”
“Because I know your secret. You’ve got a heart as big as your head.” Shepard growled. Uzi got the impression that if his boss had been a Rottweiler, he’d have bared his teeth. “Back to Knox. Who else was in on this meeting?”
Shepard looked away. “The attorney general.”
“That must’ve been fun. Cats and dogs.” Uzi chuckled. “Did Coulter lay into him?”
“The Attorney General didn’t have much of anything to say. He asked a few questions for clarification, but that was it.” Shepard lifted a shoulder. “Maybe this whole NICS thing is Coulter’s idea to begin with.”
“You think?”
“Who the hell knows. They’re both very conservative, Uzi. Strict interpretation of the Second Amendment.”
Uzi held the tip of his nose and leaned forward.
“What’s wrong?”
“Second Amendment or not, something stinks, Shep. And it’s bad, whatever it is.”
Shepard held up a big paw. “Let it stink. You just stay away from it. It’s the fucking director, for Christ’s sake. You’ve got enough problems — and enough on your plate.”
Uzi could feel Shepard’s eyes glaring at him. But he was lost in thought.
“Uzi, did you hear me? Did you hear what I said? Leave it alone.”
Uzi rose from his chair and headed out.
“Where are you going?” Shepard barked.
Uzi stepped through the door, not bothering to stop as he called out over his shoulder, “To clear some room on my plate.”
After finishing with Shepard, Uzi grabbed his jacket and walked two blocks from the office toward that once ubiquitous, yet now rare, convenience: a pay phone. He pulled out the message slip Hoshi had given him and stood there, deciding if he wanted to call — and if he did, what he would say.
Figuring he had little to lose, he punched in the cell number for Hoshi’s contact, Tad Bishop. The phone rang three times, but as Uzi entertained thoughts of hanging up—
“Bishop.”
Uzi dipped his chin. Good tradecraft. Always. “Mr. Bishop, I was given your name by a friend. She told me you’ve got a good handle on the gun lobby.”
“A bit of an understatement, but I won’t hold that against you.”
“Good, because I’ve got some questions for you.”
“Not over the phone.”
“Fine,” Uzi said. “Meet me in the park behind Bureau of Printing and Engraving, off Wallenberg Drive. Go to the fireplug along Wallenberg and wait there.”
“It’ll take me about twenty minutes,” Bishop said.
“I’ll be the tall, dark, handsome guy in the leather overcoat.”
“And I’ll be the bald guy who’s been thinking of dieting but can’t seem to find the time.”
Uzi stood in the plaza of the United States Holocaust Museum, down the block from the Bureau of Printing and Engraving. Finally, forty minutes after they had first spoken, a rotund man ambled up to the traffic light stanchion.
“You’re late,” Uzi said.
“I had to check you out. It took longer than I thought.”
Uzi looked at him with raised eyebrows.
“You didn’t think I’d just show up to meet someone who calls me and says, ‘Meet me in a park to discuss the gun lobby’ without doing a little due diligence.”
Uzi pursed his lips. “Fair enough.”
He lowered his voice. “I’ll cut right to the chase. You want to know about the director, right? We’re coming out with a report on Douglas Knox tomorrow. I’ll make sure you get a copy, or if you want, you can download it from our website.”
“But that doesn’t tell the whole story,” Uzi said.
Bishop turned and crossed Raoul Wallenberg Place, Uzi at his side. “I don’t know if we’ll ever know the whole story. But no, some things were left out of the report. I believe in what we do, but I know there are limits to the buttons we push. We want to stay alive, so there are certain lines we don’t cross. If there’s something that falls outside those lines, I tell Agent Koh and let her deal with it.”
Uzi felt the moist dirt of the park grass giving a bit beneath his loafers. He stepped back onto the sidewalk and continued a few more paces in silence. “Consider me an extension of Agent Koh. I’ll make sure any information you give me can’t be traced back to you.” When he got no objection, Uzi continued. “Let’s start with some easy questions. Is Knox a member of the NFA?”
“Yes.”
Uzi nodded. He figured as much. “How do you feel about that?”
“Over the years, congressmen have served on the NFA’s board of directors. That’s bad enough. But the director of the FBI? He should be squeaky clean. No ties to any group, organization, or corporation that could color his judgment on the issues he has to face while doing his job.”
“How’s NFA different from the NRA? I’m sure plenty of conservative politicians are NRA members.”
“Different animal,” Bishop said. He stopped walking and faced Uzi. “They’ve also got lines that shouldn’t be crossed, and the NRA respects that line. But the NFA’s a different story. Twenty years ago, when they were more concerned with the rights of hunters, it wasn’t a big deal. But since then, the NFA’s morphed into a political animal, a huge lobby group with substantial resources and a slab of new turf. They became the foot soldiers of the far right. The sales force, so to speak.”