Uzi pulled out his smartphone. “Is your place clean?”
“Don’t bother. I check it every day. We’re fine.”
Uzi hesitated, but acquiesced and put the handset away. “Yes, I found something. Maybe.” He took a seat at the butcher block table and reclined in the chair, his hands shoved into the deep pockets of his overcoat. “I met with a guy tonight who thinks that Knox is in bed with the NFA.”
DeSantos rolled his eyes. “Not this again.”
“Hear me out. This guy says the NFA has become the strong-arm of the far right. They’ve given huge bucks to cover their interests in the White House. Everything was cool till Rusch’s sister was murdered. Then he went on this crusade, switched policy, and came out against the gun lobby.” He shrugged. “Maybe the NFA was furious and came up with a solution to their problem.”
“And killing the vice president was their solution?”
“I’m thinking that if he lost the election, they wouldn’t have set off the device. But as soon as they called the race, Rusch was a liability that had to be eliminated. Vance Nunn is a staunch conservative and he’s never spoken out against the gun lobby. Easy choice. They decided to take their chances with Nunn.”
DeSantos was quiet as he processed what Uzi had told him, no doubt running it through his bullshit filter. Finally, he asked, “And what do you think this has to do with Knox?”
“Knox is a member of the NFA. He went to school with Skiles Rathbone, NFA’s top dog. Best I can tell, they grew up together.”
“Well, that does it for me. Let’s get an arrest warrant for the fucking FBI director because he went to the wrong school and grew up in the wrong town.” DeSantos stood up. “Christ, Uzi, you sound like some whacked-out conspiracy nut. This guy you talked with. I bet he’s one, too.”
“Bishop’s a straight shooter. I felt him out. He was careful of what he said and refused to jump to conclusions without proof. He seemed responsible, not some nut bent on making a point at all costs.” He paused a second, as if suddenly convincing himself of his feelings about the man.
“Uzi. You’ve been in law enforcement a long time. You know the unwritten rule. Never trust an informant.”
“Because they’re usually criminals who’d lie or cheat to save their own asses. But this guy isn’t a criminal. His sheet’s clean. Well educated, upstanding citizen—”
“Who might have a hidden agenda of his own.”
Uzi shook his head. “I believe him.”
“What, that these guys were from the same neighborhood?”
“No, that info I got on my own.”
The front door opened and Maggie walked in. “Brrr. It’s cold out there.” Arms banded across her chest, she shivered her way into the kitchen, looked at Uzi and DeSantos and seemed to sense the tension in the air. She backed out slowly. “Cold in here, too. I’m going to bed.”
DeSantos did not look at her. He was still staring at Uzi. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
Uzi knew the comment was directed more at him than at Maggie.
She disappeared. DeSantos slid the kitchen door closed.
“Uzi, I’ve known Douglas Knox for fifteen years. I’ve worked under him both officially and unofficially. I gotta tell you, if you’re suggesting a link between Knox and the attempted assassination of Glendon Rusch…” His voice tailed off. “You’re wasting your time. Knox doesn’t always play by the rules. No doubt about that. He’s personally signed off on black ops that no one else knows about, or wants to know about, or will ever find out about. You know the score.”
Uzi nodded.
“But everything Knox has done has been for the benefit of his country. Never for personal interests. Assassinating the veep is… That’s sacred, know what I mean? You don’t cross that line.”
“I can’t just ignore what I’ve found.” Uzi rubbed at his temples. “There’s not much to go on, I know. Just some sketchy stuff. But it set off my radar. I need to dig a little more, just to be sure. If he’s clean, no harm. If not…” Uzi shrugged. “Let’s see where it leads us.”
“There’s no ‘us’ in this. You go down this path, you do it alone. I can’t— I won’t investigate Douglas Knox.”
Uzi stood. “I hear you. I’d probably do the same if the situation were reversed.” He held out his fist and DeSantos reluctantly tipped it with his own. Uzi turned toward the door.
“Just be careful. Knox has a… circle of guys who look out for him.”
Uzi stopped and turned back to DeSantos. “OPSIG,” Uzi said, referring to the covert Operations Support Intelligence Group, the band of special ops players housed in the Pentagon’s supersecret basement. It was a group that did not exist on paper, with members who worked for a bogus corporation and carried false identification. Hector DeSantos’s group.
DeSantos looked away. “Close the door on the way out,” he said.
Uzi hesitated, then turned and left.
DAY FOUR
Uzi walked into Leonard Rudnick’s office and sat down, his gelled hair still slick from a shower. Though talking about his feelings was outside Uzi’s comfort zone, doing it so early, when his defenses were still weak from cobwebs on the brain, bothered him even more. If his previous visit hadn’t gone so well, he might have thought twice about showing up.
Too much to do, too much to think ab—
“So,” Rudnick said. He reclined slightly, facing Uzi. “Any answers yet on the question I posed to you last time? About suicide — or, perhaps better phrased, your reason for living?”
Uzi sighed. “I haven’t had a whole lot of time for introspection. This case—”
“Then tell me,” Rudnick said. “How do you feel about loyalty?”
“Loyalty?” Uzi jutted his chin back. “In what context? I had a dog once, he was pretty loyal. We loved him. He protected us.”
“What does loyalty mean to you? At work.”
“You can’t have an organization like the Bureau without loyalty. Fidelity, Bravery, Integrity. That’s our motto.”
“Yes,” Rudnick said. “Rings a bell.” He smiled. Uzi did not.
“Look, doc, if you’ve got a point to this, I’d really appreciate if you could get to it. This talking in circles isn’t my way. I told you that when we first met.”
“So you did. Very well. You had an incident recently with Agent Osborn.”
Uzi’s eyes rolled ceilingward. “He blatantly violated procedure, and it could’ve had catastrophic consequences. And it wasn’t the first time. But instead of referring him for an OPR,” he said, referring to the Office of Professional Responsibility, “I brought it to the attention of my ASAC.”
“His actions endangered others?”
“They had a suspect holed up. Osborn was told to stand down, but when the guy bolted Osborn engaged him in a gunfight. Innocents were in the vicinity. Women and children.”
“Women and children.” Rudnick absorbed this, nodding slowly. “And how did reporting Agent Osborn sit with your colleagues?”
“I didn’t have his back. They made it real clear they weren’t too happy with me.”
Rudnick tilted his head, apparently waiting for Uzi to elaborate. He did not. So they both sat there, Rudnick looking at Uzi and Uzi doing his best to go along with Rudnick’s game plan without calling it a session and walking out.
Finally, Uzi spoke. “Look, doc. I really don’t have time for this—”
“How did their reaction make you feel?”
Uzi lifted a shoulder. “It is what it is. They don’t need to be my best buds, just my colleagues.”