“With your guns drawn?”
“We did not draw our weapons, sir.”
“That’s not what I was told.”
“I don’t know who—”
“Listen here, Agent Uziel, I do not want another Ruby Ridge or Waco on our hands. Now that’s pretty clear, isn’t it? You get my point, don’t you?”
“Yes, sir. We were aware of the risks—”
“And yet you went anyway.”
Uzi sighed. “I’m sorry if we upset them, sir.” Actually, he wasn’t — but he sensed a bit of contrition was called for.
“Did you find anything?”
“No.”
Coulter tossed his pen onto the desk. “Agent, Mr. Ripclaw did us all a favor by calling my office instead of filing harassment charges and sending a copy of his complaint to the Post. The Bureau’s had enough black eyes the past several years. We don’t need any more. What you do reflects on me, and I don’t want to have to answer for it, do you understand?”
Uzi looked away. “Very clearly, sir.”
“Good. Now—” The buzz of Coulter’s phone gave Uzi a second to think. Coulter lifted it, listened for a moment, then said, “Send them in.”
Marshall Shepard and Douglas Knox walked through the door. Uzi felt the heat rising beneath his collar, and he immediately wished he’d removed his leather overcoat before entering Coulter’s office.
Coulter exchanged a glance with Knox and Shepard. “Agent Uziel and I have been having a little chat. Weren’t we, Agent?” Coulter paused, looked hard at Uzi.
“Yes sir, a little chat.”
“I got a call from Hayes Patino Sinclair Ripclaw,” Coulter continued. “Seems Agent Uziel and his partner have been harassing Nelson Flint and his colleagues. Went to Mr. Flint’s place with their firearms drawn.”
Shepard and Knox simultaneously looked at Uzi. They were not wearing their happy faces.
“The managing partner gave us a heads-up before filing charges.”
“Uzi,” Shepard said, “you’ve got some explaining to do.”
When one of the most influential attorneys in the country lit a fuse, the resulting fallout often consumed those in close proximity. Like a neutron bomb, it left the office standing but destroyed the people inside it. Uzi hoped Shepard could escape the damage. Still, he should’ve seen it coming: taking the heat for the actions of people under your command came with the territory. Shepard was guilty by rank and proximity.
Coulter held up a hand to silence Uzi. “Save it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“I don’t mean to be disrespectful,” Uzi said, “but how about our side of the story? Since when does the FBI kowtow to an attorney whose client slithers into his office crying harassment?”
Coulter stood from his seat. “Since I became attorney general. And since I decided to clean up our image. And since it’s my decision to make.”
“Sir, the second time we were there, we never stepped foot on their land. We stayed outside the fence and—”
“And nothing,” Coulter said. “Victor Ripclaw isn’t a hack. He’s a powerful and influential lawyer, and I don’t want him on my back. We’ve got enough important work to do in this office without fending off lawsuits from attorneys who know how to bury my people in paperwork. But most of all, Agent Uziel, he gives scum like Nelson Flint credibility. If he’s Flint’s mouthpiece, we’ve got problems. He knows how to play the strings of public opinion. And I don’t want to see anything in the papers about trampling citizens’ constitutional rights.” He turned to Shepard. “Did you know anything about this?”
Shepard’s gaze was still locked on Uzi. “No, sir.”
“Why the hell not?”
Uzi turned away. He could feel the perspiration beading down from his sideburns.
Shepard took the smart way out, treating Coulter’s question as if it were rhetorical. Like a suspect in handcuffs, he remained silent to prevent further damage.
After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Coulter continued: “Do us all a big favor, Douglas. Rein in your people. Make sure they stay away from Nelson Flint unless I authorize it.”
Uzi knew this was an extraordinary measure; the attorney general did not usually micromanage FBI affairs. In fact, any directive from Coulter would normally flow directly to Knox, who would then deal with Shepard and/or Uzi.
“Agent Uziel, we’re through here.”
So much for getting an opportunity to ask the attorney general about overriding Knox’s blocking of the NICS database. Any inquiry regarding Knox’s political interference in the investigation would have to come from someone else.
As Uzi turned to leave, he caught the frowns of Shepard and Knox. He felt he should apologize, but what could he say — especially in front of Coulter? Instead, he put his head down and moved between the two men, parting the sea of anger and walking clear out of the room without looking back.
“I heard all about your meeting,” DeSantos said as he and Uzi strolled along Pennsylvania Avenue.
Ninety minutes after leaving the Department of Justice, Uzi received a call from DeSantos telling him they needed to meet. Now, walking along the district’s main drag, the air was crisp and their breath sent vapor trails snaking behind them.
“Sorry you had to face it alone.”
Uzi waved a hand. “It’s over. I’ll get past it. Hopefully my boss will.”
“I wish it were that easy.”
A taxi roared by them, the wind ruffling the bottom of Uzi’s overcoat. He looked at DeSantos, his partner’s last comment taking a moment to register. “What do you mean?”
“Some shit going on behind the scenes. This is DC, boychick. You know how it goes. What you see ain’t what you get.”
The meat of rush hour had passed, the mass of people pouring out of government buildings slowing to a trickle. Uzi dodged a couple of women in business suits scurrying to hail a cab. “So what’s the rest of the iceberg look like?”
“Knox wants you to keep investigating ARM.”
Uzi stopped and watched as DeSantos took another few steps before realizing his partner was not keeping up with him.
He came back to Uzi and shrugged. “C’mon,” DeSantos said. “We need to keep moving.” He glanced around, then nudged Uzi with a shoulder. They turned and began walking.
Uzi waited a moment for DeSantos to elaborate. He knew Knox was the preeminent spy master, operating behind closed doors in ways no one else would dare dream, but he never expected to be part of his inner circle. Nor did he want to be. He needed rules and structure.
“Knox asked me to deliver a message,” DeSantos finally said. “But he needs to know you’re on board.”
“On board with what?”
“He wants you to continue looking into ARM, but Coulter and Shepard can’t know.”
Uzi knew what this meant: he was, indeed, being invited in. Perhaps not to the inner circle, but he was being asked to dip his feet in the water. Get them wet, feel the temperature. Then make a decision as to whether to go in all the way. Or not. “Santa, the attorney general is the FBI’s ‘boss.’ I may not like the guy, but he specifically told me to back off Flint. If I keep poking around…”
“Knox will insulate you.”
“Knox answers to Coulter. How’s he going to insulate me?”
“Technically, he answers to Coulter, but he’s… Don’t worry about it.”
Uzi looked up at the sky, as if it held answers. “I don’t get it. First your buddy Knox plays political games by blocking us from getting into the NICS database — something that could help our investigation. Now he wants us to ignore the AG’s direct order and go after ARM.”