"Just go by procedure," Gina chimed in.
"Right. Just go by procedure. Like the doc says. But this is a rush job so put everything else on hold." Rebecca stood as she spoke, staring down at the mystery. "If we find a piece of this thing no bigger than a grain of sand, we own him."
"Chaney!"
Asleep at his desk at the U.S. Marshals Service in Washington, Chaney raised bloodshot eyes. He saw the haggard face of Marshal Hank Vincent, or "Skull" as they called him for his merciless expression, approaching. He could see that Skull held an expense voucher in his hand, crumbling it into a tight wad.
Chaney muttered, "Oh, shit."
Suddenly finding themselves needed elsewhere, a dozen Deputy U.S. Marshals surrounding Chaney's desk began wandering in separate directions. With a remarkable air of calm, Chaney said, "Hey, Chief, I was just about to talk to you about that little—"
Skull held the voucher before Chaney's face. "Explain to me," he said carefully, "how you can spend five thousand dollars on gas in a single month when you never left the city? I want to hear this one. It's got to be a classic."
"Travel expenses, boss."
"Travel expenses?" Skull stared, as if he'd never heard the term. "Travel expenses? Is that the best you can do?" He pointed. "I want to see you in my office." Without waiting for a reply he turned away.
Chaney rose slowly, making a vague attempt to straighten his tie. Then to a chorus of murmured "good lucks" he walked slowly into Marshal Vincent's office, quietly closing the door. He stood with hands clasped, all dignity, and Skull stared back. Slowly, after a moment, the marshal shook his head. A thin smile creased his lips. It was a rare moment. He tossed the voucher on the desk and leaned back, shaking his head.
"So, travel expenses," he said finally. "But then you busted that cartel last week didn't you, Chaney? Arrested Lau Tai when he was cutting one of his better deals."
Chaney nodded, then looked away slightly as Skull lifted another invoice. "Says here that you maxed out your snitch allotment almost six weeks ago. How long you been working that case?"
"Six months, sir."
"So how did you buy off your snitches in the last month to find the location of the deal?"
After a pause, Chaney said, "Well, boss, I relied upon creativity and resourcefulness. Like we're supposed to."
At that, Skull actually smiled. "Yeah, Chaney, I'll bet you did." He waited a moment, barked a short laugh. "That," he motioned to the door, "is called 'street theater.' I did it because everyone knows what you did and I don't want them following your example.
"You took a big chance, Chaney, and you pulled it off. But you pulled it off only because of your street contacts, and there's not too many that have that. It's a forgotten art. So someone like you could take a chance and win. But the rest shouldn't even try." He frowned a little. "Some of them would, you know. They'd go for broke, spend the money, and still not get their puke. Then they'd burn for it. Even worse, I'd have to burn them for it. 'Cause I wouldn't be able to protect them."
Skull waited; Chaney was silent.
"You know." Skull contemplated a pen. "I caught some heat over that Lau arrest."
"Heat over it? Why? It was a good snag."
" 'Cause Lau was the responsibility of the DEA." Skull gestured with the pen as if, in truth, he really didn't give a damn. "Jurisdictional disputes…that sort of thing."
"He was a known fugitive from justice, boss."
"Then he fell under our people in the Fugitive Program," Skull said, suddenly more serious. "Hell, Chaney, you're in intelligence and counter-intelligence. You were supposed to be investigating whether there was a current covert American intelligence operative working with the Golden Triangle heroin bands, not chasing rucking Lau. If you hadn't used your own special brand of creative writing in your weekly reports, I would have been on you a lot sooner. And to make it worse, the FBI is saying that you violated Lau's rights because you interrogated him pretty rough, trying to make him spit out his contacts. Then, cherry on the cake, he claims you didn't even read him his rights." He paused. "They're saying that you blew the entire arrest and that we can't charge him at all. They want a formal investigation."
Chaney revealed nothing but strolled forward to gently touch the desk nameplate. It was dark maple with "Marshal Hank Vincent" stamped squarely in the gold plate.
"Well, you know, boss," he began, "we don't need to charge Lau for this crime. He's a fugitive from justice with three other federal convictions. If he hadn't escaped from Lompoc, he was gonna do another fifty years without possibility of parole. Which he will, as soon as I escort him back. I admit, uh, that I interviewed him alone, and I may have even forgotten to read him all his rights, but now we have the names of all his American contacts." Chaney hesitated, shrugged. "We can make a dent with this information, boss. It was a good snag."
Skull crossed his arms. "And he wound up at the ER because…?"
Raising hands to the sides, Chaney responded, "Well, hell, he resisted arrest. Simple as that."
"Uh-huh." Skull let the moment hang. "I'll take care of the college boys, Chaney. I'll tell them we're not initiating any Article 31 investigation, and if they don't like it, they can kiss my freckled butt." He shuffled papers. "All right, I've got another assignment for you. I want you on it right away."
Chaney was silent. It was one of his habits, when speaking to superiors, to say as little as possible. He figured it was hard to incriminate yourself when you don't talk, though he often rode the crest between caution and rudeness.
"This is it." Skull laid the file out. "It seems that we've had a military incident up in Alaska that—"
"The army?" Chaney looked up. He couldn't conceal his surprise. "They have their own marshals. What does that have to do with us?"
"Just hear me out." Skull gestured, uncommonly patient. "It seems that some oh-so-slightly more than classified research stations have had some serious trouble. Like dead people. A bunch of them. I want you to look into it."
"Why me? More important, why us?"
Skull said nothing for a moment, then rose slowly to stare out the window behind his desk. In the distance Chaney saw traffic moving slowly along the Beltway, which bordered the rear of the facility.
"Because some of our friends in Congress are worried about a rumor that the research stations may have been doing some off-the-books biological warfare research," Skull said finally. "That's not the jurisdiction of the FBI. It's not our jurisdiction, either. But the Hill wants us to take it."
"And you want me to take it?"
"Yes."
There was something about this that Chaney didn't like at all.
"Well, just what, exactly, am I supposed to investigate? I don't know anything about biological warfare. I wouldn't know a cold virus from Ebola. I could be up there investigating for a year and not find anything that—"
"Your assignment is in Washington," Skull said.
Chaney didn't even try to conceal what he felt. "Washington?" he asked slowly; the pause lasted a long time as he studied Skull's downcast face. "What's going on here, Marshal?"
For a long time, Skull was silent.
"Chaney, if someone is using government resources to develop biological weapons illegally, then that means people at the highest levels are involved in covert activity that directly countermands not only the mandates of the President but the 1972 United Nations agreement prohibiting the experimental development of such weapons systems." He paused. "I presume you understand the implications of that?"
A cold feeling settled on Chaney's spine. "Yeah, I understand. So you want me to investigate the Pentagon, the National Security Agency and the Central Intelligence Agency to determine if they're running a black operation in direct contravention of a presidential directive."