Special Agent Hooper was staring at the classified file on this operation when his assistant, Freddy Murray, returned from the director’s office. Freddy pulled up a chair and reported:
“The director made the calls. The publishers agreed to kill the story unless it runs elsewhere, then they’ll have to run it. That leak’s plugged, at least for a little while.”
“Thanks, Freddy.”
“We got to wrap this operation up, Tom, and make some arrests. The pressure is excruciating and it’s gonna get worse. While I was in the director’s office he was on the phone to the attorney general. The AG has been talking to the President. Did you see this morning’s paper?”
Hooper laid three documents on the table. “Why’d we start this operation, anyway?”
Hooper knew the answer to that question, of course, but he liked to think aloud. Freddy Murray thought this quirk of Hooper’s a fortunate habit because his subordinates then knew where the boss’s thoughts were going without having to ask. So he willingly played along. “To find out who in the bureau is on McNally’s payroll.”
“And what have we discovered?”
“Nothing.”
“Correct.”
“So.” Hooper used the eraser on a pencil to scratch his head. “So.”
“We’ve got enough to put McNally out of business,” Freddy pointed out. “It’s not like this operation hasn’t borne fruit. Ford has filled our stocking with goodies. And the people in the front office are getting more desperate by the hour.”
“Who are the three guys we thought might be dirty?”
“Wilson, Kovecki, and Moreto.”
“Aren’t these documents still on the computer?” Hooper pointed to them. Freddy looked at them. They were weekly progress reports to the assistant director. Harrison Ford’s name was contained on each.
“I think so.”
“Let’s rewrite these reports. We’ll construct four files, one for each of McNally’s chief lieutenants, naming each of them in turn as our undercover operative. Then we let each man get an unauthorized peek at one of the files. What d’ya think?”
Freddy sat silently for a minute or so, turning it over and looking under it. “I think we’re liable to get somebody killed.”
“Listen, Harrison’s dangling over the shark pit on a worn-out, fraying rope and blood is dripping into the water. The word is out — the feds have somebody inside. If McNally hears this rumor he’ll be looking for the traitor — you can bet Harrison Ronald Ford’s ass on that. Our first duty is to keep our guy alive, and our second is to find the rotten apples around here. We’re about out of time, Freddy.”
“I don’t like it.”
“You got a better suggestion?”
“Four files. Three suspects. Who’s the fourth file for?”
“Bob Cherry.”
Freddy scratched his crotch and picked his nose. “You’re not playing by the rules,” he objected, finally.
“There ain’t no rules in a knife fight,” Hooper growled. “Ask Freeman McNally.”
“Why Cherry?”
“Why not? The shit started the rumor. Let’s give him something to season it with. A name.”
“What if our little conversation this evening goes well and he shuts up?”
“You had any dealings with this guy? He thinks he’s one of the twelve disciples.”
“Okay, so we let him get a sneaky peek at a bogus file. Then we talk to him? He’ll come unglued — we call him in so we can bitch at him about his loose mouth and we leave secret files lying around unattended? He’ll latch onto that like a pit bull with AIDS. He’ll crucify us.”
Hooper swiveled his chair and looked out the window. “Gimme something better.”
“So we forget the file for the senator,” Freddy said, musing aloud. “Let’s play to him. We’ll just stroke him and when everything’s copacetic, introduce the name into the conversation. After all, he’s entitled to be briefed. Let’s brief the son of a bitch.”
They got busy with the computer. The facts had to change on each report to fit the bona fides of the man they wanted to use. It took some serious brainstorming. They had two files constructed when Freddy said, “What if two or more names get back to McNally? Where are we then?”
They discussed it. After batting it back and forth, they decided that McNally would probably conclude that the FBI was engaged in funny business, which would discredit not only the names but the undercover agent rumor as well. They went back to work on the last file.
At noon Hooper sent his secretary home for the rest of the day. She was aghast. Hooper was insistent. “And don’t mention this to anyone.”
“But the personnel regulations!”
“See you Monday.”
By three that afternoon Hooper and Freddy had drilled a hole through the plasterboard between the outer office and Hooper’s office. They installed a one-way mirror on Hooper’s side of the wall. The secretary’s forgettable print was rehung on her side to cover the hole. Freddy trotted down the hall and borrowed a vacuum cleaner from a cleaning closet to clean up the dust and drywall fragments.
The suspects were called one at a time into Hooper’s office to interview for the new positions in the division that Hooper had just yesterday recommended be created and filled in response to President Bush’s recent announcements.
Wilson didn’t look at the files on the desk in the fifteen minutes Hooper kept him waiting. When Hooper went into the office finally, Wilson flatly stated he wasn’t interested in transferring from his present position. But he appreciated being considered.
They had better luck with the second man, Kovecki. He did glance at the target file. The name in his was Ruben McNally, the accountant. In fact, Kovecki looked at all three files on the desk. One of them was his personnel file, and he settled in to examine that closely. He was still looking at it when Hooper went in to interview him.
Moreto also looked. He selected the bogus file from the three on the desk and scanned it quickly. The name in his file was Billy Enright. Then Moreto went over to the window and stared out. He was at the window when Hooper entered the room.
In between interviews Hooper fielded a call from the director. “I want you to take your man to the grand jury on Monday. The prosecutors are doing the indictments this weekend. Monday night you start picking these guys up.”
“Yessir.”
“Hooper,” the director said, “this comes straight from the White House. I expect you to make it happen.”
At six-seventeen that evening the senator arrived. With the former Miss Georgia parked in the outer office visiting with a ga-ga young agent who was acting as the building escort, Tom Hooper and Freddy Murray gently cautioned the great man behind closed doors and gave him a fairly complete briefing on the operation, including the name of the undercover man, Ike Randolph. Most of the other things they told the senator were equally accurate but carefully tailored to fit the bare bones of the truth, which the senator already knew. They failed to mention the planned expedition to the grand jury Monday or the arrests they hoped to make within hours of obtaining indictments.
At seven thirty-two Hooper finally locked his office and he and Freddy headed for the Metro.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Thanos Liarakos, please. This is Jack Yocke of The Washington Post.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Yocke,” the female on the other end of the telephone line told him briskly. “Mr. Liarakos isn’t taking any calls from the press today.”
“Well, we’re running a story in tomorrow’s paper about the extradition of General Julio Zaba from Cuba. The FBI brought him in from Havana this morning. The spokeswoman at the Justice Department said he’ll be placed on trial here in Washington. They have a secret indictment handed down just yesterday from the grand jury. According to her and the press folks over at the White House, General Zaba was personally paid big bucks by Mr. Liarakos’ client, Chano Aldana, to allow dope smugglers to use Cuban—”