The Directive (26 page)

THEY TOOK ME
to the Secret Service headquarters in downtown DC. It’s a beautiful building of sand-colored bricks and sweeping lines of glass, and fits in among all the new construction around Mount Vernon Square. Passersby would think the HQ was just a high-end office building or condos. There are no identifying signs.

I knew dozens of lawyers, but when it came to a complex criminal defense, I drew a blank. I knew a bunch of public defenders from my pro bono stuff, but they’re usually bleeding-heart types. I didn’t hang out with any of the big-money criminal defense guns. They tend to be bitter after too many instances of helping guilty men buy their freedom, and they were just the sort I needed right now.

When the agents let me make my phone call, I left a message for a friend from my section at Harvard Law who was working at Steptoe & Johnson.

A special agent led me into a conference room that was a lot nicer than the FBI’s. I was getting to be a connoisseur of interrogation boxes. Another agent sat in the corner and said nothing.

The lead man undid my cuffs, opened a file folder on the table, and sat down as I rubbed my wrists.

“Take a seat,” he said, and pointed to the chair opposite.

I pulled up to the table.

He read out the Miranda warning. I acknowledged my rights.

“You’re an attorney?”

“I am,” I said.

“Then you know you’re looking at a lot of time. Frankly, I can’t believe you called us.”

“It was time to start telling the truth.”

“You want anything? Coffee? Food?”

“I am a little hungry.”

“Chinese?”

They were really doing this cop thing right. I almost laughed. Next they would pull out those blue-and-white Greek diner coffee cups. “Chicken lo mein would be great.”

“Start at the beginning,” he said, which was smart. No hardball, not even the question of whether I would talk, just silence and a sympathetic ear. I thought back to New York, to the insane impulse to walk down that alley to the three-card-monte game. I thought of that first night at Jack’s, that sickening moment when I realized, or thought I realized, that he was in serious trouble.

Where to begin?

The agent waited.

“Well…” I looked at the far corner and leaned back like a man settling into a favorite story. “I’m really looking forward to the lo mein.”

The agent let out an annoyed breath.

“You know ninety-seven percent of cases end in a plea, Michael. Juries and judges don’t matter. Your fate’s in our hands, so make it easy on yourself. Your brother flipped. Clark flipped. They all pegged you as the ringleader.”

Law enforcement is allowed, even encouraged, to lie during an interrogation. I didn’t bite. He closed the folder, then walked around the table to tower over me. Before he could speak again, the door opened. It was a supervisor, looking pissed.

“Mr. Ford’s lawyer is here,” he said. A man shoved his way in the door. It took me a minute to recognize him. It was Bloom’s assistant, Sebastian.

He crouched next to me and whispered in my ear. “Did you say anything?”

“Not yet. But I will. What do you have for me?”

“She’s on board.”

“The big boss?”

He nodded.

“Deal,” I said.

Sebastian turned to the two lawmen. “We’ll be going, then.”

The lead agent stepped in front of him. “This guy’s under arrest for a dozen felonies and counting. He’s not leaving until after arraignment and bond, and probably not even then.”

“Call your boss,” Sebastian said.

The agent looked at the supervisor. “Don’t even tell me this is true.”

He just nodded his head.

Sebastian escorted me out. They gave me back my personal effects in an envelope at the front desk.

I pulled my belt back through the loops and was buckling it as we exited the lobby. Bloom was waiting downstairs, sitting on the hood of her truck.

“You left a fucking note?” she said.

“I did.”

“You’re a nightmare. You have fun in there?” she asked, and nodded toward the headquarters.

“Time of my life. So what now?”

“I’ll give you the full brief later,” she said, and handed me an ID badge.

Underneath it was a plastic-and-metal card. I flipped it over and saw a button on the back. It was the same security token I had found at that dinner at Jack’s a week ago, at the beginning of all this.

“I’m not working for you.”

“Unofficially, you can do whatever you want. But officially, you’ll want to rethink that. Because as a member of Bloom Security’s penetration testing division, you performed admirably in our red team audit of the physical access controls at the Federal Reserve Bank of New York.”

“You’re fucking kidding me.”

“That’s the story,” she said. “And there’s a whole bit about an undercover sting to take down Clark’s clients. Or you can give that card back and try your luck with the agents upstairs. And SEC. FBI. MPD. NYPD. Who am I forgetting?”

“Maybe I
will
hang on to it for a little while,” I said, and put it in my pocket. “They really bought it?”

“Of course. The only scandals you ever hear about are the fringe cases, buffoon congressmen who can’t keep their pants on, who get too greedy. Those guys are isolated. There are interest groups on the side you can use as cutouts. The damage is contained. But you’ll never get to something like this, the real corruption, the endemic stuff. Everyone in DC has to play by those rules, like it or not. Everyone’s complicit, because everyone gets paid.”

“I’ll back up your story. But no one touches Annie or my father.”

“Of course. There’s no point in it now. It was all bluster anyway.”

“And Lynch, or whatever his real name is, pays for the murder of Sacks.”

“Agreed,” she said. “He was getting a little hard to handle anyway. Something happened when his wife passed. He really went off the deep end.”

“But how do you prosecute a dirty FBI agent? He knows everything. He won’t go down without a fight.”

“These things have a way of working themselves out. He’ll get what he deserves. I guarantee it. So we have a deal?”

It was ugly, but it was a lot better than my options nine hours ago. “Yes we do.”

“Welcome aboard, Mike. And if you’re looking for some excitement, we might consider extending your contract. Call me anytime.”

“I’m done with excitement,” I said. “I just want to go home. Do you have my car? I left it back at the river.”

“It’s in the garage in Georgetown. You want a lift?”

“I’ll walk. Do you have a cell phone you could lend me?”

She gestured Sebastian over, and he offered me one of his.

“Anything else?” she asked.

I patted my pockets. “Do you have a dime?”

She reached into the console and offered me a quarter.

“No dime?”

Sebastian searched his jacket, then laid one in my palm.

“Thanks,” I said.

I TRIED ANNIE
on my way over to Georgetown. No answer. But there was no reception at her father’s place.

My Jeep was in the garage next to Bloom’s office.

The dime just fit the screws on the rear license plate. I eased out the top two and pulled out the spare key I had taped behind the stamped metal.

I drove home. I tried the landline at her dad’s house, but they tended to ignore my calls when Annie was there. I was starting to get the impression that the in-laws weren’t very fond of me.

Annie had e-mailed. Everything was fine. I wrote back, let her know I was out already, and then crashed onto the couch. Her family had already started coming in from England for the wedding, and they were staying in a guest house at the estate. She was trying to talk them all down, including her grandmother, and my presence was not going to help matters.

I was starving and restless, and couldn’t stand another second in that empty house. I drove over to the end of King Street, the heart of Old Town, right next to the water. It’s all cobblestone streets, eighteenth-century taverns, and preserved colonial row houses.

I grabbed takeout at an Irish fish-and-chips place and walked along the river as I ate. The sun went down as I passed through a dirt parking lot where the historic buildings gave way to dingy garages and boats up on blocks.

It was probably just the paranoia and fatigue I’d been fighting for days, but I felt as if someone was watching me. I passed a marine repair shack, hid around a corner, and waited. I looked back. There was no one.

When I turned to start walking again, I crashed into a man’s chest. I shoved him back, came up ready to fight.

“Mike, it’s me,” he said. It was my brother. Did he think that would make me want to punch him
less
? I moved toward him, fists raised. He jumped back, stepping on my dinner where I had dropped it.

“What do you want?” I asked

“Just making sure you’re okay.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “But what do you
want?
”

“What makes you think I want something?”

“Because every word out of your mouth is a calculated ploy meant to ruin my life.”

“I guess I should start by saying thank you for not shooting me back at the bridge.”

He was trying for levity.

“Don’t thank me,” I said. “I missed.”

Jack looked toward the open water. “What are we going to do?”

“We?”

“I’m sorry, Mike.” He paused and took on a grave expression. “I’m so fucking sorry. You weren’t going to get hurt. That’s what they told me. Bloom just wanted to bring you in. I tried to stop it once I saw what was going on, I tried to warn you, but by then they had me. They were going to kill me. Mike, I know you can’t forgive me, but…”

He went on with apologies and pleas for a while, talking himself into the role. The lower lip trembled. The voice hitched. His face twisted with despair.

It was a move I’d learned from him and had used once or twice myself to great effect. When you’re in trouble, you respond with remorse so over the top that the person you’ve wronged just wants the embarrassment to end, wants to make sure you don’t off yourself. By the end of the performance, the victim is telling you not to be so hard on yourself and rubbing your back, the original transgression forgotten.

“Just stop,” I said.

“We can run, Mike. Get a little distance, a little time to think. Let’s just go.”

“I’m not running, Jack. I never want to see you again.”

“What do you mean? Did you get cover for the job?”

“I’ll be all right.”

“Can you fix me up, too?”

“You’re serious?” I asked.

He nodded. “You’re unbelievable,” I said. “I won’t give you up. I should, but I won’t. I’m not putting myself on the line for you, either. I’m done cleaning up your mistakes.”

“But Bloom has it worked out?”

“I think so. I don’t know where you land in that equation.”

“That’s good.” He tried to be casual for a moment. I could tell he was up to something.

“Goddamn it, Jack, just say what’s on your mind.”

“Well, you always split aces, right?”

I groaned.

“And you always bet a sure thing,” he went on.

I searched his expression for a moment. “You ran with the tip, the fake directive?” I asked.

“Yeah. I mean, of course. A sure thing. How many times do you get a sure thing?”

“So what the hell do you want?”

“Well…it didn’t go too well, as you can imagine,” he said. “And seeing how it’s sort of, not exactly your fault, but…Anyway, I thought maybe you could help me get it squared away.”

“Get what?”

“Well, I borrowed a little. I mean, a sure thing. And these dudes are serious, Mike. I know it’s asking a lot, but—”

I shook my head. I was right on the line between righteous anger and sheer admiration for the balls on this guy.

“You’re not asking me for money. Tell me you’re not asking me for money.”

“Not necessarily, but there are—”

“Stop,” I said.

“But these guys, I mean
these
guys are serious, Mike.”

I started walking down a dock. Half the boards were rotted out, and a thirty-year-old cabin cruiser squeaked against the pilings at the end.

“Where are you going?” he asked. I put one hand on the gunwale and vaulted into the boat.

“I’m sorry, Mike. What else can I say?”

I pulled open a panel to the right of the steering podium.

He stepped onto the boat.

“The life you’re living, Jack,” I said. “Trash the whole thing. Start fresh.”

“I get it, Mike, I understand. This is on me. I’m going to get myself sorted out. But I don’t know if I can, man…” His voice broke, but he held it together. “They might get me for the Fed job. And then there are these guys I owe the money to. I need help.”

“Anything I owe you as my brother has been paid in full, many times over. All I can give you is a head start.”

I pointed at the controls beside the wheel. “First, put the throttle forward, and then, inside the panel, run the black to the solenoid. It’ll start. Turn right into the channel. Keep the green buoys on your right. You can pick up the Intracoastal Waterway in Norfolk. That’ll take you all the way to Key West without hitting blue water, and from there it’s up to you. I don’t care. But this whole thing may not break your way, so I suggest you never set foot in the US again.”

“This is just who I am, Mike. I can’t help it. People don’t change. Once a crook, man—”

“I know firsthand that is bullshit. The brother I knew is dead, and good riddance. I love you, Jack. One more word and I’ll kill you, but I still love you. Start over. Change your life.”

I stepped off the boat.

He held out the knife Bloom had taken from me at the shower, the knife from New York. He must have stolen it back.

I shook my head—no more—then turned and walked up the planks.

He didn’t say anything. He let me go.

I didn’t look back until I was a quarter mile away, walking along the docks. Jack had killed the running lights. I could barely see him as the boat slid across the black water and disappeared in the distance.