brakes on the investigation. It infuriated Gideon.
He reached over and picked up the phone. With the Administration bearing down on this, there was no one left on the force he could turn to. But there was at least one ex-cop he knew who might be able to help him.
Gideon called the number for the man who had been his first partner as a detective. He muted the television as a deep voice answered, 'Kendal Associates Consulting.'
'You still answer your own phone, Morris?'
'That who I think it is?'
'Yes, it is,' Gideon said. 'You up for meeting me for dinner?'
'Five to one they never even return an indictment,' Gideon said, stabbing a piece of lamb stir-fry with his fork. His aim was a little off; he was still wasn't completely used to eating with his left hand.
Morris Kendal looked across the table at him and shook his head. 'You're being pessimistic.' Kendal was a large man, nearly three hundred pounds. He was bald, black, and built like a pro wrestler.
They were sitting in a Mongolian barbecue restaurant a block east of the garish Chinatown Friendship Arch spanning H Street. They sat a few tables away from a circular dais where a quartet of chefs were grilling the patrons' meals.
Kendal had been a ten-year veteran of the detective bureau when they paired Gideon with him. Kendal had spent two years as his partner, teaching him, keeping him from screwing up too badly. Gideon had had no idea how lucky he had been to have been assigned to Kendal, not until Kendal announced that he was retiring and going into business for himself.
At the time, his mentor's decision had surprised him. Kendal had seemed every inch a cop and it was impossible to envision him as anything else. Now Kendal was making about six times as much as a private security consultant as he'd ever made as a detective. He drove a Mercedes and wore thousand-dollar suits. Now the only thing that surprised Gideon about Kendal's move was the fact that he hadn't made it a lot sooner.
Somehow, Kendal's skepticism about what was happening with the investigation seemed too reminiscent of Rafe's skepticism about Lionel. 'Look,' Gideon said, 'this kind of crap worries me. It's not like he didn't know what he wasn't asking.' Gideon finally speared the strip of lamb.
'So what does this have to do with you asking me to dinner?'
'I need someone to get to the bottom of this thing.'
Kendal grinned. 'There isn't anything here to get to the bottom of—'
'I know you've got contacts in the CIA—'
'—and even if there was, you couldn't afford me.'
'I'm asking this as a favor.'
Kendal laughed. 'A favor? I'll say this, they didn't shoot off your balls.'
'Come on. This isn't just cop pride—they killed Rafe, Morris. I saw the top of his skull peel away, and his wife just about believes I shot him myself.' Gideon shook his head. 'I've spent hours with IA. If someone big's behind it, who you think will get tagged with the blame?'
'You're being paranoid.'
'Am I?' Gideon shook his head. 'The Attorney General of the United States might have to resign over this, and he’s probably taking the fall for somebody—'
'Taking the fall?'
'I told you what I saw. Silencers? Black ninja suits with 'Treasury' hidden until the last minute? I doubt those were Lloyd's boys.'
'So, what, you think you stumbled on some black op? Who by? The CIA?'
Gideon shrugged. 'I don't know. An agency with the clout to stonewall a grand jury and convince Congress to close the investigation to public scrutiny.'
The air was filled with the smell of roasting pork as the chefs emptied someone's bowl onto the grill.
'Free suggestion,' Kendal said.
'Yes?'
'Walk away.'
Gideon shook his head. 'You think I could if I wanted to?'
Kendal attacked his bowl of chicken, pineapple, and rice. He took a few bites, shaking his head all the while. 'You know the odds of you just stumbling in on someone's clandestine operation? And if you're right, you know what you're getting into? You're my friend, don't get mixed up in this.'
Gideon leaned over and said, 'I'm mixed up in it now. This is the nation's number one screwup and they need someone to hang the blame on.'
'You think you're being prepped for that duty?'
'IA has been glued to me. This guy, Magness, eyes me like he's already scripting the trial.'
'You need to get into this?' Kendal took another slow bite of his chicken. 'You have a story, and you have the triggermen, right?'
'How long before they turn the screwup into the work of one reckless cop?'
'Was it?'
Gideon's throat clenched shut and his fork clattered to his plate. 'How can you—'
'You're too close to this. Can you tell me that it wasn't?'
Gideon lowered his eyes and whispered. 'He was my brother.'
He heard the scrape as Kendal pushed his chair away. Gideon looked up at the man, who towered over him like an impending avalanche. 'You aren't going to help me.'
Kendal shook his head. 'I've always been willing to back you up. You know that. I will look into this for you,' he walked up and squeezed Gideon's shoulder. 'But I just want you to know that there isn't
necessarily a conspiracy here just because you happen to need one.'
1.09 Sat. Mar. 7
P resident John Rayburn sat behind his desk in the Oval Office, his chair half-turned toward the window, away from the other men in the room. He was possibly the most physically imposing man to occupy that seat since L.B.J. He loomed over everyone, even when he was seated and only half paying attention.
The two other men in the office with him were his National Security Adviser, Emmit D'Arcy, a short man with thick glasses that he kept adjusting on his nose; and the director of the CIA, Lawrence Fitzsimmons, a man with sandy brown hair and a dead gray beard.
Outside the windows, dawn was drawing a dull gray light across the rose garden.
'This is where we are right now,' Fitzsimmons said. 'There's no sign of any connection between Kareem Rashad Williams and Zimmerman, despite what the NSA's computers might have said. There's some chance that it might have been deliberate misinformation.
'We've coordinated efforts with the DISA to follow up every breach and near-breach of computer security in about twelve hundred secure intelligence and defense systems looking for any attacks that might have been engineered by Zimmerman. We have every regional office monitoring Internet activity overseas—'
Rayburn turned the pages on a file in front of him. Eventually he said in a slow Texas drawl, 'Hellfire.'
'It's only a matter of time before Zimmerman makes a slip—' Fitzsimmons started to say.
Rayburn shook his head. 'Goddamn—I'm starting to think that the damage from the search is going to be worse than anything Zimmerman could engineer. This is the second shoot-out across the evening news. Things like this have sunk more popular administrations than this one.'
'We are dealing with a severe threat to the National Security—'
'Don't patronize me, Larry. I was Army Intelligence when we self-destructed in Vietnam. I know exactly what kind of threat Zimmerman poses. I also know what kind of threat your own Agency poses.'
Rayburn stood up. 'You still can't even tell me who Zimmerman defected to.'
'As soon as we can trace some computer activity . . .'
'That's what you were saying a week ago.' Rayburn shook his head. 'Larry, you aren't getting anywhere. The
