amber liquid and returned his companions’ salute. “The United States owes a debt to both of you, although, Terry, you may have to wait to receive the praise you deserve.”
“I’m a patriot, Emil. I was never in this for a reward. But I know Bobby’s making out like a bandit. I hear Senator Carson hired you, and I bet he’s not the only scumbag who is going to throw a retainer at you, now that the media is reporting your part in gaining a dismissal for one of history’s most heinous traitors.”
Schatz smiled. “Come on, Terry, give me a break. There’s no one here but us coconspirators.”
Crawford laughed. “I’m yanking your chain, Bobby. If you hadn’t come in with us, we could never have pulled this off.”
“Are you certain your man is safe?” Schatz asked Ibanescu.
Ibanescu shrugged. “We can never be sure. Things go wrong all the time. I fed Carson misinformation at the meeting of the SSCI to make him think we didn’t know that FedEx Field was Afridi’s target. We wanted Koshani to think we were in the dark. Who knew Lucas Sharp would kill her? And who knew Ali Bashar had that kind of mind? All I do know is that we’ve done everything we can to make sure our man is still in place. His information saved thousands, but Afridi will try again, and we can only pray he’ll come through for us the next time.”
Crawford was about to respond when Frederick held open the door for a visitor.
“Your investigator, Mr. Schatz,” the doorman informed the defense attorney. “She said it was urgent.”
Dana walked into the room.
“What the fuck?” Crawford yelled as he jumped to his feet.
Suddenly, Frederick looked unsure of himself. He turned to Crawford. “She gave me a card. It says she works for Mr. Schatz. Is there a problem, sir?”
Crawford looked as though he was going to say something. Then he changed his mind. “It’s okay, Frederick. Thanks.”
“What are you doing here?” Crawford demanded as soon as the door closed.
“I’m here to give you gentlemen a chance to clarify a few points in my story before it goes to press in Exposed.”
Crawford looked horrified, Schatz frowned, but Ibanescu’s face betrayed no emotion.
“What might this story be about?” Ibanescu asked.
“Right now, it’s about a conspiracy between a deputy director of national intelligence, a defense attorney, and an assistant attorney general to fix a case so a notorious terrorist would get out of jail. Then there’s my personal angle; the part about how a reporter was assaulted and kidnapped by intelligence agents when she got too close to the truth. I think my story will cause a stir, don’t you?”
“I think any reporter who published a story like that would end up broke and discredited, or worse,” Crawford said.
“Now, now, Terry,” Ibanescu said. “I don’t think threats will work with Miss Cutler. They might even make her more determined to publish her story. Besides, I don’t think she would be talking to us if she really wanted to have her tale see the light of day.”
Ibanescu turned toward Dana. “Why are you here?”
“To make certain that my friend, Ginny Striker, doesn’t take the fall for you.”
“How did you figure it out?” Schatz asked.
“You screwed up, Bobby. You told me Ben Mallory wouldn’t work on Tolliver’s case because his brother was killed in the World Trade Center bombing, but Ben’s brother is alive and well and was never anywhere near New York on 9/11. Once I knew that, I also knew why a new lawyer at Justice was suddenly transferred to the Counterterrorism unit. You wanted Tolliver out of custody because he’s a spy for American intelligence. That, Dr. Ibanescu, is why you convinced Schatz to take Tolliver’s case and made sure Tolliver was held at a place where Schatz could get to him.
“And that’s why you intentionally recorded Schatz’s attorney-client conference, Terry.”
“I told you we had to be careful,” Schatz said after barking out a laugh. “She’s too fucking smart.”
“I don’t think she’s smart,” Crawford said to Schatz. “If she was smart, she would have learned not to fuck with us after we disappeared her.”
Crawford turned to Dana. “Unless you have a death wish, you’ll kill your story and never tell it to another soul.”
Dana glared at the prosecutor. “I think you’re a chickenshit who gets his jollies from pushing your subordinates around. But I don’t work for you, and I do not like to be threatened.”
“Hey, Dana, calm down,” Schatz said.
“Tell us what you want,” Ibanescu said calmly.
Dana continued to stare at Crawford. Then she turned away and answered Ibanescu.
“I have no problem with what you did. If it was up to me, everyone involved in the plot to blow up that stadium would be dead. But I’m not going to stand by and see Ginny Striker turned into a sacrificial lamb. You fix her problems at the DOJ and no one will ever learn how Tolliver really got out of custody.”
“That’s it?” Ibanescu asked.
“That’s it. You fixed my parking ticket, so I’ve got no gripe with the CIA anymore.”
Ibanescu laughed and Crawford said, “What parking ticket?”
“I’ll talk to someone tomorrow,” Ibanescu said. “Your friend will be fine.”
“Then so will you three,” Dana said.
“It’s been a pleasure,” Ibanescu answered with a smile. “And I mean that.”
Schatz lifted his glass to toast Dana. “You are a real piece of work, Cutler.”
Crawford was still fuming when the door closed behind the investigator.
Chapter Fifty-one
A little before three o’clock, Ned Farrow, the man in charge of prosecuting Jack Carson, had called Brad Miller and asked him to come to his office at the DOJ. When he walked in, he was surprised to find Keith Evans across the desk from Farrow. When he stood up to shake hands, Brad’s friend looked grim.
“What’s up?” Brad asked as soon as everyone was seated.
“I have news I don’t think you’re going to be happy to hear,” said Farrow, a career prosecutor. He was pudgy and balding, and his suits always looked wrinkled. But he had an excellent reputation for tenacity and intelligence and a stellar record of convictions.
“Is that why Keith is here?” Brad asked.
“I thought it would be easier for you to take if a friend broke it to you.”
“Broke what?” Brad asked as he looked back and forth between the FBI agent and the prosecutor.
“We’re not going to indict Senator Carson,” Keith said.
Brad stared, openmouthed. “How can you drop the case? He killed Koshani and gave her top-secret information. Not to mention putting the lives of all those people at the football game in danger.”
“Carson hasn’t said a word since he was arrested, so we only have your evidence to support an indictment.”
“He confessed. I heard every word he said.”
“He confessed after his earlobe was cut off and the wound was sealed with a lighter, Brad,” Farrow said. “Think about what you would say at trial. You’ve testified and Bobby Schatz starts his cross. How would you answer if Schatz asked you to describe Carson’s physical and mental condition when he made his so-called confession?”
Brad had a vivid memory of the scene in Carson’s living room. He tried to think of a way to put a positive spin on his description, but there was no way to do it.
“If Bobby Schatz asked me that question, I would have to testify that the senator was in horrible pain. He was screaming and weeping.”
“A confession elicited by torture won’t fly,” Farrow said. “No judge would allow your testimony.
“And even if it was allowed in, Schatz would argue that Carson hit Koshani in self-defense after he was stabbed and that Lucas tortured and killed Koshani while Carson was badly wounded. You told me that Carson said
