“Who he?” Epstein said.
“He appears to be the head of Last Hope.”
“Again,” Epstein said, “I’ll check, but as far as I know, we don’t know him or his outfit and we have no interest. Should we?”
He continued to turn his half-drunk glass of Coke slowly on the bar in front of him, using just the tips of his fi ngers, watching the procedure as if it were interesting.
“Don’t know yet,” I said.
I took a drink. Epstein looked up and watched me sadly as I drank.
“How about Operation Blue Squall?”
The glass kept turning. Epstein continued to look at me sadly.
“What about Blue Squall?” Epstein said.
“I understand it’s an anti-terrorism project,” I said. “Which is currently interested in an outfit called Freedom’s Front Line.”
Epstein stopped turning his glass and sat back in the highbacked bar stool.
“FFL,” Epstein said. “You want to tell me how you know about this stuff?”
“I want to tell you some of it,” I said.
“I may want all of it.”
“Cross that when we come to it,” I said.
Epstein nodded.
“I’m working on a divorce case,” I said. “Husband thinks the wife is cheating on him, wants me to fi nd out if she is.”
“Exciting work,” Epstein said.
“Right up there with investigating subversives like Dr. King.”
“Okay,” Epstein said. “Okay. We did do some work in Mississippi, too.”
I nodded.
“So I find out that the husband’s fears are justified, and for proof, I bug the love nest and listen to them.”
The excitement of the turning Coke glass seemed to have waned for Epstein. His attention was on me with nearly physical force.
“The lover is Alderson,” I said. “The husband appears to be one of your agents.”
“Shit!” Epstein said. “Who?”
I shook my head.
Epstein was silent for a moment, then he took his cell phone off his belt and dialed a number.
“Shauna?” he said. “It’s me. I’ve run into something and I won’t be back in the offi ce today . . . no, in the morning . . . tell him in the morning . . . thanks, babe.”
He broke the connection and put the cell phone away. Then he signaled to the bartender and when she came pushed the Coke toward her.
“Take this away,” he said. “Bring me an Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”
We sat silently beside each other at the bar until the martini came. He looked at it for a moment, picked it up, and took a meaningful pull.
“Better?” I said.
“You have no idea,” he said.
“I might,” I said.
“I’m going to have to know who the agent is,” Epstein said.
“He may be guilty of nothing but a bad marriage,” I said.
“I have to know,” Epstein said.
“Yes,” I said. “You do. But I won’t tell you until I know the deal.”
“You can get jugged for contempt,” Epstein said, “until you tell me.”
“I know,” I said.
“But you won’t tell me anyway.”
“No.”
“Might put some pressure on the guy hired you,” Epstein said.
“Might,” I said.
“If he’s a stand-up guy,” Epstein said.
