“I’m suggesting,” Muldoon replied, not backing down in the least, “that the whole amendment is a very bad idea.”
Exasperated, Lehman blew air through his teeth. He turned his attention to Salter. “I gather you share your boss’s sentiments?”
Salter took a deep breath. “I have concerns about giving so much authority to a relatively new governmental department. I think the director of the FBI would’ve been a better choice.”
“I’m just one member on a committee of six.”
“I know how these things work. The chairman will wield a huge amount of authority and influence. Especially in the face of a crisis.”
“You Feebs just don’t get the picture,” Lehman said, and this time there was a touch of a growl in his voice. “Your day is done. When the president decided to move the Secret Service-the men protecting his butt on a daily basis-out of Treasury, did he give them to you? Hell, no. He gave them to Homeland Security. We’re today, not yesterday. We’ve got 184,000 employees. We’re the third largest cabinet department-only the Department of Defense and the Department of Veterans Affairs are larger. You Feebs are pipsqueaks compared to us. We’re not sitting around stroking ourselves because we caught Dillinger two hundred years ago. We’re making things happen today.”
“Yes,” Salter said dryly. “I thought the color-coded alert chart was a brilliant innovation. Changed the face of the nation.”
Lehman’s anger was not disguised. “You laugh all you want, but those alerts gave a lot of comfort to a lot of people.”
“Who are you kidding? All they ever did was scare people to death.” Salter drew in his breath. “You know as well as I do that ever since 9/11, the FBI’s number one priority has been counterterrorism. We’ve used the powers the Patriot Act gave us to stop numerous terrorist plots.”
Lehman leaned forward for a counteroffensive, but Muldoon held him back with a light touch of her hand on his chest. “It’s okay, Carl,” she said quietly. “We got what we came for.”
Salter watched carefully as her hand lingered on his chest, scrutinized the subtle expression on her face. Was she doing him? Was that how she rose so fast? Why he never went anywhere without her?
“I’m sorry to hear you’re not on board with this bill,” Lehman said, obviously wrapping up the conversation. “I’d hoped we could all be on the same page with this.”
Salter eyed Muldoon. “Sounds like you’re not on the same page in your own department.”
“Yeah, but I can handle my own department. You Feebs are sneaky. I worry about you.”
“It’s in the hands of Congress, not the FBI.”
“Right. Decision-making by the clueless. It’s the American way. Come on, Muldoon. Let’s get out of here.”
She followed her master’s bidding and left the conference room, but as she passed by Salter, she mouthed, “Let’s talk.”
Salter felt his blood pressure rising as the door closed behind her. Was it what she said, or just those full lips, that ruby red lipstick? She was so damn sexy.
He hated working with her. Them.
Or maybe he just hated himself. Or maybe it amounted to the same thing.
8
He knew he shouldn’t be sitting around in the dark, especially if he was trying to read. But the fluorescent lights that filled his tiny office were much too intense, too glaring. Too much at odds with his current mood. And the reading…well, his attention drifted so often, he wasn’t sure whether he was absorbing it anyway. Or whether he really cared.
Agent Max Zimmer heard a sound outside his closed door. Through the window he could see two men outside talking. He made a silent prayer that he wouldn’t be bothered. He did not want to be bothered. Especially not by the man he saw in the window.
No such luck. A few moments later, the doorknob turned, and Agent Thomas Gatwick stepped into the office.
“How’re you doing, partner?” Gatwick said, affecting a breezy cheerfulness that was not remotely convincing. He turned on the overhead light.
Zimmer winced. Bad enough the man had to intrude on his privacy. “I’m okay. Not bad for a guy who probably needs serious psychiatric counseling.”
Gatwick’s neck stiffened. “Ouch. Were we talking that loudly?”
“No. I’m just psychic.” In truth, Zimmer was an excellent lip-reader. His younger sister had been born deaf, and he had gone to all the classes with her to learn to read lips. As a result, he’d been able to eavesdrop on a conversation he could see but couldn’t hear. But he wasn’t going to tell Gatwick that. Let the man think he was some sort of wizard. A little mystery couldn’t hurt his reputation.
“I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s just…standard procedure. You know. By the books.”
“There’s a book that says that when an agent starts sitting around in his office in the dark all day he needs psychiatric counseling?”
“Well, I don’t really need a book to figure that one out.” Gatwick took a deep breath. “Look, Max. It’s not like I haven’t seen this before. I’ve been in the Service a long time. Longer than you.”
“Your point being?”
“You’ve been through a traumatic event.”
“We all were. Every one of us in Oklahoma City that day.”
“Yes, but you had it worse than most.”
“I’d say the eight agents who died probably had it worse than most.”
“Max. You know what I mean.”
Yes, unfortunately, Zimmer did know what he meant. He meant that he was suffering more posttraumatic stress than the others-because he was protecting the first lady when she was killed.
“You did everything according to protocol, Max. Right down the line. You went straight to her, carried her off the dais. You did everything you could. There just wasn’t enough time.”
“Or agents.”
Gatwick stared at the carpet. “You and I both know that, whether we like it or not, the President of the United States is our first priority. That’s why most of the agents in the immediate area raced to protect him.”
“If there had been more agents around the first lady, she might still be alive.”
“Yes, and the president might be dead! Would that be better?”
Zimmer threw his book down on the table and pushed away from the desk. “I don’t know, Tom. I just…I don’t know anything anymore.”
“That’s why you need to talk to someone. Someone professional.”
“But what you said…” Zimmer paused, trying to think just exactly how to say it. “It isn’t true.”
Gatwick’s eyebrows knitted together. “What isn’t true?”
“What you said about how I followed protocol. I didn’t. We didn’t.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I think you know. The defense formation we agreed upon was Domino Bravo. But you changed that at the last minute. You moved the first lady.”
“Are you suggesting her death was my fault?”
