But today's hearing was different. One of the worst offenses in the eyes of the OPR was 'lack of candor,' which meant deception of any kind and degree by an agent, including trivial lies of omission. Judged by this standard, Alex's offenses were grave. She had not yet been ordered to take a polygraph, but she had been placed under oath.
One of the male officials had recounted all the charges that Associate Deputy Director Dodson had leveled against her, then added a few technicalities for good measure. It was all the equivalent of an auditory blur until the woman held up a copy of the threatening text message Alex had sent to Andrew Rusk yesterday during her initial fury at being called to Washington. She had no idea how Mark Dodson could have come into possession of that message, but she was an old enough hand not to ask. The bureaucrats behind the table would tell her nothing. But now they were coming to a part of the proceeding that she could not ignore.
'Special Agent Morse,' said the woman, 'do you have anything to say on your behalf before we close this hearing?'
'No, ma'am.'
The woman frowned like a reproachful church matron, then conferred quietly with her colleagues. A stenographer sat patiently at a desk to Alex's right. Alex filled the time by studying the stenographer's shoes. They were low heels from Nine West, or maybe Kenneth Coles, if she'd saved her money-still a far cry from the Manolo Blahniks covering the feet of the OPR bitch behind the table. It took Italian leather to shoe ambition like that in the Washington OPR.
'Special Agent Morse,' said the woman, 'as a result of this preliminary hearing, we are suspending you from all further duties until final and formal disposition of your case. You will turn in your credentials and your weapon, and all further contact with the Bureau should be handled through your attorney.'
Alex said nothing.
The woman glanced at the stenographer. 'I'm going off-the-record.'
The stenographer's fingers rose from her machine.
'In view of your exemplary record,' said the Blahnik-shod woman, '-excluding the incident at the Federal Reserve bank, of course-I regret extremely that we've been forced to take this action. It's my understanding that an effort was made to come to a compromise whereby your termination would not be necessary.'
Alex suffered silently through the pregnant pause that followed this remark. The triumvirate of bureaucrats stared for what seemed an eternity. How, they must have been wondering, could someone voluntarily walk away from the agency to which they were giving their lives?
'I'm sorry you chose not to take advantage of that offer,' said the woman.
Alex lifted her purse off the floor, removed her FBI identity card and her Glock, then walked forward and laid both on the table.
'You don't turn those in to us,' said the woman. 'You turn them in on the first floor.'
Alex turned away and walked to the door.
'Agent Morse,' the woman called after her. 'You're not to leave Washington until this matter has been fully resolved. Agent Morse?'
Alex walked out, leaving the door open behind her. For good or ill, she was free now.
Chris was examining a man in congestive heart failure when Jane knocked at the door and told him he needed to come to the phone.
'It's the secretary at St. Stephen's, Doctor. The middle school.'
Alarm hit Chris with surprising force. 'Is it Ben? Has something happened?'
'Nothing terrible. Just a headache, but it's bad enough that he wants to come home.'
'A headache?' Chris echoed. 'I've got a headache, too.' He walked into the reception area and took the receiver Jane handed him.
'Dr. Shepard? This is Annie out at St. Stephen's. Ben's had a headache all morning, and I think it's bad enough that he ought to go home. I knew your wife was out of town, so I called your office.'
'I don't think so. All I know is, he came to see me during recess, and Ben wouldn't do that unless he was really hurting.'
'I'm on my way. Please keep him in the office until I get there. Is he there now?'
'Here he is.'
'Dad?' said a shaky voice.
'Hey, buddy. Your head hurts?'
'Uh-huh. Real bad.'
'I'm coming to get you right now.'
'Where will you take me? Mom's not home.'
'You can stay at the office with me. Miss Holly will take care of you. Okay?'
'Okay.' The relief in Ben's voice was plain.
Chris hung up and started toward his office. Then he stopped, reversed direction, and walked down the hall to Tom Cage's office. The white-bearded doctor was saying good-bye to a drug rep.
'Excuse me, guys,' Chris cut in. 'Tom, I've got to run pick up Ben from school. He's got a bad headache. Can you hold the fort while I'm gone? My rooms are full.'
'No problem. Take off.'
Chris tried to recall who was in each room. 'I've got Mr. Deakins in three with congestive heart failure. I've got Ruth Ellen Green in four with a diabetic neuropathy-'
'They'll tell me what's wrong,' Tom said with a smile. 'Go take care of Ben.'
As Chris shook Tom's hand, the drug rep said, 'Are you the guy who punched out Shane Lansing?'
Chris reddened. He and Tom had not yet spoken about this, though Tom must have heard about it by now. 'We had a little disagreement. Nothing major.'
The drug rep stuck out his hand. 'Well, I want to shake your hand. I hate that arrogant son of a bitch.'
This was risky talk for a detail man, especially in front of two doctors, but the rep probably knew that Tom wasn't the type to talk out of school.
'I'd guess Lansing had it coming,' said Tom, giving Chris a private wink. 'Let the man go, Tony.'
The rep grinned and withdrew his hand.
As Chris strode down the hall, he heard the rep imploring Tom to prescribe whatever drug he was hawking that day.
'You know me, Tony.' Dr. Cage laughed. 'I'm happy to accept all the free drugs you'll give me, but I'm going to prescribe the cheapest drug that works for the patient.'
Chris smiled as he darted into his office to retrieve his keys. Alex's cell phone was blinking on the desk. She'd left three voice messages in the last fifteen minutes. As he walked out to his truck, he speed-dialed her.
'Chris?' she answered.
'Yeah, what's up?'
'I'm history.'
'They fired you?' he asked in disbelief.
'Pending final disposition of my case. But I'm basically a private citizen now, just like you.'
'I'm supposed to stay here in the District.'
'Didn't you tell me you have a condo up there?'
'Yes. But I don't want to go there. I can't.'
'What do you want to do?'
'Come back to Mississippi and keep working the case.'
'What's stopping you?'
'They're monitoring my credit cards. Probably my cell phone, too. But they don't know I have this phone.'
