“Not a good idea. I’m hot at the moment. I’ll leave my apartment key in the building manager’s office.”
“Okay. Hey, is this worth it?”
I understood the question and replied, “I wasn’t sure at first. But I just got kicked in the balls by the system. So now I’ve got to kick back.”
He stayed uncharacteristically silent for a while, then said, “Yeah. That I understand. But sometimes you’ve just got to take the hit.”
“Sometimes. But not this time.”
“You got something new on that case?”
“What case?”
“Okay. When are you leaving?”
“Probably Tuesday.”
“Call me before you leave.”
“No, I’ll call you when I get back. Don’t contact me while I’m there.”
“I don’t even know where the fuck this place is. Tell Kate bon voyage. See you when you get back.”
“Thanks, Dom.” I hung up and walked back to 26 Federal Plaza.
The definition of insanity, as someone once said, is doing the same thing every time and expecting different results.
By that definition, I was really crazy.
CHAPTER THIRTY
I entered Mr. Koenig’s office, an impressive corner suite with a nice view of the World Trade Center, the Statue of Liberty, Staten Island, and the harbor.
I’ve been to this office a few times, and none of those occasions were particularly joyful. Today was not going to be any different.
Jack Koenig was standing at one of the windows, staring out at the harbor, his back to me.
His little power play is to stand there and see how you were going to announce your presence. I considered yelling in Arabic, “Allah Akbar!” and rushing him, but I settled for clearing my throat.
He turned toward me and nodded.
Jack Koenig is a tall, thin guy with close-cropped gray hair and gray eyes, and he wears gray suits. I think you’re supposed to get the impression of steel, but I think of pencil lead. Maybe concrete.
He shook my hand, motioned to a round table, and said, “Have a seat.”
I sat, and he sat across from me. He said, “Kate told you I wanted to see you?”
“Yes.”
“Where were you?”
“In Captain Stein’s office.”
“After that.”
“Oh, I took a walk to clear my head. His cigar gets to me. I mean, I’m not complaining about his smoking in a smoke-free environment, but-”
“David tells me you want to resign.”
“Well, I’ve rethought that. Unless you think otherwise.”
“No. I want you here.”
He did not add, “Where I can keep an eye on you and fuck up your life,” but we both understood that.
I said, “I appreciate your confidence in me.”
“I never said that. Actually, my confidence in your judgment is nonexistent. But I want to give you another chance to be of service to the team and to your country.”
“Excellent.”
“Don’t fuck with me, John. I’m not in the mood.”
“Neither am I.”
“Good. Then we can get to the point. You’ve been concerning yourself with the TWA 800 case, on government time, and against explicit instructions not to do that.”
“I don’t take orders from Liam Griffith.”
“No, you take orders from me, and I’m telling you, as I told Kate, you are not to involve yourself in this case. Why? Cover-up? Conspiracy? If you think that, then you
“What
“That’s for you to find out.”
“Why Yemen? Why not where Kate is going?”
“This is not punishment, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s an honor to serve overseas.”
We weren’t even on the same planet, so there was no use arguing with him. I said, “I’m grateful for the opportunity.”
“I know you are.”
“What am I supposed to do there?”
“You’ll be fully briefed in Aden.”
“Good. I don’t want to be overzealous and get kicked out by the ambassador.”
He gave me a steely look and replied, “This is an important assignment. Seventeen American sailors have been murdered, and we
“I don’t need a pep talk. I do my job.”
“That you do. But you’ll do it by the rules.”
“Fine. Is that it?”
“That’s it for Yemen. Tell me what you did yesterday.”
“I took a ride out east.”
“Where did you go?”
“The beach.”
“You’re not tan.”
“I sat in the shade.”
“Why were your cell phone and beeper turned off?”
“I needed a mental health day.”
“It’s good that you can recognize that need.”
That was actually funny, and I smiled.
He added, “But you will never again turn off your beeper.”
“Yes, sir. Will my beeper and cell phone work in Yemen?”
“We’ll make sure it does. Let me ask you something-do you think you might have some new information on Flight 800?”
Well, there’s a loaded question. I replied, “If I did, you’d be the first to know.”
“That goes without saying.” He said nonchalantly, “You’ve probably heard this rumor about a videotape.”
“I have.”
“Many people have. But like all rumors, myths, and urban legends, it’s just that-a myth. Do you know how these things get started? I’ll tell you. People have a very fundamental need to explain the unexplainable. They need to believe in the existence of something-usually an inanimate object, such as the Holy Grail, or a secret codex-or in the case of a crime, an explosive piece of evidence that holds the key to a great unsolved mystery. Life should be that simple.”
“Sometimes it is.”
“So, people with fertile imaginations call into existence, let’s say, a stunning piece of evidence that has been lost or hidden, but which, if found, will reveal the ultimate truth. Many people begin to believe in this thing, whatever it is, because it brings comfort and hope. And soon the rumor of this thing becomes legend and
