We Know

Wydell nodded at Sever, who sighed and stepped out. Wydell closed the door, then turned to me. The razor-sharp line of his part left not a hair out of place. The knot of his tie was so symmetrical it looked clip-on fake. Sweat spotted his shirt at the crease of his stomach. A long, hot day. He moved toward me, the lightbulb playing off the shadows of that slender nose, bent slightly at the bridge from an ancient break. He stood over me, hands at his sides, too polished to cross his arms, though his impatience was clear.

His eyes picked me apart. "I saw the note you're threatening to fax. I thought we had an agreement about San Onofre."

"Things have changed."

"Yes, you have a lot to answer for."

"Is Sever the leak?"

"No. The leak has been plugged."

"Who was it?"

"Oh, right. I forgot you had a Level-five clearance."

"How do I know you 're not the mole?"

"You don't."

"So why should I talk to you?"

"You asked for me, Horrigan, remember? We can put a name and a face to the third terrorist whenever the mood strikes. You're not in a position to play hard to get." Wydell crossed to the door, opened it, and beckoned. He said, across the threshold, "He's determined that we're both dirty, or maybe not."

Sever came in, looking no more pleased with me. "Maybe Mack Jackman was dirty, too. Maybe that's why you slit his throat."

"Or maybe Mack Jackman was dead when I got there."

"Was he?"

"You tell me."

Sever looked across at his superior. "What is it with this guy?"

"You think I did what?" I said. "Slit Jackman's throat, then tried to blow myself up and light myself on fire?"

"Ignited the munitions dump inside the apartment with a rifle grenade. To destroy evidence."

I said, "Convenient, that."

"Not for Mack," Wydell said.

"What are you talking about?" Sever turned to Wydell. "What is this jackass talking about?"

Wydell's eyes never left mine. "So," he said. " We killed Mack Jackman. Is that it?"

I broke off the stare-down.

"You fled the scene," Wydell pressed on. "Not the decision of an innocent man."

"After the explosion I wasn't feeling so welcome."

"Me? " Sever was suddenly irate. "You think / set the fire?" His confusion-and anger-seemed legitimate, that southern accent ramping up with the emotion.

"You fled the scene," Wydell repeated. "You were doing business with the victim."

"How do you know that?" I asked. "More pictures from Kim Kendall?"

"Who's Kim Kendall?" Wydell looked genuinely puzzled. I didn't answer, so he asked, "Why were you-and your homeless buddy-in possession of marked bills?"

"Why were they marked?" I asked.

"We don't know. It was in the system. From the top."

"Right," I said. "From the top. The West Wing keeping an eye on those hundreds, maybe."

Sever had his back up again. "What are you saying about the president?" Anger hardened his face. "You're just full of comebacks here in private, aren't you? Not like out in the hall in front of other people where you were too t-t-tongue-tied to say your own name."

Wydell opened the door and reached through. When his hand reappeared, it was holding a Glock in a crime-scene bag. Frank's blood on the handle had gone black with age. "You have a hell of a history, Horrigan, I'll give you that."

Suddenly sweating in an interrogation room. Again. It felt as though the last seventeen years had been narrowing to this needle-sharp point, waiting to impale me.

Wydell's face was tight with anger. "This got dropped in our lap from above, and I'm starting to feel a bit like a pawn in a political game. Is that what you're playing? A political game?"

The gun that had killed Frank swayed in the smudged plastic. I was having a hard time taking my eyes off it. I said, "There's a reason why my prints are on that gun-read the report."

"So that's a yes?" Wydell handed the bag back to whoever was waiting outside. The door closed with a decisive thump that said the room was soundproofed. "I don't know what channels this piece of evidence moved through to land on my desk the way it did. But let's just say it looks like magic. There's a lot of magic in politics. Evidence appears. People disappear. Like you did once. You really want to play in this sandbox? Because I sure as hell don't."

Sever's glare hadn't left me. "Have you been in touch with Caruthers?"

"No."

"We think you have."

"Give him a call. Tell him I'm here."

"Why would we do that?"

"Maybe he'll want to know."

"Who the fuck cares?" Sever said. "We don't answer to some senator. We protect him. But our primary charge is protecting the president of the United States."

"Along with his interests," Wydell added coolly.

"So get the Man a message. Tell him I have the evidence he's had the Service chasing."

"What evidence?" Sever asked.

"The evidence that doesn't exist."

Wydell said, "And what is this nonexistent evidence?"

"It's what's going to be faxed to major media outlets in"-I tilted my head to read Wydell's watch-"two hours and fifteen minutes."