“Those files belong to the FBI, and you are not going to sweat anyone on our behalf,” Yantzy bellowed in return, his face brick red. He also reminded Span that the CIA had no jurisdiction within the United States and that any attempt on its part to engage in the sort of illegal behavior he had just spoken of would lead to the arrest of any member of the CIA involved, up to and including the director.
“No one is going to arrest or sweat anyone. The vigilantes now have full immunity, along with their pardons, from all of their … ah … ventures. I personally guaranteed that in writing before setting up this meeting. My name and seal are on every single piece of paper granting them that immunity. Having said that, you are free to contact Lizzie Fox, who represented the vigilantes. If you want to go a few rounds with her, feel free. I want to warn all of you right now, if I hear so much as a squeak that any of you or your agents or anyone representing your agents or your respective agencies goes after those women, I will personally see to it that you will begin to serve your golden years in a federal penitentiary.
“I think we’re finished here, gentlemen. Remember, thirty days. Oh, one other thing.” Suddenly, the president had the full attention of everyone in the room, even Cleo. “You are not to harass, call, write, or in any way bother Mr. Cummings. He has told us all he knows. I am giving him full immunity as of ten minutes ago.”
The president stood up, and motioned to Cleo, who looked up at her and tilted her head like she was trying to tell her something. Because she didn’t know what to do, the president nodded as Cleo trotted around the table to where Elias Cummings was seated. She offered up her paw and barked.
Elias leaned over, took the big dog’s paw in his hand, and shook it. He whispered, “You take good care of that lady, you hear?”
“Woof.”
The moment the shepherd was at her side, the president turned, and said, “Thank you for coming, gentlemen. Someone will be here shortly to escort you out of the building.”
The moment the door closed behind the president the language turned ripe and foul. All eyes were on Elias Cummings, who simply stared at the three angry men. “This room is bugged, you all know that, right?” Elias laughed at the instant silence that suddenly surrounded him.
Just as the door opened, Elias decided he wanted to have the last word. “You three remind me of the Three Stooges. Not only do you look like them, you act like them.”
“Oh, yeah, and who the hell do you think you are?” Span hissed.
“I’m the guy that dog liked.” Elias laughed, a great booming sound that echoed around the room. “I wish you could see how stupid the three of you look right now. You don’t get it, do you? Well, when you have nothing to do, think on it, maybe something will come to you.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean, Cummings?” Span snarled as they made their way out of the room.
“You’re supposed to be the best of the best in this damn wacky city. Figure it out.”
“Crazy old coot!” Yantzy growled.
“Yeah, but this crazy old coot has full immunity and you Three Stooges only have thirty days!”
“Son of a bitch!” Frank bellowed just as a Secret Service agent clamped his hand over his upper arm.
“A problem, sir?”
“Not at all. I’m just a bit wired. Coming here to this prestigious address makes me go haywire. No problem at all.”
The moment Elias settled himself in his car, he whipped out his cell phone, powered up, and called Bert. “I know you’re all tailing me. Meeting is over. Meet me at the Dog and Duck and bring the boys. I have a story to tell you that will curl your hair. By the way, I’m buying. We could even do dinner if you’re all up to it.” He powered down, shoved the gearshift into first, and sailed out of the lot. He was laughing so hard he could hardly catch his breath. Damn, maybe this retirement gig wasn’t going to be so bad after all.
Director Yantzy looked up at Director Span.
He had to admit, he looked pretty damn good for a guy who’d just recovered from serious heart surgery. He was lean, athletic, with a full head of hair, unless they were plugs. Yantzy knew that the CIA chief wore contacts because he could see his reflection in the glassy orbs. He was dressed in a nice summer suit that probably cost more than Yantzy made in a couple of months. Rumor had it that his wife had money. Obviously, they shared it. And Span drove a hundred-thousand-dollar Range Rover while he himself tooled around in a nondescript Bureau vehicle.
“I guess we better do what the lady ordered,” Span said tightly.
“Don’t you mean the president? Are you suggesting the three of us go for a drink or coffee?”
“Count me out,” Frank said. “I’m coaching a Little League game at six, and I have to get on the road. I’m in no mood for the blame game. The two of you know where I stand on Hank Jellicoe.” Without another word, the Secretary of Homeland Security headed toward his car, a maroon Ford Taurus that looked like it had some heavy-duty mileage on it.
Span shrugged. “Looks like it’s just you and me, Yantzy. I’m up for a cup of coffee. Let’s do the Dog and Duck. It’s just down the block. My agents tell me it’s a decent place to eat. Peculiar that Cummings bolted so quickly. Guess she put your ass in a sling, eh? You look like you’re smarting a bit.”
Yantzy drew himself up to his full height, which was six two, and snarled over his shoulder, “I’d rather be smarting than have six men’s deaths on my conscience!”
Span had no comment as he made his way to his Range Rover and climbed in. “Son of a fucking bitch!” Like he really needed that shit right then. He drove carelessly as he made his way to the parking lot of the Dog and Duck. The only reason he was even bothering to go to some half-assed little meeting was that he knew he was being watched.
Twenty minutes later, having parked his Rover himself rather than allowing some lamebrained valet to do so, Span got out of the vehicle and made his way to the entrance, where Yantzy was waiting for him. They hissed and snarled at each other in low tones, but their expressions left no doubt to anyone who was watching them that both men preferred to be somewhere other than that particular watering hole.
Inside, seated in a dark leather booth, Yantzy gave his order to a waitress dressed in yellow boots that obviously had something to do with a duck. “A double order of spring rolls with the mango sauce and a glass of ice tea.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll have a salmon burger with no condiments and a house salad. Mineral water, please.”
Span decided to go first and open the dialogue. “Look, regardless of what you think of the Agency and me personally, I want you to know I am doing everything possible, just as my agents are, to bring in Jellicoe. If you think I’m blowing off my agents’ deaths, think again. They’re with me night and day, and before you can ask, no, I am not sleeping.
“You’re right, we burned the bastard. We had to. Did I think he was so over the edge he would start killing my agents? The answer is no, and I have to live with that. We’ll get him, but I don’t know if it will be within the thirty-day timetable.”
“Well, that was informative, Span. How the hell did you let that guy get such a foothold in your Agency, anyway?”
Span reached for his mineral water. “I inherited the son of a bitch from my predecessor. Just the way the president inherited him, and the Bureau inherited him. There’s something personal in the president’s directive. I think she wants to hang him out to dry for what he did to her. I’m not