Chapter Three
The Agency
Wednesday, June 13, 1984
9:00 AM
"Some coffee, Scarecrow." Francine placed the cup in front of him. "You look like you could really use it this morning."
"Yeah, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night." An understatement, he thought—his brain had simply refused to relax, the events of the day running through his head like a video that couldn't be turned off. He'd finally managed to drop off around one in the morning, only to find himself waking up every hour until the alarm clock had jarred him awake at seven. He took a swallow of the bitter hot liquid, feeling it run down his throat. "Thanks, Francine."
"Don't mention it," Francine said. "Any new developments on Sandstorm?"
Lee shook his head. "No, not much. So far it looks like we might get three convictions—possibly more if Powell testifies."
"Oh, speaking of Powell, I wanted to let you know that he called earlier."
"Really? What did he say?"
"Nothing—at least not to me." Francine handed Lee a piece of paper. "But he wants you to call him back at this number as soon as possible."
"Yeah, I'll do that." Lee took another swallow of his coffee as he glanced down at the number. Hopefully it was good news, though the tightening in his gut was telling him otherwise.
"So how's our celebrity housewife?"
Lee sighed. "Francine—"
"I'm sorry, Lee, but if she hadn't been there yesterday—"
"If she hadn't been there it still might have gone south. I'm telling you, the guy was already a bundle of nerves."
"So I've heard." Francine paused. "And Amanda was really there by accident?"
If someone asked him that one more time—Lee ran his hand back through his hair. "I've already said that she was."
"That's not what Harriman's saying."
Lee took another swallow of coffee. "At this point I don't give a damn what Harriman's saying."
"Well you have to admit it's a bit hard to swallow," Francine replied. "Though personally, knowing the way Amanda King manages to get herself into things—"
"Francine, don't you have anything better to do?"
Francine raised her eyebrows. "Touchy, touchy. I guess I'll be going. Oh, and Lee—Billy wants a situation report on his desk by the end of the day."
Lee nodded. "I'll get it to him don't worry." Francine left and he looked down at Powell's number. He might as well call him now and get it over with. He picked up his phone and dialed the number. After three rings Powell answered. "Yeah?"
"It's Lee Stetson. I was told you wanted to speak to me?"
"Yeah, I did. I saw the news reports this morning. Davison didn't make the exchange, I see."
News reports, Lee thought—of course he would have seen them. "No, he didn't make the exchange. He was jumpy—just like you said."
"Somehow I should've figured that would happen."
"You couldn't have known, Powell—none of us could."
"I guess not." Powell sounded resigned. "So what happens now?"
"We're going to try for what we can get. Your testimony should be very helpful in that regard."
"Yeah." A new note entered the man's voice. "I've been thinking about that. I don't know if I should testify."
Lee's gut tightened even further—this was what he'd been afraid of. "You're not thinking of backing out, are you?"
"I have my family to think about, you know." Powell said. "If you can't put all these people away—"
"You can help us put most of these people away," Lee told him. "We promised you protection."
A sigh. "I just don't know, Stetson. If someone finds out that I'm the one who leaked this—"
"They won't find out—like I said, we're going to do our very best to keep you safe." Out of the corner of his eye Lee saw Dirk and Harriman, walking together out of the bullpen. "At least meet with me so we can talk this over, huh?"
"Maybe." Powell said guardedly.
"I can be there in just a few hours."
"We can meet, but I'm not promising anything." Lee could hear voices in the background. "Listen, I've got to go—I'll call you later." Before Lee could say anything else there was a click followed by a dial tone. Swearing under his breath, Lee slammed the phone back down in its receiver.
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9:15 AM
"This is not good news, Lee," Billy said. "If Powell backs out that's the whole case."
"I know that, believe me," Lee replied. "And I explained that to him—he's just frightened."
Billy sighed. "And I can understand why. But surely there must be some way to persuade him."
"Actually I was thinking about that—with your permission I'd like to fly to Miami and meet with him."
Billy nodded. "Do it, Scarecrow—the sooner the better. Let me know how it goes."
"I will. Thanks, Billy." Lee left the office. Billy looked at a stack of tapes in his inbox. All these transcriptions, he thought—what he needed was someone who could do them. The only question was who—it was an assignment that most agents dreaded. At that moment Francine came into the office, a stack of papers in her hands.
"Here are the reports you wanted to look at." She said.
"Thanks, Francine."
"No problem. Can I get you anything else?"
Billy looked at the tapes again. "Actually, yes you can. You see these tapes here?"
"You want me to do transcriptions?"
"You didn't let me finish," Billy said. "What I want you to do is contact Amanda King and ask her to come in and do them."
"Amanda? Are you sure that's wise?"
"Why not? She's still civilian auxiliary and she does good work."
"But Dirk—"
"Until Dirk says otherwise, Amanda still works here," Billy replied. "Unless he'd care to do the transcripts himself. Do it, Francine." Francine looked like she was about to say something else but decided against it, leaving the office and shutting the door behind her. Billy placed the cassette tapes in order of date. It would be good to keep Amanda around; he thought—to remind Dirk and the others of all that she did around here and how useful she was.
There was no way he was going to let her go without a fight.
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"It seems the results came through quicker than I thought—the lab does good work," Dirk placed the papers on the desk in front of him. "Here you are—the results of the drug tests. Both copies, in triplicate."
"Excellent." Harriman's eyes gleamed. "And you're sure no one else has seen them?"
"No one except for the lab."
"So? What do they say?"
"To put it very simply, Davison tested positive for both amphetamines and for cocaine." Dirk leafed through the papers. "Both of which would explain the jumpiness and the paranoia."
"Sounds like it," Harriman replied. "The guy was just an accident waiting to happen. Is this the only copy of the test?"
"I retrieved both copies."
"If they find out, they might order another test."
"And what if they do? By the time anyone finds out the drugs will be out of his system."
"I worry too much, I guess," Harriman rubbed the back of his neck. "And you'll keep your end of the bargain, right?"
Dirk raised his eyebrow. "Depends on whether you uphold yours."
"Yes, I'll uphold mine—my newest book won't even mention your name."
Dirk gave a nod. "Exactly as it should be. " He opened his drawer and put the test results inside, locking the drawer and putting the key in his pocket.
"Wouldn't it be better to just destroy them?" Harriman asked.
"For you, perhaps. But let's just call this my little insurance policy," Dirk replied. "And I promise, you keep your end quiet and no ever hears about this from me."
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Airport Diner, Miami
2:30 PM
"Thanks for agreeing to meet with me," Lee took a seat at the booth across from the man. "I know this isn't easy for you."
"No, it isn't." Powell glanced around the room as he took a sip of his coffee. "Frankly, I'm not so sure I should be doing this. If I get caught—"
"You're not going to get caught. I promise you—no one outside our agency knows about your role in this."
"So you keep saying." The man let out a long sigh. "I just wish I could feel it. Ever since the arrests have been made I swear I can feel other people's eyes on me—probably wondering why I haven't been taken away too."
"But they don't know anything for sure—that's why you have to keep playing your cover."
He laughed. "Playing my cover. You know, a few months ago I would have thought that phrase belonged in a spy novel." He paused, his eyes meeting Lee's. "Do you have any children, Mr. Stetson?"
Lee shook his head. "No, I don't."
"Well that was the reason that I got involved in this to begin with," Powell said. "You hear all these horrific statistics about drugs in schools. I thought if I could do something to stop the trafficking, I don't know—maybe it would be worth it. But if they get off—"
"If you testify against them they won't get off."
"Will I be guaranteed protection either way?"
"Whatever happens, you and your family will be protected," Lee told him. "We'll do everything possible to assure your safety. But you have to understand how crucial your testimony is right now."
"I hear you." Powell took another sip of his coffee. "And the fact that you came down here means a lot. So I guess I'm still in this—for now at least."
"We really do appreciate it."
"Thanks. I just wish I could understand what went wrong with Davison—I keep thinking there's something that I could have done."
"Is there anything else you can tell me about his behavior?" Lee asked.
Powell frowned. "It was just very strange."
"Strange in what way?" Lee asked.
"He seemed okay at first," Powell said. "I greeted him, told him I had the stuff and everything seemed fine. Then he went to the restroom and when he came out he seemed kind of wired—very jumpy. It was almost like he was on something."
On something—Lee thought, the pieces clicking into place. That would explain Davison's nervousness, the paranoia –the way he'd acted about Amanda—it would explain everything. Had the lab tested Davison's blood yet? He had to get to a phone as soon as possible—let Billy know what was going on.
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The Agency
3:00 PM
"You think Davison might have been on drugs?" Billy said.
"Makes sense." Lee's voice came over the speaker. "It certainly fits with his behavior at the airport and everything that Powell told me."
"He was also very agitated when he was brought in," Billy said. "If this is true, it would mean that Dirk and Harriman can't hold Amanda responsible for what happened."
"Exactly," Lee said. "Billy, stuff like that stays in the bloodstream for a couple of days at least—we need to test as soon as possible."
"I'll check with the lab," Billy replied. "It's possible that they may have already run the tests. So is Powell still on board?"
"For now, yeah. I'm heading back on the next available flight—I should be there in a few hours."
"Good job, Scarecrow—keep me posted." Billy switched off the speaker and picked up the phone, dialing the extension for the lab. A few rings and then a woman answered.
"Hello?"
"Yes, this is Section Chief Melrose," Billy said. "Is McJohn there?"
"Not right now, but he should be back soon—he had to run an invoice over to accounting," the woman replied. "I'm his assistant, though. Maybe I can help you?"
"Yes, maybe you can. I was calling to check on the possibility of running a blood test on a man we're holding—his name is Stuart Davison?"
"Davison?" The woman repeated. "That name sounds familiar. Just let me check—" Billy could hear the sound of typing in the back ground. "Yeah, we already ran a blood test on him—the results came out this morning."
"Excellent. Do you have the results?"
"Actually the results were picked up sometime earlier this morning—by Dirk Fredericks?"
"Really? I didn't know that."
"Yes—it says here that he also requested a rush on the test—said he needed the results ASAP."
Billy's mind raced. He was supposed to have been told about any developments and yet he hadn't been informed about the testing or the results. Dirk was apparently keeping him in the dark about this—the only question was why. "Do you have another copy of the report?" He asked.
"Yeah, there should be a second copy right here." The woman's voice sounded puzzled. "Oh wait—that's strange."
"What's strange?"
"I can't find it anywhere. I guess Mr. Fredericks must have taken the second copy by mistake."
"I guess so." A mistake—right now his instincts were telling him that it was anything but. "Is there anything else I can look at?"
"Sure—if you come down here I can let you look at the notes. McJohn should be back by then."
"Yes, thank you. I'll be down there right away." Billy hung up the phone and stood. At that moment the door opened and Harriman stormed in.
"Something I can help you with?" Billy asked the man.
A terse nod. "Yes, I'd like to know exactly what Amanda King is doing here."
"She's working."
"On what, exactly?"
"That's strictly need to know, Harriman."
Harriman's face flushed. "But the investigation—"
"Is still ongoing," Billy replied. "So until someone says otherwise, she'll continue to do her job."
"Sure," Harriman replied."But maybe not for too much longer."
"Mind telling me what that's supposed to mean?"
"Nothing," Harriman muttered. "Look, I've got to go—I've got work to do." He left the office.
Stranger and stranger—Billy thought, watching as Harriman strode across the bullpen. He left his office and headed down towards the lab. He wasn't sure what was going on here, but he was determined to find out.
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"Here's the Extracted Ion Chromatogram." McJohn pointed to the blue peaks and lines on the chart. "Directly underneath that is a complete breakdown of all the substances that were found in Mr. Davison's blood—the different percentages."
"I see," Billy said. Actually he didn't—most of it looked like gibberish to him, but he trusted McJohn—the man definitely knew his stuff. "How soon was this taken?"
"Within a couple of hours of his being brought in," McJohn replied. "And then we put a rush on it per Dirk's request."
"What exactly was found in his blood?"
"Cocaine, along with a healthy dose of Dexedrine."
"Dexedrine? Isn't that some kind of amphetamine?"
"That's exactly what it is."
"Do people normally take those together?"
"It has been done, yes," McJohn explained. "It's even possible that the amphetamine was actually in the cocaine—the amount was small, but the interaction would still be significant."
"What kind of effects would we be looking at with these substances?" Billy asked.
"The initial effects would've been pleasurable," McJohn explained. "But after that would come restlessness, agitation, anxiety—all the symptoms that Davison was displaying."
"I see." Billy handed the paper back to McJohn. "Could you write this up in another report for me?"
"Sure, I can do that. But you could simply ask Dirk for the second copy."
"Don't worry about that—I plan to be talking to Dirk very shortly. But I would still like another copy, if that's all right."
"No problem at all."
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To hell with them—to hell with them all.
Harriman swore under his breath as he went back to his desk. Not only had the mission been blown, his concerns belittled by Stetson and Melrose, but he still was forced to see her here, working like nothing had happened—
'Soon enough,' he told himself. Dirk would come through as promised and she would be gone. All he had to do was be patient. And then of course there was this—the one thing that would make this all worthwhile. Harriman opened his top desk drawer, pulling out a large manila envelope and opening it. The first three chapters of his new book—thirty pages plus a synopsis, all ready to be mailed to Barney. Only a rough draft, of course, but it was a good start.
"Excuse me—Mr. Harriman?"
Oh God, it was her voice. Hastily he shoved the papers back inside and glanced up at Amanda King. "Yes? What is it?"
"I didn't mean to bother you," she said. "But I had a question about a transcript I was working on."
Transcripts—so that's what Billy was keeping her busy with. He pulled a group of case files out of his inbox. "And why are you asking me? Go bother someone else."
"I understand that you're busy, sir, but since it involves one of your cases—"
"One of my cases?" His head jerked up sharply. "Which case?"
"Well it's about the Bruunhardt Defection—"
"Bruunhardt?" So Melrose was involving her in one of his cases now—that was going way too far. His hands clenched tightly and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks. "That's a highly sensitive matter—a defection from Liechtenstein—it's strictly need to know."
"Yes I do understand that it's classified, sir." Amanda sounded slightly flustered. "But there's something in the tapes that's confusing me, and since it was your case, I just thought I'd ask—"
"Yeah, well don't. You have no business asking questions like that." Without waiting for her to say anything else Harriman stood and walked away. No more waiting for Dirk to make his move. He was going to talk to Billy again—and this time Billy was going to listen.
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"So these are the drug test results on Stuart Davison?" Francine asked.
Billy nodded. "That's it. I'd say that it pretty much explains everything about his behavior that day."
Francine picked up the report and looked at it. "I'll say it does. With all that in his bloodstream I'm surprised he knew his own name. And Dirk didn't tell you about any of this?"
"Not yet."
"But surely he was going to. "
Billy sighed. "That's what I intend to find out. Can you file this second copy for me right away?"
Francine nodded. "Will do." She left the office and Billy picked up the phone, dialing Dirk's extension.
"Fredericks?" He said when Dirk answered the phone. "Melrose here."
"Yes, Billy—what do you need?"
"Oh, not much." Billy kept his tone casual. "I was just calling to see if there were any new developments regarding the Sandstorm investigation."
A moment of silence followed. "I said that I would keep you informed."
Not exactly a straight answer, Billy thought—not that he was really surprised at this point. "You're telling me that nothing new has happened?"
"That is what I said, yes. I've been told that Mrs. King is working there today?"
Only one person who would have told him that—looking through his window Billy could see Harriman at his desk. Amanda was at his desk too, talking to him—he couldn't hear what was being said but it was obvious that Harriman wasn't happy. "Is there any reason why she shouldn't be?"
"Not at the moment, no," Dirk replied. "Though as you know that might change."
"Oh, I have no doubt that a lot of things might change," Billy said. "Well I'll let you go now. You will let me know if anything comes up, won't you?"
"I've already said that I would. Good day, William." A click followed by a dial tone.
"Good day to you too." Billy muttered the words under his breath as he hung up the phone. So Dirk was lying to him, trying to cover up the test results. The only question was why? There was one person that he needed to talk to. As if on cue his door swung open and Douglas Harriman entered.
"Hello again," Billy said. "Something else I can help you with?"
"Yes, I want to know exactly why Amanda King is transcribing material from my cases."
"We've been through this before, Harriman. It's the work that she does. If you'd prefer to do your own transcriptions, I can arrange that."
"That's not what I mean," the man's voice rose. "But some of that material is classified. And when she starts asking me questions about it—"
"If she asks you questions you might answer them. Mrs. King does have a Grade 10 security clearance."
"She might now, but maybe not for much longer."
Billy took off his glasses and looked at the man. "You said that before. Something you want to fill me in on?"
Harriman shook his head. "No. But I'm sure that once this investigation into Sandstorm is complete she won't be working here much longer."
"Oh, you mean you haven't heard?"
Harriman looked startled. "Haven't heard what?"
"About Stuart Davison's blood test results."
"What test results?"
"You mean you don't know?" Billy studied Harriman's face closely as he spoke. Apart from a slight twitch around the jaw line, he couldn't note any other reaction. "I'm surprised he didn't tell you."
"Tell me what?"
"That Davison was high on cocaine and amphetamines when he was at the airport. You didn't know that?"
"No, I didn't." Harriman said. "But even if that's true, it still doesn't change the fact that Amanda King is a security risk. Dirk believes that as strongly as I do."
"You seem awfully certain about what Dirk believes. Why is that?" Harriman said nothing, his expression sullen. "Perhaps you've spoken to Dirk already?"
"And maybe you should leave this alone," Harriman shot back. "Unless you want Dirk to fire you as well." With that he left the office, slamming the door behind him.
Something was definitely going on here, Billy thought—the only question was what—and why.
TBC