Chapter Four
The Agency
Wednesday, June 13, 1984
"You must have misunderstood me, Harriman." Dirk sat at his desk, feet up, the phone in his hand. "I never promised that the results wouldn't come out. I said that no one would hear about them from me. And they haven't."
"Really? Billy heard about them from someplace—he even had his own copy."
"And?"
"You told me that you took both of them."
"I did. I showed you."
"Then explain to me how the hell Billy got a hold of them. He wasn't even supposed to know that a test was run!"
"All I can tell you is that I didn't leak that information," Dirk said. "The rest is your problem."
"No, pal," Harriman replied. "Now it's your problem too."
Dirk's hand tightened on the receiver. "That better not mean what I think it means."
"Oh, you'll find out what it means. Believe me, this isn't over." A click, followed by a dial tone. Dirk stared at the receiver before slamming it down on the desk.
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"I'm not sure about this, Melrose." Even over the phone Billy could hear the nervousness in Senator John McLaughlin's voice. "Dirk Fredericks is a respected member of the intelligence community. These accusations you're making—"
"I'm not making accusations," Billy replied. "At least not at this moment. I'm speaking to you as a friend and former colleague."
"Friend, yes—but I'm also a member of the Senate Intelligence Committee. And Sandstorm is still under investigation. This is a very serious matter."
"Believe me; I'm well aware of that."
"As long as we're on the same page." A pause. "Do you have a copy of Davison's test results?"
Billy nodded. "Yes, I do—several copies. I've also placed an extra copy with someone else." The someone else being his old friend Allen Aghaney, but McLaughlin didn't need to know that. "Just as an extra precaution."
"A bit paranoid, don't you think?"
"Can you tell me anyone in this business who isn't?"
McLaughlin chuckled drily. "Good point. Do you have evidence that he's trying to suppress these results?"
"I gave him every opportunity to tell me about them. And I know for a fact that he has both copies of the original report."
"Even so, those things could be explained away. And what would Fredericks stand to gain from suppressing those results? Why would he do that?"
"That's what I haven't figured out," Billy replied. "But I have my suspicions. Tell me, do you know anything that's going on with Douglas Harriman?"
"The author? Why do you ask?"
"Just a feeling." Looking through his office window Billy could still see Harriman, working at his desk. "Is there anything that you can tell me about him?"
"Nothing concrete, no," McLaughlin replied. "But there were rumblings a while back that he was working on a book—a book that wasn't fiction, if you get my drift."
"I see." A non-fiction book, Billy thought—it didn't necessarily mean anything, but still— "Do you have anything to substantiate these rumblings?"
"If I did, they would be more than just rumblings. As you know, book like that would be a breach of Harriman's security clearance."
"Yes—yes, it definitely would be." Billy's thoughts raced. "I'm going to have to let you go—for now this stays between us. Understand?"
"Understood. Let me know what you find out."
"Will do." Billy hung up the phone.
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"He was high as a kite." Lee shook his head as he looked down at Davison's test results. "I thought he was just wound up—I can't believe I didn't see that."
"None of us did," Billy said. "Frankly, if you hadn't called, I probably would've been none the wiser."
"But why would Dirk withhold the copies?"
"At the moment I don't know. But I have a feeling that Harriman's involved in some way."
"Harriman?" Lee repeated. "What gives you that idea?"
"For one, he's been in here twice today to complain about Amanda working," Billy replied. "And he seems to be awfully chummy with Dirk these last couple of days."
"The man has a grudge against Amanda and civilian employees." Lee ran his hand back through his hair. "To tell you the truth, Dirk's not too crazy about them either. But still, to withhold information from a federal investigation—"
"I know what you mean, Scarecrow—but here's something else. Have you heard anything about Harriman writing a nonfiction book?"
Lee shook his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about that."
"Neither had I." Billy sighed. "It's just a rumor, at least for the time being. But if you could look into it and ask around—unofficially, of course."
Lee nodded again. "I'll see what I can do. What are you going to do?"
"The direct approach." Billy picked up the report and stood. "I'm going to go to the source—see if I can find out what's really going on here."
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"Come in." Dirk called out as Billy knocked. Billy opened the door and entered the room. "What can I do for you, William?"
"Well, you can start by telling me the truth."
"The truth?" Dirk blinked. "I'm afraid I don't know what you mean."
"Oh no?" Billy slapped the report down on Dirk's desk. "Then maybe you can explain this, and exactly why you were attempting to hide it from me." Dirk looked down at the report—maybe it was Billy's imagination, but he could've sworn that his face was paler. "And don't try anything," he said as Dirk's hand hovered over the papers. "Trust me, I have other copies."
Dirk pulled his hand away, "What makes you think that I was trying to hide this?"
"The fact that McJohn says you took the copies from the lab," Billy said. "Both copies."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. And what's more, you didn't even tell me that the test was being run. Anything you want to say?"
Dirk sighed, his eyes not meeting Billy's. "I was planning on telling you."
"When? After the investigation was over? You were concealing vital evidence in an investigation, Dirk—that goes against everything that this Agency is supposed to stand for. What I really want to know is why."
"You don't need to know why. I have my reasons."
"Reasons that involve smearing Amanda, Scarecrow and myself?" Billy asked. "I shouldn't have to remind you, Dirk—concealing evidence in a federal investigation is illegal."
"I don't need you to remind me." The Agency head stood. "This conversation is over."
"Why are you doing it, Dirk? Is someone pressuring you?"
"That isn't your concern."
"I think you'll find that it is my concern. What's this all about? Is Harriman holding something over your head?"
"I said, this conversation is over," Dirk's voice rose. "And as for Amanda King, as of this moment she's fired. Now get out of my office before I have you thrown out."
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"It shouldn't be more than a few days, Amanda," Billy told her. "Maybe not even that long."
"I understand, sir." Amanda rose from her desk, picking up her purse and her jacket. "I am nearly finished with these transcripts, though, if you want me to wrap them up."
"Don't worry about them—they'll be taken care of."
"Yes, sir. But if there's anything at all that you need me to do—"
"No, not at this time," Billy told her. From the corner of his eye could see Harriman watching them from his desk, probably wondering what was going on. "We will call you when we need you."
"But if it's to do with the Sandstorm investigation—"
"The best thing that you can do right now is go home. Trust me; we will be calling you again."
For a moment Amanda looked like she was going to say something else. Instead she simply nodded and turned away. Billy stood there, silently watching as she went through the doors of the bullpen and disappeared down the hall.
"Dirk let her go, didn't he?" Lee's voice sounded from behind.
Billy let out a sigh. "Yes, he did."
"Is that what you told Amanda?"
"I didn't really have to—I think she knew."
"This shouldn't be happening."
"No, it shouldn't be. But she'll be back."
"Can you guarantee that?"
Billy nodded. "Things have been set in motion, Lee—and Dirk is desperate—that's why he fired Amanda. He should know that he won't be able to outrun this one."
"I sure as hell hope not," Lee spoke grimly.
"You and me both. Any news on the book?"
"Not much so far," Lee replied. "I spoke to the publisher, pretending to be a member of the press."
"And did he buy it?"
"Yeah." Lee said. "Harriman loves his publicity. Unfortunately, the only thing I got out of him was that this new book is a non-fiction—everything else is hush-hush."
"Even so, that might be something we can use if we have to."
"What are you going to do next?"
"The people investigating Sandstorm are going to get a copy of Davison's drug test very soon." Billy said. "Hopefully that should clear Amanda completely."
"Aren't you going to do anything else? We can prove that Dirk was trying to suppress this."
"Yes we probably can." Billy replied. "But for now we'll let him sweat it out —somehow I have a feeling that he'll be digging his own hole."
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"I wish I could help you with this, Dirk," Senator Tom Geary said. "I really do."
It was coming, he knew it was. Dirk clutched the receiver tightly, fighting to keep his voice calm. "Is there some reason why you can't?"
A noisy sigh. "I think you know the answer to that."
"Why? Because you're running for reelection?" Dirk picked up his mug and took a swallow of his coffee, letting the bitter liquid seep down his throat. Normally, he hated cold coffee, but at this point he didn't really care. "In case you've forgotten, I was the one who helped you get the party's nomination in the first place."
"Believe me, I haven't forgotten," the senator replied. "But in case you've forgotten I'm also on the intelligence committee. And after what you tried to do to that report—"
That goddamned report again. "I had my reasons for doing that."
"I'm sure you did. But my opponent is scouring my background right now—if this got out I'd be sunk." A pause. "You understand, don't you?"
"Oh yeah, sure—I understand. Thanks for nothing, Tom." Dirk stared at phone for a moment, filled with a sudden urge to throw it against the wall. As good as that might feel, though—it wouldn't accomplish anything. With a sigh Dirk simply let the receiver drop back into the cradle. Taking a pen he crossed the senator's name off the list.
Fifteen calls so far, he thought—and it had been the same response every time. Thanks to Melrose and his nosing around, meddling in affairs which were none of his business. And then there was Harriman, of course. Dirk took another swallow of his cold coffee, replaying their last conversation in his mind:
"Amanda King being gone changes nothing." Harriman had stared down at him, his expression filled with disgust, his eyes like two hard pebbles." You promised to suppress those results and you failed."
"I did my best, Douglas. I give you my word."
"Your word? Hell of a lot of good that does me."
"I want to help you," Dirk replied. "There must be something I can do—just tell me what it is."
"Nothing." Harriman had shaken his head. "The results are already out there. What do you think you can possibly do?"
"I don't know, but something. If that book of yours gets out and I'm in it—"
A harsh laugh. "Oh, I see—that's what you've been concerned about this whole time—covering your own ass."
"Douglas, listen—"
"No, pal—you listen." Harriman had leaned closer then. "My book is the least of your worries. If I were you I'd start thinking about what you're going to tell the attorney general."
The least of his worries—Harriman was right on that point. If prosecutors got a hold of this—Dirk felt like a rat in a trap right now, running around and around, and never managing to find a way out. There had to be something else that he could do.
"Mr. Fredericks?"
The voice jerked him out of his reverie. Dirk looked up to see one of the janitors, standing in the doorway. "Yes?" He asked. "What can I do for you?"
"I didn't mean to bother you, sir," the man said. "Only it's nearly midnight—we usually clean your office around this time."
Nearly midnight—Dirk looked up at the clock, seeing that it was five minutes till—he'd been so busy with his calls that he hadn't even been paying attention. "I understand—I'll be out of here in just a few minutes."
"There's no rush, sir. Can I get you anything?"
"No, no—I'm fine. I'll be leaving soon." The janitor left and Dirk stared down at his list. All crossed out except for one name—was it worth it to make the call?
It had to be, he thought—there was nothing else he could do.
Picking up the phone he dialed the very last number.
TBC
