Jordan took a sip of her wine, breathing a sigh of relief. Three more days – that’s all she had to make it. Then everything would be back to normal.
Six
IT IS A truth universally acknowledged that an FBI special agent in possession of great skill and talent is likely to engage in trash talk every now and then.
Nick – being possessed of said skill and talent – was, on that Thursday night, partaking in this practice, along with his coworker Jack Pallas, Davis’s supposed other “top” special agent. The two of them had just finished working out in the state-of-the-art gym located on the building’s second floor that was open twenty-four/seven. Some agents fell out of shape after graduating from the Academy, but not in Davis’s field office. He held his agents to high physical standards and, as he bluntly told everyone in their welcome-to-Chicago speech, expected to see their asses in the gym.
Sweaty in their T-shirts, Jack and Nick grabbed towels from the shelf as they entered the locker room. They’d completed a seven-mile run on the gym’s indoor track only moments earlier. While subtly trying to outpace and outdistance each other, they’d caught up on various odds and ends that Nick had missed during the six months he’d worked undercover on Fivestar. Eventually, their conversation turned to the arrests of Roberto Martino and the other members of his organization, and the investigation into Xander Eckhart.
“I hear you’re taking orders from Seth Huxley nowadays,” Jack said as they edged their way through the crowded locker room. The end of the workday, not surprisingly, was the gym’s busiest time, with most agents squeezing in a workout before heading home. “How’s that going?”
“If by ‘taking orders’ you mean providing my much-learned undercover expertise as a favor to our boss, then I’d say it’s going great.” Nick feigned confusion. “What I’ve been trying to figure out is why Davis had to bring me in on this case in the first place. I could’ve sworn another agent was already running the Martino investigation … Oh, wait – that would be you, Jack.”
Jack took a seat on the bench in front of their lockers. “I’ve been a little busy these days. Thirty-four arrests in the last four months, McCall. That’s a new record for me.”
Nick stripped off his damp T-shirt, baring his chest. “Try twenty-seven arrests in the last week. That’s a new record for the office.”
“You’re still seven arrests behind me, buddy.”
Not for long, if Nick had anything to say about it. “It’ll only be five after Eckhart and Trilani.”
Jack scoffed at this. “Eckhart is a money-laundering case. Anything from Financial only gets you half a point.” He stood up and peeled off his own T-shirt, revealing several scars, electrical burns, and a bullet wound on his chest.
Having worked on and off with Jack for several years, and given how they were both regulars at the gym, Nick had seen the other agent’s scars before – souvenirs of the two days Jack had been tortured by Roberto Martino’s men. Two days where he’d given them absolutely nothing in exchange. The scars were a quick reminder not only of the pride Nick felt in being a special agent in one of the toughest FBI field offices in the country, but also of the grudging respect he had for Jack. All trash talk aside, they understood each other’s commitment to the job.
Davis wasn’t getting any younger, and when he retired as special agent in charge, either Nick or Jack likely would be asked to fill the position. Neither was entirely sure he wanted it, although the satisfaction that would be derived from beating out the other for the job provided strong motivation to at least consider the possibility.
Nick ignored the scars on Jack’s chest, as was expected. He stripped off the rest of his clothes and slung a towel around his hips. “You know, it’s interesting what you said a moment ago about taking orders. From what I hear, you’ve been taking a lot of orders yourself these days. From the new U.S. attorney.” Actually, what he’d heard from several sources around the office was that Jack had been assigned to protect the new U.S. attorney as part of a murder investigation and had dived off a three-story stairwell to save her life. Also according to these sources – who had spoken only on condition of total anonymity – the two were now living together and Jack had subsequently “mellowed” a bit from his former days.
“We all take orders from the U.S. attorney around here,” Jack said. “She is something.” The corners of his mouth turned up as he slid out of his running pants.
Nick stared at him in astonishment. “Was that actually a smile? Shit, Pallas – all these years we’ve been working together, I wasn’t even sure you had teeth.”
“It’s part of this whole softer side Jack is trying out,” said a voice from around the corner. A younger, well-built African American man strolled over from the showers. Like Jack and Nick, he was naked except for a towel knotted around his waist. “It’s kind of nice, actually – he barely ever threatens to kill people anymore.” The young agent reached over the bench in the center of the aisle and stuck out his hand to Nick. “I’m Jack’s partner, the inimitable Sam Wilkins,” he said by way of introduction. “I’ve seen you around the office the past few days.”
Nick shook his hand. “Nick McCall. You’re the new guy from Yale, right? I’ve heard about you. People say you’ve got a wardrobe that rivals Huxley’s.”
“Who’s got a wardrobe that rivals mine?” Huxley came around the corner in a towel and – big surprise – Polo shower shoes. He took his glasses out of his locker and put them on. He spotted Wilkins. “Oh. Hello … Wilkins.”
“Hello, Huxley,” Wilkins replied coolly.
Nick pointed between the two of them. “You boys have a problem?”
“No problem,” Huxley said. “Just a little friendly school rivalry.”
“Not so much a rivalry,” Wilkins corrected. “I’d call it more a mutual understanding between the two of us that Huxley here went to the other Ivy League law school; the one that follows behind Yale in the rankings.”
“And also a mutual understanding that Wilkins here went to a law school that, while theoretically Ivy League like Harvard, teaches its students wholly impractical classes like Law and the Butterfly,” Huxley noted.
With a chuckle, Jack mumbled under his breath to Nick. “It’s like watching the preppy, well-bred versions of you and me trash-talking.” He headed off to the showers.
Huxley looked offended by this. “I’m not that preppy.” Naked except for his shower shoes, he took out a pair of neatly ironed boxer briefs from his duffle bag and pulled them on.
Nick decided to redirect the conversation. “So how did your meeting with Jordan Rhodes go today?”
“Fine. We got together at her house and went over the details for Saturday. If anyone at the party asks how we met, we’re going to say that I’m a customer of her store. I know enough about wine to be able to pull that off without a problem. And I have to tell you – we couldn’t have picked a better person to help with the op. Jordan was able to give me a detailed description of Eckhart’s office. I’m not anticipating having much trouble getting the bugs placed quickly.”
“You’ll have to figure out a way to sneak away from the others,” Nick pointed out.
Huxley slid on a light blue dress shirt. “Already got it covered. Jordan is going to pull Eckhart aside and talk to him about some special wine she’s been trying to locate for him. While he’s distracted, I’ll slip away from the other guests and make my way to the office.”
He gave Nick a knowing look as he buttoned his shirt. “Look, I know Davis asked you to babysit me on this.” He held up his hand. “I get it, it’s my first undercover op. But trust me, I’ve spent three months working on this case – no one wants Saturday night to go smoothly more than I do. I’m ready for it.”