“Let’s go back to the basic premise. Whether they were watching the roads, or they were watching a computer file, the key here is that they were watching, right? I mean they had to guard against the possibility, however remote, that we might go back to Newark-to do something that would never make a bit of sense unless we were innocent and they were trying to hide something, right?”
“Who’s the guilty ‘they’?” Thorne interrupted.
Jake shook him off. “I’m getting to that. So, whoever this person is, they have the power to tap into the EPA computer files, right? They knew that if anyone ever wanted to reenter the magazine, they’d have to tap into the file first.”
Nick shrugged, growing weary of the explanation and wanting to turn right to the end. “Right. Okay. So you’re saying it’s EPA? Somebody in my agency wants to keep you away from Newark? What the hell for?”
Jake shook him off, too. “No, you’ve got to think back further than that. When did the EPA get involved in the Newark site? Nineteen eighty-three maybe? Eighty-two at the earliest?”
Nick bobbed his head. “Okay, somewhere in there. What’s your point?”
“From that point on, B-2740 was locked up tight as a drum, right? Sure it was. I was there when we took the lock off a year later. No one could get in.”
“I think that’s right,” Nick agreed. It was tough to be definitive after so many years.
Jake paused while he mentally took the next step. “So the bad guys must have gotten caught with their pants down when the EPA threw a lock on the place. Whatever they needed to hide was locked inside the magazine. They had to sit on their thumbs for two years while everything was debated and paid for. First chance they got to go inside was when we opened the door for them.”
Nods all around. The logic made sense.
“So EPA is out.”
“Okay, hotshot,” Thorne prodded, his patience gone. “Then tell us who.”
Jake looked at Nick like he should already have made the connection. “Who can put a trigger on another agency’s computer files, Nick?”
“The FBI,” Nick joked, but when Jake didn’t laugh, Nick’s smile went away. “Come on, Jake, the FBI? You’re crazy!”
“Think about it,” Jake insisted. “It could probably be any federal agency-CIA, Secret Service, even IRS-but who has consummate ability to perpetrate a frame like this? Who can make a person look as guilty as they want to make them look? I mean, Jesus Christ, Nick, a note at the murder scene? Who the hell would leave a note? And who has the authority to decide that such a preposterous thing isn’t preposterous at all?”
Nick found himself nodding absently, beginning to buy into the concept. “And who was pushing for us to shut the scene down so early?”
Jake sighed as all the pieces began to fit into place.
Nick sat down heavily. “Oh, shit, this is huge. We’re screwed.”
The words made Jake recoil. “How are we screwed? We just figured it out!”
“You haven’t figured shit,” Thorne scoffed. “You can imagine any theory you want. Hell, aliens did it! Until you can figure out why-and prove it-Nick’s right. You’re screwed.”
“It’s the FBI,” Jake insisted again. “More specifically, it’s Peter Frankel.”
Jake’s conclusion, materializing out of nowhere, seemed to suck all the sound out of the room. Then, together, Thorne and Nick erupted with laughter.
“Well, now, there’s some fine detective work,” Nick mocked. “Peter Frankel in the library with the candlestick, right?” He laughed again.
Jake ignored the barbs. “He was in charge of the investigation back in ’83, remember?”
“Of course I remember. But Jesus, Jake, there were lots-”
“And he was the one pressing to shut down the original investigation, right, Nick? At least that’s what you told me. Every time you mentioned continuing, he just shouted you down.”
Nick didn’t want to see it. “I could have pressed harder-”
“No!” Jake shouted. “Open your eyes! He’s the only investigator with the seniority to pull it off. He stopped the investigation as soon as he had the answers he wanted, and he was sure to get those answers because he planted the evidence himself. Who’s to know? Since then, he’s had all the time in the world to build his case. He’s smart enough to know the value of those computer files if we ever decided to go back, and he’s certainly well connected enough to put a tag on them that would ring a bell, as you say, if anyone accessed them. Now he’s on the news again, every day, preening for the cameras and telling the world just how guilty we are. It’s got to be him. He’s the common denominator.” The silence from the others told him he was close to making a sale here. “Frankel’s the only one with the power and authority to make it all work.”
Nick turned to Thorne for some help. “Come on, Thorne, tell him he’s full of shit.”
But that wasn’t what the other man’s expression said at all. “You know,” he mused, “I’ve actually run into this Frankel before. The prick’s run a couple of witch-hunts against a good friend of Mr. Sinclair’s. A senator, in fact. Frankel plays rough. And he sure as hell doesn’t mind breaking the law if it suits his purpose.”
Thorne scowled thoughtfully and locked eyes with Jake. “After watching what he put the senator through, I wouldn’t put anything past him. And how tough can it be to fool the investigators when you’re the investigator who needs to be fooled?”
Nick opened his mouth to argue but shut it again. “Oh, man…”
“But that still leaves us with why,” Jake lamented. “Why would he do such a thing?”
Thorne finally stepped all the way into the parlor and helped himself to a chair. He crossed his long legs in front of him and folded his fingers across his chest. “Shit, Jake,” he said, smiling. “The ‘why’ is the easiest of all. Blowing that place up-it’s one of your classic moves.”
“Now,” Thorne concluded, “the trick is to prove it.”
“It’s not possible,” Nick said. “Too many variables. Too much conjecture. Besides, nobody’s going to listen to us, anyway.”
“I suppose you could get some eager-beaver newspaper type working on it,” Thorne offered.
“No,” Jake said. “That’ll just spook Frankel and drive him further underground. Besides, without proof, even the press would be nuts to push this one.”
Nick stood up again and began pacing the room. “The whole problem is that the FBI has spent a decade and a half proving their own theory. They’ll never be open to anyone else’s ideas. Particularly not if we’re pointing the finger at their boss.”
This was not a new thought to Jake. “Then we have to get them to see it for themselves,” he said. It was time for dramatic, decisive action. “Do we know where the lead FBI agent is staying? What’s her name? Rivers.”
Thorne shrugged. “Shouldn’t be hard to find out. Why?”
“I’m going to pay her a visit.”
Thorne shook his head vehemently. “Bullshit. That’s suicide.”
“I can make her believe,” Jake insisted. “I’ve reasoned with her before, back in the body shop when all of this began. If I can set her on the right track, I think she’ll be able to prove it to herself.”
“No.” Thorne was unequivocal.
“You’ve got a better plan?” Jake’s frustration caused his voice to crack. “We’re dead in the water here!”
The big man seemed to struggle for an answer, then looked away, his jaw set angrily. “Well, I got no part in it,” he said. “There’s no way Mr. Sinclair will allow himself to walk into a buzz saw.”
Jake hiked his shoulders into an extended shrug. “Do you see him here?”
Thorne didn’t bother to answer.
Jake shifted his gaze. “Nick?”
Nick recoiled at the thought. “I don’t think so!”
“All you have to do is drive, okay? I promise. I need your help to pull it off. You’ll never have to leave the car.”
Nick cocked his head warily. “Look, Jake. You know I’m committed to helping, but I’ve got to start thinking about damage control.”