Mary confronted Bennett. “I’m not letting you take him.”
“Back off, Mary, or I’ll cuff you, too.”
“Everyone, let’s calm down.” The slim, authoritative man approached, buttoning his jacket. “Holster your firearms, gentlemen,” he said, turning in a circle, waving his agents’ guns down. “Mrs. Grant, I’m Edward Mason, deputy director. May I offer my sincerest condolences, both personally and on behalf of the Bureau?”
“I know your name.”
“I have to admit that I’m not used to having my car rammed.”
“And I’m not used to being blocked in on the freeway.”
Mason’s lips tightened in something between a grimace and a smile.
“I’m sure Don Bennett explained everything to you on the ride over,” said Mary. “Why are you taking Joe to Quantico?”
“The law requires us to perform a postmortem on your husband, and it’s our policy to carry out the procedure in Virginia with our own trusted team of physicians.”
“That’s not true,” said Tank.
Mason continued, unruffled. “I understand it’s your wish that Joe be buried in Boston. Naturally we’ll make sure that he’s sent to you as quickly as possible.”
“How soon might that be?”
“I can’t promise, but a week should be sufficient. Ten days at the outside.”
“To perform an autopsy?” Tank stated. “It should have been done already. Joe Grant and the informant he was meeting with were each killed by a single shot from a high-caliber rifle. Why are you trying to keep that fact a secret?”
Mason put a hand on Mary’s arm, gently turning her away from Potter and Bennett. “Mrs. Grant-Mary-can we speak privately?”
Mary looked over her shoulder at Tank Potter, arms bound behind his back, forced to his knees. “Yes,” she said.
Mason led her to his car. The two climbed into the rear seat. The engine was running, and the interior was cool and comfortable. “So,” he said with an emphatic sigh. “How in the world did we get here?”
“Don Bennett lied to me about the circumstances surrounding Joe’s death. Now you’re moving Joe’s body out of Austin so that you can lie about the results of the autopsy. It’s my intention to find out how and why my husband was killed. I’d say that summarizes things.”
“Well put,” said Mason. “Clear. Succinct. None of the bullshit I usually get.”
“Don’t patronize me.”
“I didn’t mean to. I guess I’d want to know the same thing. Don told me you’d received a call from Joe indicating that he was in some kind of trouble.”
“That’s correct.”
“Can you give me details about what he said?”
“Are you admitting that you lied to me and the press about Joe’s death?”
“I’m suggesting that you and I might be working toward a common goal.”
Mary considered this. If she wanted to hear his side of the story, she owed him hers. “I can’t remember all of Joe’s words. He called to tell me that he was in danger. He feared for his life.”
“He said that?”
“In so many words.”
“But nothing specific about the case he was working on?”
“No.”
“Or the man he was meeting?”
“Don’t you know who he was meeting?”
“We know, but it’s important that neither you nor anyone else does…at least for the time being. Let me be honest with you-and please, what I say remains between us.”
“You mean I shouldn’t say anything to Mr. Potter.”
“I’d appreciate it.”
“All right.”
Mason drew a breath. “Joe was working a sensitive case. Confidential doesn’t begin to describe it. I can’t go into details, but I will tell you that his work involved the highest levels of national security. Joe delayed taking his promotion to D.C. to continue working it. One day soon you’ll read about it in the papers. You’ll learn everything. But for now we need to keep it locked down. That includes guarding the identity of the informant. Should his name be revealed, it would adversely impact the investigation. I’d go so far as to say it would shut it down. I know you wouldn’t want to jeopardize something that Joe gave his life for.”
Mary looked closely at Edward Mason, the grave, officious face of the government. She noted the neat gray hair cut an inch above his collar, the steady blue eyes, the crisp button-down shirt and dark necktie. Mason was the Bureau’s number-two man, and he carried the power of office easily. He exuded the steady, reassuring demeanor associated with airline pilots or astronauts, or movie stars charged with carrying out desperate missions in the face of daunting odds. One of Joe’s fellow Marines, judging by his tie clasp. A man’s man. Joe would gladly have followed him into battle.
And Mary? What about her? She was a good citizen. Loyal. Patriotic. Daughter of a family with a proud naval tradition. Who was she to question the actions of the FBI? Who was she to doubt Edward Mason’s word? To refuse his earnest request?
And yet…
“What about what Tank Potter said?” she asked.
“About the gunshot wounds?”
Mary nodded.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in Mr. Potter’s words.”
“He’s a reporter. It’s his job to get the truth.”
“Not exactly,” said Mason. “He used to be a reporter.”
“Excuse me?”
“Mr. Potter was arrested two nights ago for driving while intoxicated. He no longer works at the Statesman. From what I understand, he’s a very sick man. You might consider the possibility that Mr. Potter manipulated you to drum up a story so he could get his job back. It’s a reporter’s job to lean on their sources until they spill, so to speak.”
“But he has pictures.”
“Pictures? Of your husband-”
“And the informant. A pistol doesn’t do that. At least, that’s what Mr. Potter said.”
“Maybe it would be wise to have an expert look at them.”
“Maybe,” said Mary.
Mason fixed her with his steady eyes. “For now, all you need to know is that Joe died heroically in the service of his country. The United States will be a safer place because of his work. I’ll see to it that his pension is based on the salary he was to receive after his promotion to the Senior Executive Service. When this is all over, you and your family can expect a commendation from the president.”
“The president?” said Mary, but all she was thinking about was the enormous impact on the family’s finances that a promotion to the Senior Executive Service would bring.
“The highest levels of national security, Mary.”
Still, her curiosity demanded one thing. “So what is Semaphore, then?”
Mason cocked his head. “What was that, Mary?”
The hint was plain enough. She heard Randy Bell ordering her never to say that word again. “Nothing,” she said. “I must have misheard something.”
Mason placed his hand on her arm. “Mary, you’re a civilian. Our work can be dangerous. May I have your word that we won’t be running into you again…for your sake?”
“Yes,” said Mary.
“Promise?”
Mason extended his hand and she shook it, looking directly into his eyes. “Promise.”
“Thank you for your cooperation. I can see that Joe was a lucky man.”
Mary reached for the door handle.
“And Mary,” Edward Mason said, in an entirely different voice. Her kind uncle had been replaced by the admiral in one of his black moods. “Vehicular battery is a serious offense. A felony. Add to that interfering with a federal investigation. You and Mr. Potter nearly got into a lot of trouble. I don’t think your children need to see their mother in a federal penitentiary on top of losing their father.”