She made no reply, though I could hear her breathing heavily. I hate when women do that.
After a long moment I suggested, "Why don't I just hold this conversation with myself? At least I'll like the responses."
She answered, very tartly, "This is no laughing matter, Drummond. Do you know the cardinal sin in our business?"
I could tell she wanted to answer that, so I made no reply.
"You've just blown your cover." She said, "I shouldn't need to remind you that the CIA has no legal authority to investigate domestic homicides. If that detective decides to make a stink-"
"Thank you. I'm a lawyer. I understand."
"Are you? Well… Cucullus non facit monachum."
Translated, the cowl does not make the monk. That really hurt. "Look, Phyllis-"
"No-you listen, I speak. Apologize to that detective. Kiss his… his fanny as much as it takes, then be gone. I promised him you'd depart immediately."
I glanced again at the briefcase by the foot of the bed. Bian Tran's eyes followed mine, and she smiled. I needed to even the score, and I knew how to do it.
I informed Phyllis, and by extension Enders and Tran, who were being rude and eavesdropping, "Of course. I'll just tell Enders you changed your mind."
"I… What?"
"Problem-? No… Detective Enders looks like a bright guy with good sense-"
"You'll explain nothing. I told you-"
"Complications? Just one. Call the Office of the Secretary of Defense."
"Drummond, are you listening to-"
"Exactly-what is a military police officer doing in a civilian apartment building outside military jurisdiction and poking her nose into this?"
Enders recognized something was amiss, and he was now staring with some annoyance at Tran. For some reason she had lost her smile. Actually, she looked pissed.
Phyllis, also annoyed, was saying, "Drummond, you're out of your mind. The last thing we want-"
"Tell Jim… I mean, the Director… tell him we'll discuss this when I return." I punched off and handed the phone to Enders, who regarded me with newfound appreciation.
Major Tran also was looking at me, probably wondering how she was going to spend the rest of her day. She suggested to me, with a tiny note of apprehension, "We need to have a word. Alone."
Enders demanded, "What's going on here?"
I turned to Enders. "Understand that the victim was a Pentagon employee. He worked in a very sensitive office and possibly there are highly classified materials in his briefcase. I suspect that's why the major is here." I gave Tran a pointed look and added, "I know that's why I'm here."
"Why didn't you say so in the first place?"
"I'm CIA. We lie."
He thought this was funny and chuckled.
I told him, "Don't touch that briefcase while Tran and I straighten this out."
She and I left and walked together through the living room, through the glass sliders, and outside onto the porch. It was narrow, not long, perhaps four feet, so we ended up about a foot apart, maybe less. Below us, Glebe Road was in its usual state of congested agony, and I pictured Cliff Daniels when he was still alive, standing where now we stood, cocktail in hand, perhaps observing the swarm below, and also perhaps meditating upon the unhappy causes that would make him snuff out his own life. Rarely is suicide a spontaneous act, and I wondered what concoction of miseries and maladies convinced Cliff to remove himself from the gene pool.
Or perhaps Cliff never had that conversation with himself; maybe somebody had that conversation for him.
For a few moments neither Tran nor I said a word. Her arms were crossed and she was staring off into the distance at a mushy formation of cumulus clouds that didn't look all that interesting. Despite this conversation being her idea, she was forcing me to make the first move.
So, to get this off on the right foot, I commented, "You ratted me out back there."
"Well… what can I say?"
"'I'm sorry'?"
"Screw off."
"Close enough." I smiled.
She shook her head. "All right… I'm sorry. Look, Sean-"
"Colonel Drummond to you, sister."
"You're-?" She looked at me with surprise, then disbelief. "Hold on-you've lied about your identity once. And I'm supposed to believe you now?"
I opened my wallet and withdrew my military ID, which, as per regulations, I had only the week before updated to reflect my new rank and, more happily, my new paycheck. I allowed her a long moment to study it, and watched her expression shift from skeptical to irritated.
I slid the ID back into my wallet. She said, "I overheard you tell the lady on the phone that you're a lawyer. I… an Army lawyer at the Agency?"
"I didn't ask for this gig."
"Weird."
"Right." Of course higher rank is a license to bully, so wasting no time, I said, "Major, you have three seconds-what's going on here?"
"I told you."
"Tell me again. You have my permission to alter your story."
"Why would I change it?"
"Fine. I'm sure you'll have no objection when I leave with Mr. Daniels's briefcase."
"Actually, I'll mind a lot."
"Aha."
She looked annoyed. "Let me remind you, Colonel, Clifford Daniels was a Pentagon employee. The contents inside his briefcase are possibly military property. It's my responsibility and my duty to secure it."
"No, the contents are U.S. government property. The Supreme Court decided this issue long ago."
"What are you talking about?"
"Big Dog vs. Small Dog. Famous precedent. I'm surprised you're unfamiliar with it." She looked clueless, so I offered her a brief technical summary of the decision. "When the big dog pisses on a tree, the little dog gets lost."
She did not find this amusing. In fact, her eyes sort of narrowed and she said, "I'm a law enforcement officer; you're not. That briefcase will leave with me."
"Not outside a military gate you're not, Major. Out here, you're just a lady who doesn't get the dress code."
She cleared her throat. "You're putting me on the spot."
"You put yourself on the spot."
"Don't get carried away by that civilian suit, Colonel," she said with a hard stare. "You're still a military officer. It would be a bad idea to get your loyalties twisted."
"What does that mean?"
"Think about it."
I leaned my butt against the railing and thought about it. Though her face communicated other emotions, I sensed she was under considerable duress to bring home that briefcase. Like me, she might not have been told why, and also like me, she might only be guessing it was something important; I suspected otherwise, though. I said, "I'll pretend you didn't say that."
"Pretend what you like."
I asked, "Do you have reason to suspect there's sensitive or compromising material in Cliff Daniels's possession?"
"How would I know?"
"That's not the right answer, Major."
She hesitated, probably tempted to say fuck you, but instead she suggested, "Colonel, let's keep this friendly. Okay?"
"You made it unfriendly."
"I realize that. And that was a big mistake on my part." She smiled warmly. "Hey, I'm woman enough to admit it." She stuck out her hand. "I apologize. Come on-let's start over."
"I'm enjoying where we're at right now." I ignored her hand.
"Well… I'm not. I'm sure we can come to an accommodation. Just lose the attitude. I don't respond well to overbearing men."
"What do you respond to?"
"The same things you should respond to. Duty, honor, country… the higher needs of the society we're both sworn to protect."
"No… seriously."
She laughed. And I, too, laughed.
Indeed, this was an intriguing lady. Of course, it never pays to underestimate the competition. Clearly Bian Tran was a fascinating and surprisingly complex woman-self-confident, forceful, spirited, and, I thought on a more contradictory note, sly, brazen, bawdy, and slightly cynical. Beneath that cool intelligence and soldierly veneer, I sensed, was a woman of considerable passion, of suppressed spontaneity, of independent motives-qualities any smart female in the military keeps in check, if not repressed, if she wants a successful career.