The eyebrows lowered with curiosity. “I’ve heard your name,” Harper offered, shorthand for, because I recently booted you off the Capitol Group case.
Without hesitation or further explanation, Mia handed her a piece of paper. One page, neatly typed and signed. “My resignation,” she announced without elaboration.
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s effective immediately. Approve it and it’s done.”
“What’s this about?”
“You’ll find out in a few minutes. Any possible questions will be answered, I promise. For now, it’s strongly in your interest that you approve this resignation.”
“I’ll do no such thing, Jenson. I don’t know how long your obligation is, or what sort of trouble you’re in.”
“I’m not in any trouble, and my obligation’s irrelevant. I’m about to hand you the biggest case of the decade. Release me, or I can’t.”
The crowd around them was now listening in to this fascinating conversation. Harper pondered this strange request for a minute, then replied, “I don’t make deals with my own agents.”
“That’s the whole point. Release me and I’ll hand you the biggest case you’ve ever seen. Otherwise, forget it.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Think about where we’re meeting. I’ll hand it off to a different investigative agency and you’ll stand on the sidelines with mud on your face and watch the action. Trust me, it’s strongly in your interest to avoid that.”
Harper shuffled her feet and looked uncertain. “How about this?” she offered. “I’ll grant a temporary resignation, hear what you have to say, then decide whether to make it permanent or rescind it.”
Mia thought about it a second. “All right, that works for me.”
A moment later they marched into a big conference room.
Marcus Graves, the SAC, and three senior agents were already there, seated with serious expressions at the large conference table. “Coffee and tea in the corner,” Graves hospitably announced, pointing in the direction of two matching tables. One held two big urns and some cups, the other a portable tape player hooked to two large speakers.
Nobody wanted. Instead they quickly hustled around both sides of the conference table and took seats. Mia and her friend sat in the middle, side by side, with grim but relaxed expressions.
Notepads came out, pens were propped, the chairs stopped scraping the floors. The moment everybody looked ready and attentive, Mia offered them all a pleasant good evening and thanked them for coming. She continued, “My name’s Mia Jenson. I’m a law school grad, granted the right to practice law in D.C. by the district bar. The past two years I’ve been an agent with the DCIS, but effective two minutes ago, I’m retired and back to practicing law.”
Thomas Rutherford II, the Pentagon’s inspector general, an older gentleman, but also a lawyer, looked at Graves, and gruffly asked, “If she works for us, why are we meeting here?”
“Why don’t you let her explain it?”
“I’d rather hear your explanation first.”
It was a reasonable request and Graves decided to be friendly and cooperative. “Mia came to us about seven months ago. She was looking into possible crimes by a big defense contractor. She became worried about her safety, with good reason, it turned out. Over the past few days, we busted a large criminal ring. Her home was broken into, her office burgled, unsavory people began looking into her background. Now I suggest you listen to what she has to say.”
The inspector general’s hands folded on the table and he stared at Mia. His expression conveyed more confusion than anger, though it was clear he was unhappy having to hear about this on foreign turf. Harper’s look conveyed no confusion, just anger; a junior agent doesn’t carry the dirt outside.
Mia met their stares with a firm expression. “I’d like to introduce my client, Jack Wiley. Until eight months ago, Jack was a partner in Cauldron, a private equity Wall Street firm. It was Jack who brought the deal to buy Arvan Chemicals, with its polymer and patents, to the Capitol Group.”
Jack’s introduction electrified the room. All eyes shifted to his face; more than a few eyes narrowed and the frowns deepened a few notches. Over the past twenty-four hours everybody in the room had learned his name. A few had seen his face on TV or splashed on the front page of their morning paper. He was the subject of a nationwide manhunt, the smiling face on a five-million-dollar wanted poster, and, quite possibly, the culprit behind a twenty-billion-dollar swindle. A few thought how he barely resembled the photo on TV-he seemed so much taller, thinner, less tanned. Jack smiled and nodded pleasantly, visibly unconcerned to be in the midst of so many law enforcement authorities.
Mia waited long enough for the shock to wear off. “On Jack’s behalf, here’s the deal we’re offering,” she continued. “Jack will come forward and offer testimony on one condition. He’s a whistleblower. I’m sure we’re all familiar with the program, but it won’t hurt to review a few important stipulations. Last year the federal government spent over $2.5 trillion. Considering that at least ten percent of that was lost or stolen due to waste, fraud, or abuse, the Congress in its wisdom passed a whistleblower act granting a reward of up to twenty-five percent of whatever the government collects against cheating companies. Now the good news. Jack’s not greedy. He wants a mere ten percent of whatever he saves.”
“Or we can just arrest him,” Harper threatened. “Throw him in our nastiest, most vicious federal prison and see how long he holds out before he talks.”
“You don’t have the grounds,” Mia said, very cold, very lawyerlike.
“How about graft? Theft, bribery, falsification of documents. I’m sure we’ll think up more charges. We can be very creative. Something will stick.”
“Jack’s done nothing wrong. He’s innocent. And we have the evidence to back that up.”
“And that’s the first time I’ve ever heard a defense lawyer make that claim,” Harper snapped back, baring her teeth.
Mia opened her mouth to argue, then abruptly changed her mind. “I’d like you to listen to this tape,” she suggested with a swift nod at one of the agents seated beside Graves. The agent dutifully got to his feet, went to the corner, and pushed play on the tape machine.
During the short interval before the tape kicked in, Mia quickly mentioned, “The first voice belongs to Mitch Walters, CEO of the Capitol Group. He’s talking to Daniel Bellweather.”
Those intriguing names brought everyone forward in their seats.
WALTERS: “So how did it go last night?”
BELLWEATHER: “Splendid. You should’ve seen Robinson’s face when he learned I had the seat beside him.”
WALTERS: “He’s a dumb jerk. Always was. Any administration that would make him secretary of defense is blind or stupid. They really scraped the bottom of the barrel with that clown.”
BELLWEATHER (after a short, derisive laugh): “True enough, but don’t piss in a gift horse’s mouth, Mitch.”
WALTERS: “Think he buys it?”
BELLWEATHER: “Beginning to. We’re not quite there yet. Probably halfway, though.”
WALTERS: “What’s he doing about Jenson?”
BELLWEATHER: “She’s toast. He’ll get her off our ass in the morning.”
WALTERS: “Jesus, that’s great. Just great. You really played him.”
BELLWEATHER (sounding quite boastful): “Yeah, isn’t it? What did you do for the cause last night?”
WALTERS (sounding annoyed and whiny): “Jackson had me slaving all night. Destroying evidence, concocting stuff to pin this mess on Wiley.”
Mia waved a hand and the agent abruptly shut off the tape.
If there were doubts about what Jack was offering, they instantly disappeared, but those doubts gave way to a thousand questions and suspicions.