“Then who?” Payne asked.
“Knox is looking into it,” Haviland said, “which means we are, too. As soon as we know something, we’ll let you know.”
“And in the meantime?”
Waller shrugged. “In the meantime, we just do what we need to do.”
The cameras were aimed at Douglas Knox in the large press room at the Hoover Building. A blue, floor-to-ceiling curtain provided the backdrop, with a large, round, navy-and-gold “Department of Justice, Federal Bureau of Investigation” seal mounted behind the podium.
Knox placed a pair of gold wire glasses on his nose and glanced down at his notes. “Thank you all for coming. I’ll read for a few moments from a prepared statement and then I’ll answer some questions.” He cleared his throat. “As you’re well aware, the Washington Post has published an article in today’s edition that makes certain assertions about the Bureau’s ongoing investigation of Anthony Scarponi. While I can’t and won’t comment on those particulars of the case that would jeopardize the nature of that investigation, I will state that the news report is factually flawed.” He looked up from his paper and faced the reporters. “Now, I’m not going to go into which facts are wrong — because it would take too long.”
A slight chuckle rumbled from the crowd of reporters.
“Suffice it to say that we do know the whereabouts of Agent Harper Payne and that he will be testifying against Mr. Scarponi, as he did six years ago when Mr. Scarponi was convicted. I want to assure the people of this country that this offender will again be locked up behind bars, where he will be of no danger to anyone. That’s all I’ve got. Thank you.”
A sea of hands shot up from the crowd, along with shouts of “Mr. Director!” and “Director Knox!”
Knox scanned the journalists and chose a friendly face, Marta Henninger from CNN. “Sir, is there any truth to the report that Agent Payne is suffering from amnesia? And if so, wouldn’t that affect his performance on the witness stand?”
Knox let a thin smile spread across his lips. “That’s a compound question, Marta, and I know better than to answer two questions at once. Let me just say that Agent Payne is in excellent health and nothing — amnesia, the Asian flu, or a bad case of food poisoning — is going to prevent him from taking the stand and testifying effectively against Anthony Scarponi.”
Hands shot up again. Knox chose another ally from the past: Steve Carter from NBC News.
“Director Knox, does this mean that you’re going to have the attorney general apply for a court date for Scarponi’s trial?”
“As a matter of fact, I just received word that we’re on the docket for March fourteenth.”
“Why was Agent Payne so difficult to locate?”
The question pulled Knox’s attention back to the present. “In view of the circumstances at the time, Agent Payne’s identity and location became a closely guarded secret following his testimony six years ago. It took a while to find him and make sure it was safe to transport him to a secured location. More than that I can’t say.”
“Is it true,” a reporter from the New York Times blurted out, “that he’s being held at the FBI Academy in Quantico?”
“As you can understand, I can’t answer any question that would even provide a hint of his whereabouts. So, my answer will have to be no comment.”
Knox continued to “no comment” a number of questions in rote responses until one struck him across the face.
“Is it true, sir, that a member of the FBI leaked this story to the press?”
“No, that would not be standard Bureau procedure, as I believe you’re well aware if you’ve got any time in journalism under your belt, son.”
Shouts for more questions went up, but Knox held up his hand, leaned close to the microphone, and said, “Thank you all for coming.” He turned to his right and was escorted off the podium to the exit, with the cries for him to answer but one more inquiry continuing even as the door slammed shut.
41
“He was pretty pissed,” Waller said.
“Great. Just great,” Knox said, pacing his office. “First Scarponi, then Melissa, then Stanfield… and now this.” He stopped to hold his temples. “I swear, I’ve got sledgehammers inside my head and they’re working overtime.”
Waller shifted in his seat. “I think he’s okay now, sir. But I’ve never seen him so upset. He nearly lost it. I don’t think he’s been sleeping too well.”
“Sleep deprivation, according to Noble. It can make you depressed, paranoid, even delusional. He was given Valium. You know if he’s taking it?”
“We ran some training exercises at Hogan’s yesterday, and he didn’t say anything about it. I’d think if he was taking it I would’ve noticed.”
Knox sighed. “AG’s on my back. Trial date’s set and we don’t have much time. A few weeks is all. I want him well rested and properly prepared for that trial. Not to mention we’re no closer to finding Scarponi.”
“Understood, sir.”
“I want a tighter lid kept on him. Do it in a way that doesn’t arouse his suspicions.” Knox released his temples and resumed his pacing. “Tell him that because of this Post story, his movements will have to be restricted until the trial. For his own safety, that sort of thing.”
“No problem.”
Knox stopped abruptly and turned. “Wrong, Agent Waller. There will be problems. Expect them. Just make sure you deal with them effectively.”
42
In his small dorm room, Harper Payne closed the trial transcript. His concentration had been less than keen, with thoughts of Lauren Chambers fighting for his attention. As much as he did not want to go back to a life that excluded the Bureau, he felt an attachment to this woman he hardly knew. It wasn’t a tangible feeling, one he could analyze. It was more of a magnetism, as if his thoughts were physically being pulled back to her.
Pushing the trial transcript aside, he picked up the phone, dialed nine to get an outside line, then hit 411.
“Academy operator.”
“I–I was dialing information.”
“I can handle that for you, sir. What number would you like?”
Was it standard procedure for the Academy operator to intercept calls like this? He was sure that according to the rules and procedures Waller had gone over with him, an outside line was obtained by dialing nine.
“What number would you like?” the operator asked again.
“I’d actually like an outside line, please.”
“If there’s a number I can get for you, I’d be happy to—”
“Chambers. Michael or Lauren Chambers in Placerville, California.”
“Hold, please.” There was a click, followed by a brief silence. Then, a few seconds later, another click. “No available listing, Agent Thompson. Is there anything else I can get for you?”
Payne stood there for a second, thinking. Thompson was his alias. But he had never told her his name. A hundred new agents were housed in the dorm at any one time, yet the Academy operator instantly knew which room was his. Did she have time to look it up during the few seconds he was on hold? Was it automatically displayed on her console? Or had she been told to intercept his calls?
He ground his molars together. “No, that was the only number I needed. By the way, who am I speaking with?”
“Sir?”
“I don’t think we’ve spoken before.”
“Margaret Little, sir.”
“You’re so efficient, Margaret. You sound like you’ve been doing this awhile.”
“I — yes, awhile. Thank you, sir.”
“At least a year, right? I always try to guess how long people have been doing their jobs. It’s my theory that you can always tell when someone’s new and when they’ve been on the job at least a year. It’s kind of an arbitrary cutoff, the one-year mark, but I really think it makes a difference. So, am I right, have you been an operator at the Academy for least a year?”
“Yes, uh, a little over a year, sir. Can I get you another number?”
“No, thanks for your help — and for being so efficient.”
He hung up the phone, sifted through his papers, and found the Academy directory Waller had given him. He scanned the listing of non agent personnel for Margaret Little. There was no one by that name.
He lifted his shoulder harness off the hook on the door and strapped it to his body. He threw his navy suit coat over his shoulder and left his room. He walked downstairs, crossed through the glass- enclosed hallway to the library, and picked up the white in-house phone. He hit zero and waited while it rang.
“Academy operator.”
“This is… Agent Waller. Who am I speaking with?”
“This is Leslie Orens. What can I do for you today, sir?”
Her manner was formal, just like that of the operator he had spoken to a moment ago. “I was just on the phone with Margaret. Can you put her back on for a second?”
“Who?”
“Margaret, the other operator. Margaret Little.”
“I’m sorry, Agent Waller. There’s no Margaret Little here.”
“Are you sure?”
“There are only three of us here, sir.”
“No problem, my mistake.” Payne hung up and rubbed the stubble on his chin. Why had his phone line been diverted? Why wouldn’t they allow him access to an outside line?
Was he merely being paranoid?
He suddenly felt uncomfortable, his eyes panning the library to see if anyone was watching him. Two men in suits were on the balcony above him, speaking in hushed tones with one another.
Come on, Harper. Cut it out. They’re whispering because it’s a library. And they’re just talking about the Wizards game. Or forensic findings. Or a suspect. Or about me.
They’re watching me.
He quickly turned away and walked out, headed for the gun vault to sign out his Glock. Paranoia or not, regardless of what was going on, he was going to be prepared.
“Like you said, Jon,” he said aloud as he quickened his pace, “we do what we need to do.”