"I know it doesn't," Tim said, reaching out to snare a trench fry off Browning's plate.
"Did they give you any idea why you were downsized?"
"Just the usual bullshit about corporate restructuring."
"Why do you think it happened?" Ingram asked.
"About six months ago I started feeling out of the loop. We opened a new R-and-D production unit and a bunch of new programmers and technicians were shipped in from out-of-state to work on it. Me and my people were given no information, and told only to provide tight physical security for the unit."
"Of course, you challenged the decision."
"Big time. All it got me was a pat on the back for being dedicated to my job and an order to back off."
"What do you think is going on?"
Browning shook his head.
"I haven't a clue, but the visitors to the unit look like heavy hitters from back east."
"Heavy hitters?"
"Yeah, high-ranking government officials, research scientists-people like that. Best I can figure is they're designing and producing some sort of stealth chip."
Ingram laughed.
"A stealth chip. That's funny. What the hell is a stealth chip?"
"I'm guessing it's to instantly track hackers who break into networks and Web sites."
"How did you come up with that idea?"
"From snatches of coffee-room chatter I've overheard."
"Well, come to think of it, it makes a lot of sense."
Browning shrugged.
"Like I said, I'm guessing."
Conversation stopped while the waitress took Ingram's drink order.
"So what are you going to do next?" Ingram asked when she walked away.
"Hell if I know."
"Nothing on the horizon?"
"Yeah, a job in California was offered, but I turned it down. I got family here, a house, all my relatives, and this is where I want to stay."
"Was it a good job?" Ingram asked.
Browning nodded.
"Commensurate to my old job with a nice salary boost and all relocation costs paid."
Ingram smiled kindly.
"I know you're helping your kids with their monthly mortgages and covering a big chunk of your parents' expenses. Plus, you've got your own bills. That severance package and your police pension isn't gonna take you very far."
"Don't I know it."
"Here's an idea: Take the California job for six or eight months and then come back as my replacement."
"You're planning to leave?"
"Always have been. I've got a lock on a sweet job back east. Big corner office, leggy personal secretary, lots of perks. But I want to finish up here before I make the move. And I get to pick who steps into my shoes.
Why shouldn't it be you? In fact, I was planning to talk to you about it in a couple of months to see if you'd be interested."
Browning's expression brightened.
"I could handle Silicon Valley for a while if I knew I was coming back."
"Sure you could," Ingram said.
"And it would be a hell of a lot easier for me to justify your appointment if you're not coming to the job from the unemployment line."
Browning leaned back, let out a sigh of relief, and smiled.
"This could work.
You're one hell of a good friend."
"Hey, you're the one who'll be doing me a favor," Ingram said, reaching for another french fry.
"Is it a deal?"
"My boss left the job offer on the table. I'll call him in the morning and say I've changed my mind."
The waitress set Ingram's drink on the table. He raised it and watched Browning do the same.
"Great. We've got the weekend coming up, amigo. How about heading down to the lake for a day of fishing?"
"Sounds good to me."
Browning started eating his hamburger and talking about some new lures he'd bought. Ingram kept the chatter going with smiles and nods.
Browning didn't have a handle on the project, of that Ingram was certain, but his stealth-chip idea wasn't completely off the mark either. If Fred had managed to ferret out any specific information, he wouldn't have survived the night. As it was, the poor son of a bitch was in for a big surprise down the road when he realized he'd been left stranded in Silicon Valley.
Browning finished his burger and drink, and Ingram walked him to the parking lot. He left with Fred's effusive thanks ringing in his ears, thinking the man didn't know how lucky he really was.
Charlie Perry handed Ambassador Terrell the manila envelope and waited in the doorway to the presidential suite.
"Consider your answer very carefully, Agent Perry," Terrell said.
"Did you open it and read the contents?"
"I did not, sir."
"Very well. Come in. I want to be brought up to date."
Perry sat in an easy chair and watched as Terrell slipped the manila envelope into a briefcase and locked it.
Terrell turned and said, "You may begin."
"Kerney has shut his investigation down," Perry said.
"You're absolutely sure?" Terrell asked before Perry could continue.
"Positive. He gave his violent-crimes supervisor the order earlier this evening after our report crossed his desk."
"At least that went as expected," Terrell said as he sat across from Perry.
"Terjo is in Mexico. Both Fred Browning and Randall Stewart have been contained and counseled, so to speak."
"Give me specifics," Terrell said.
Perry summarized the ploy Special Agent Ingram had used on Browning, and the gist of his interrogation earlier in the day with Stewart.
"It should suffice," he added.
"I hope so," Terrell replied.
"There's no reason to take it any further, for now."
"Agreed. And Father Mitchell's briefcase?"
"It hasn't surfaced."
"You'd better find it."
Perry wanted to point out that none of this would have been necessary if Terrell hadn't downloaded and kept military and government secrets on his personal computer at his Washington home, and used a dip-shit stupid password that even his dead cunt wife was able to break on her last visit back east.
"We're looking," he said.
"That's not good enough."
"We'll find it."
"See that you do. That's all, Agent Perry."
Perry walked down the hotel corridor to the elevators. Ever since the assignment landed in his lap, he'd been trying to figure out what kind of Beltway clout Hamilton Lowell Terrell had that kept him out of jail, protected him from exposure, and sanctioned the killing of two civilians. For the same degree of stupidity in similar situations a Chinese-American scientist from Los Alamos had been kept in solitary confinement for almost a whole year and a former CIA director had been forced to endure public censure by members of Congress.
The only solace in the whole mess was that the Bureau hadn't been asked to do any of the actual killing. At least, not yet.
The elevator door opened and Perry stepped inside the cage, shaking his head at the thought that whatever Terrell had going for him, it was some powerful political voodoo.
Hamilton Lowell Terrell dialed the phone and Applewhite answered on the first ring.
"Was our friend able to return to Mexico as he had hoped?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not, sir," Applewhite said.
"His travel plans were interrupted."
"That's unfortunate. Perhaps new arrangements can be made."
"They already have been."
"Good news, indeed. However, now those two other friends of ours need assistance setting their itineraries."
"I thought that was already accomplished and under control," Applewhite replied.
"Not to their satisfaction," Terrell said.
"I see. How soon do our friends need to leave?"
"With all due speed," Terrell replied.
"I understand."
He replaced the receiver, went to the bedroom, and looked through the suits and shirts he'd asked the head concierge to have dry-cleaned and laundered.