Aragon started to say something, but the running water drowned out his words. Michaelson shut off the faucet and stood up, flinging droplets from his hands.
“What I’m trying to say, Hal,” Aragon said, sounding panicked now, “is that I know we’ve had difficulties. I’m trying to build a bridge between us — to bury the hatchet, or whatever you want to say. I’d like us to make peace if we’re going to make this International Verification Initiative work together.”
Michaelson stepped back and looked at the AD in scornful amazement. Aragon fled to the sink, hit the soap dispenser briefly, and washed his hands just for something to do.
“Look, José, the IVI Project is mine, not yours. Not anybody else’s here. I’m the only one who had the vision and the foresight. I developed the technology. I created this alone, in spite of the mess you’ve made out of just about every single thing you’ve touched.
“I don’t want to make peace with you. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you. Delicate instruments have not yet been calibrated to measure how little I care about what you think of me.”
He dried his hands, dabbed his face with a brown paper towel and tossed it in the wastebasket.
“Now, if you would escort me the hell out of here, I need to get back to work.” He turned and narrowed his eyes at the befuddled Aragon. “Or do I have to write a few more memos about your poor performance?” He smiled coldly. “Maybe this time I could send them to the President directly, since I’ve got his ear.”
José Aragon scuttled after him as Michaelson took long strides down the corridor of the Plutonium Facility, finally feeling good for the first time that day.
CHAPTER 14
“Craig, could I see you for a minute?”
Craig Kreident looked up from the paperwork to see his supervisor June Atwood standing outside the doorway of his small office. Slim and in her mid-forties, June gave him a broad smile that halfway succeeded in masking her expression of concern. Her skin was the color of polished walnut wood, with the same sheen; her black eyes seemed too big for her narrow face; her close-cropped hair lay like felt against her head.
“Sure, June. Your office or mine?” said Craig.
His windowless office was cramped, bookshelves laden with old criminal law books, electrical engineering and computer science texts, and cardboard bankers’ boxes filled with handwritten notebooks from his patent law days. June’s slender form was nearly blocked out by the two long metal drawers yawning open from his file cabinet and exposing a disarray of papers.
June looked around, saw no place for her to sit, and gestured out the door. “Let’s go down the hall.”
He pushed up from his desk, surprised that his body felt so fatigued. Coffee just hadn’t done it this morning. A field agent, he wasn’t used to sitting for hours on end anymore, poring over reports and going over obscure facts. But he had to tie up all the loose ends of the NanoWare incident. Being intently involved in a case always made his body realize there were other priorities in life than paperwork. As usual, he just didn’t have the time.
He had spent the entire previous day answering questions, being grilled by Internal Affairs personnel, filling out form after form, documenting exactly what had gone wrong with the Skraling arrest. Jackson and Goldfarb had confirmed everything Craig had said, and the evidence against NanoWare was overwhelming. But the CEO’s suicide had thrown everything into a whirlpool.
June Atwood’s office was as clean and spacious as Craig’s was cramped and sloppy. Two pictures of her family sat on the credenza to her left; an undergraduate diploma from Grambling and an MBA from Harvard hung on either side of a cluster of framed government Superior Service awards. A squeaky overstuffed chair waited for him on the opposite side of her wooden desk as Craig plopped his lanky frame down, adjusting his suit. June closed the door after him.
“Don’t worry, this conversation’s not being recorded,” she said jokingly.
He forced a grin. “That’s a first.” Craig drummed his fingers on the arms of the chair, feeling uneasy. “This looks serious, June. I’ve nearly finished all the reports you asked for—”
Instead of hiding behind the barrier of her desk, June sat in the visitor’s chair opposite him, a colleague and a friend rather than a boss speaking to a recalcitrant employee. She smoothed her khaki skirt. “We haven’t talked for a while, Craig. Whenever I’m back in the office, you’re out in the field or testifying.”
“You’re telling me,” Craig said. “I suppose the CIA folks are all taking early retirement after the Cold War, but unfortunately, we’ve still got plenty of bad guys to catch inside our own borders.”
June looked away, distracting herself. “Call it job security. So, how are things going? How’s Trish?”
Craig shrugged, then looked annoyed. “It has been a long time, hasn’t it? Trish has been gone for over a year.” The memory hurt — she had been a medical student with one of those pre-midlife crises. “Had to follow her own path, left for the east coast to take up residency at Johns Hopkins. I hear she goes by the name Patrice now.”
June sighed. “Sorry to hear that, Craig. I didn’t—”
Tired of the small talk, Craig interrupted her. “June, what’s going on? I appreciate your concern, but something’s the matter, and you’re not doing a very good job at hiding it. Am I going to be placed on administrative leave for the Nanoware mess?”
June nodded slowly while keeping her big, dark eyes on him. “Okay, I’ll come right out and say it. I think it would be a good idea if you took a day or two off. Let us finish going over the paperwork.”
Craig blinked. “What are you looking for?”
“We want to let the dust settle, that’s all. I know you, Craig, and I know your work. So does everyone else here. And with the clearcut evidence you’ve uncovered, nobody is going after your hide. But our investigations don’t usually end up with the prime suspect dead.”
“That wasn’t my fault—” Craig began.
“Just sleep in tomorrow morning. You’ll keep drawing your salary and have all benefits, but I’m sending you away from the office, keep you out of sight for a few days. Consider it a vacation.”
Craig’s heart pounded, his stomach roiled, oscillating between shame and anger and disappointment. A prickle of sweat washed over his skin. He narrowed his eyes. “This doesn’t mean I have to hand you my badge or anything crazy like that, do I?”
“No, of course not. Your file is clean. No reprimand, honest. For the two years you’ve been assigned to this office, your performance has been flawless.” She sighed and leaned forward in the chair, smoothing her skirt again. “I can’t say I understand how you feel — I’ve never been put in a situation like this before.”
“Like what, being put on administrative leave for something out of your control?”
June was quiet for a long moment, avoiding his gaze with her big, dark eyes, then she spoke softly. “You’d be surprised at what I’ve been through, Craig. The things I’ve been accused of doing. You should have heard the whispers when I was appointed to run the Oakland Bureau. Nobody seemed to consider the possibility that I might actually be competent, a good candidate for the job. No, it was either because I was black, or a woman, or sleeping with someone.”