As he walked out of the room, he couldn't help thinking that there was something very wrong going on.
A gentle snow was drifting down on Washington as Senator Daniel Tenroyan was taking his regular lunchtime stroll around the Mall. It had been three years since a triple bypass, and he had become religious
about his exercise. Every day that Congress was in session, he made two complete circuits around the Mall during his lunch hour.
He was passing the baroque pile of stone that housed part of the Smithsonian when he noticed someone sitting on a bench about thirty feet away, watching him intently. At first Tenroyan thought it was one of the homeless people that dotted the landscape in D.C. But as Tenroyan approached, and the man stood, Tenroyan recognized him.
"D'Arcy?" Tenroyan said.
Another step and he was certain. He was facing Emmit D'Arcy, President Rayburn's national security advisor. The last time he had seen D'Arcy, it had been from across the table at a Senate Intelligence Committee briefing.
The short man pushed his glasses back on his nose and said, "Let's walk for a while."
Tenroyan felt uncomfortable next to D'Arcy. The man had the reputation of being the most active proponent of black covert operations since William Casey. Tenroyan had gained a deep distrust of such things back when he was a Congressman and had served on the House-Senate Committees for Iran-Contra. That had left a bad taste in his mouth ever since. He felt that it was that bungled intelligence operation that kept Ronald Reagan's presidency from achieving what it might have.
Tenroyan walked next to D'Arcy, but he refused to start a conversation with the man.
"I understand that you're having a press conference this Friday."
"Yep," Tenroyan said. He looked up to watch the flags snapping around the base of the Washington Monument. Tenroyan had a Coolidge-like reputation for being laconic, and it came in handy when dealing with hostile reporters, and anyone else he didn't trust. He had a motto, don’t engage the devil in conversation.
"I understand you're going to chair this committee on the Secret Service incident."
"Yep."
"The Administration wishes to cooperate with the investigation."
Then what are you doing here? Tenroyan thought.
D'Arcy continued as if he heard Tenroyan's thought. "I just wanted you to know that there are some sensitive issues tied up in this. If the hearings turn into a fishing expedition, some uncomfortable things could be made public."
Tenroyan stopped walking and turned to face D'Arcy.
D'Arcy kept going. "I don't know if you remember Operation Firewall—"
Tenroyan nodded. He did. It was just a few years ago, when the Internet was a big new thing, and people on the Hill were running around terrified of it, passing blatantly unconstitutional legislation like the Communications Decency Act. That atmosphere bred the largest "sting" on the Hill since Abscam.
The little-reported "Operation Firewall" was a Secret Service project to test the security of the computer networks run by Congress and a half-dozen other civilian agencies. Their forays broke into most of those systems, revealing gaping security holes, as well as nearly fifty Congressional aides who were using government computers for illegal purposes from credit-card fraud to child pornography.
"I'm breaking security by telling you this," D'Arcy said, "but the NS A had a hand in the operation—"
Tenroyan snorted and shook his head. That news ranked up there with the fact that Bill Clinton had improper sexual relations in the White House—ugly, somewhat disgusting, but no real surprise.
Tenroyan didn't like the idea, but as a member of the Intelligence Committee he knew that the ubiquitous nature of the net made it nearly impossible to impose restraints on domestic espionage when it came to computer traffic. The Internet was a giant web spanning the globe, and the NSA was the giant spider straddling the network. Legend had it that every signal on the net passed through the NSA's computers at least once.
"I'm telling you," D'Arcy continued. "Because I have access to all the Firewall data that wasn't made public."
"Get to your point." Tenroyan was losing patience with the man.
"I just wanted you to know that there are thousands of gigabytes of data that would be embarrassing to many people still sitting on the Hill, especially those in the leadership."
Tenroyan took a step back, feeling anger building. "Son, are you threatening me?"
D'Arcy was an incredible actor. He actually looked shocked at the accusation. "No, no—I just want you to know that there are probably areas that would be better left unquestioned, or you might inadvertently open all of Firewall to public scrutiny. It would be as much of an embarrassment to the Administration and the NSA as it would be to Congress."
"I see," Tenroyan said.
"I'm glad you do," D'Arcy slipped off his glasses and Tenroyan was struck by the thought of how much the man resembled Peter Lorre. "I want you to know that I'll always be available to help steer you away from any embarrassing revelations." D'Arcy wiped off his glasses and replaced them. "It's been a pleasure talking to you, Senator."
"I wish I could say the same."
D'Arcy left the Mall, walking down Fourteenth, where Tenroyan saw a black Ford Taurus idling behind the concrete traffic barriers. He watched as D'Arcy got into the car and it drove off.
What do they have on me? Tenroyan thought. Pornography, certainly. At one point or another Tenroyan had downloaded smut off the net. It wasn't all that much, and it was all normal and heterosexual—but anything pornographic related to the net was the kiss of death. In the public's mind, it was all child pornography or bestiality. . .
Worse than that was the possibility that they had his e-mail. He had, years ago when e-mail was still a new thing, carried on a torrid written relationship with a woman who wasn't his wife. It was all virtual, he had never even met the woman. But he knew that if any of those letters were made public, his personal life would disintegrate, and his political life would become impossible.
He had ambition, but he wasn't a Bill Clinton. He couldn't see himself pressing forward inexorably, not caring what scandals turned up in his personal life.
For the first time since his triple bypass, Tenroyan didn't complete his circuit around the mall. He turned his back on the Washington Monument and walked back past the Smithsonian, toward the Capitol Building.
1.06 Tue. Mar. 3
A T eight in the morning, Kareem Rashad Williams, aka Lionel, walked down Twelfth Street in Brookland. He walked with an exaggerated swagger, staring at each passerby, as if daring anyone to make something of him. He looked at everyone as if he wanted them to start trouble, trouble he'd enjoy finishing. It was Lionel's crazy look, and he always used it when he was scared shitless.
He hadn't slept more than six hours in the past week. He hadn't gone home—hadn't even gone back to The Zodiac. He'd been walking the streets of Washington since he'd found Davy.
Now Davy's cash was almost gone. What the fuck was he going to do?
It was one thing knowing that he'd tipped a cop—a cop and a Fed—into a world of shit. He could care less about what happened to Detective Gideon Malcolm and his brother, that was the cop's own lookout.
But Davy, that was too fucking close to home.
Davy had been a little guy who'd boosted cars for a living. He and Lionel had been buddies since they'd shared a six-month stretch together. They'd been released the same day with fifty other small-timers that the District couldn't afford to house. The two of them had been tight since then.
Davy had been the ambitious one. While Lionel had been nickel and diming as a street-level dealer, turning to the cops for extra scratch, Davy had been moving up and out. He'd gone from boosting cars and chopping them, to boosting heavy equipment and truck hijacking. Davy had been talking lately about becoming a regular wiseguy. He had talked about taking down loads of everything from cigarettes to VCRs. He had talked about the special job that was going to land him a hundred grand all for himself.