"What did you say?" I ask, though I know exactly what he said.
"I said I've got to talk to Nick."
"Call him over here," I say. "Please."
I'm sure that Pete, Kevin, and Marcus can all hear the strange tone in my voice, but I'm not concerned; my focus is totally on Pete and Nick.
"Hey, Nick," Pete calls out, waving. "Come here a second, will ya?"
Nick looks over, a little tentatively, obviously not wanting to be drawn into an uncomfortable situation with the enemy, meaning us.
But my mind is already elsewhere, and I turn to Kevin, just about dragging him out of his chair. "Come on, we need to talk."
On the way to the phones, I tell Kevin what I've just come to understand. We call Captain Reid, who characteristically comes to the phone immediately.
I get right to the point. "Captain Reid, we need a list of every Special Forces lieutenant who was in Vietnam at the same time as Dorsey, Stynes, and Murdoch."
He doesn't burst out laughing, which I take as a good sign. After a few moments he says, "It'll take the better part of an hour."
I thought he was going to say week, so I'm thrilled. "Can you fax it to me at the courthouse?"
"Give me the number."
I do, and the list arrives an hour and five minutes later. It's five pages, and on page two is the name that is going to blow this wide open.
I'VE NEVER CONDUCTED A STAKEOUT BEfore, and I'm not sure this would qualify as one. I've got the obligatory donuts and coffee, but I don't have a radio to say "ten-four" into. I just sit in my car outside the FBI regional office, downing donuts and listening to an Eagles CD, while remaining ready to hunch down to avoid being seen.
I'm listening to "Life in the Fast Lane" for the fourth time when Agent Cindy Spodek comes out at about six-forty-five. She walks to her parking space and drives away. I let her move out a little, then I smoothly start following her without being detected. You would think I've done this all my life. Ten-four.
She leads me across the George Washington Bridge, up the Palisades Interstate Parkway, and into Rockland County. Rockland is on the New Jersey side of the Hudson River but is a part of New York State. It's not much farther from Manhattan than northern New Jersey or Westchester County, but almost as nice and much less expensive.
My fervent hope is that Agent Spodek is heading home, and not out to dinner or a book club or a rifle range or whatever it is that FBI agents do at night. This stakeout thing is tiring, and I'm very anxious to talk to her.
She gets off the highway and drives into a small town called Pomona. It's a residential area, and since she may be nearing home, I start following her a little more closely. It would be beyond annoying to lose her now.
After a few more minutes she pulls into the driveway of a one-story redwood home. Kids play on the street, but none pay attention to her arrival. I realize I have no idea if she has kids or whether she's married or single. For my own limited purposes, I'd rather she lives alone, since I don't want her to have to consider other people when she hears my request.
I park on the street directly in front of her house, and she's looking in my direction when I get out of the car. I think I see a flash of panic in her eyes, or maybe it's anger, or maybe it's an eyelash. I'm not that good an eye reader.
She strides directly toward me. "What the hell are you doing here? I don't want you near my house."
She thinks that will intimidate me; she's unaware that women have been saying stuff like that to me my whole life. "I was hoping we could continue our conversation," I say.
"What conversation is that?" she challenges.
"The one about Terry Murdoch."
This time I'm pretty sure the eye flash is panic, but she doesn't back down. "I don't have any idea what you're talking about. Now, please, I--"
I interrupt. "Did you know that Terry Murdoch is dead? Someone killed him to stop him from talking to me."
She sags slightly and closes her eyes. "Oh, God ..."
"Can I come in?" I ask.
She doesn't answer, just nods in resignation, turns, and walks toward the front door. I follow her inside. Chalk