bought one, and the Pakistani owner took five minutes to explain about the SIM card and the available minutes. He asked no questions and Lucas got out of the store without ever mentioning his name or anything else about why he wanted the phone. But then, he was in Washington. Halfway back to the hotel, Greene called: “I had to make up some crazy excuses, but I can tell you who has three of these letters and they’ve agreed to turn them in.”
“Give me the names,” Lucas said. “They’ll be interviewed by FBI agents.”
“You won’t give my people any trouble?”
“I can’t promise anything—but receiving letters isn’t any kind of crime I can think of, and I can promise you that I’ll ask the FBI to take it very easy, that these are cooperating witnesses.”
Greene asked, “Okay. Let me give you some names.”
Lucas took down the three names. He called Chase from the hotel, gave her the names, asked that the feds take it easy: “They’re volunteers, even if they are nutcase assholes.”
“I’ll pass the word,” Chase said. “Thank you.”
Lucas lay on the bed, the curtains pulled to dim the room, sighed and began making phone calls with his newly purchased and totally anonymous burner phone. “Yes, I don’t want to give you my name. I’m an FBI agent and I have a piece of information that I think it’s important for people to know. The FBI has figured out who created that 1919 website and it’s a pretty amazing surprise . . .”
* * *
—
BOB CALLED AT TWO O’CLOCK, but Lucas had nothing for him. “Why don’t we get dinner together? Go out to someplace nice?” Lucas asked. He now had nothing to do but wait.
“I’m good with that,” Bob said. “Seems like things are winding down. Or maybe winding up, but I’m not sure what we’re needed for.”
“I’ll call Rae,” Lucas said.
Rae was good with dinner.
* * *
—
CHASE CALLED AT FOUR O’CLOCK, excited and exasperated: “We’ve got big trouble.”
“Who was shot?”
“Nobody. But all the local TV stations, plus the Post, the Times, and the Wall Street Journal are calling, asking if it’s true that Audrey Coil set up 1919 as a gag.”
“Ah, shit.”
“It gets worse: they’ve got that other kid’s name, Blake Winston. I called the Winston house and talked to Mrs. Winston, and as I was talking, she said a TV truck was pulling into their driveway.”
“Ah, shit.”
“We’re not going to be able to contain it,” Chase said. “You might want to hide out, because I suspect Senator Smalls will be coming your way.”
“Ah, shit.”
“Stop saying that. Say something intelligent.”
“I’m going home,” Lucas said.
“You can’t!” Chase said. “We collected those letters, interviewed the recipients, and we might be starting to unravel things.”
“You got an original?”
“No, but we got enough copies now that we’ve started asking people to name possible sources. There can’t be too many of them for what we think is the second generation of copies. When we cross-index the names, there’s a good chance we’ll get to the first generation, and that guy—or guys—should give us a lead to the original writer.”
“Good luck with that,” Lucas said. “I’m going to get in bed and pull the covers over my head. Smalls is gonna pee on my shoes.”
* * *
—
SMALLS DID THAT.
“One question,” he said when he called, two minutes after the beginning of The Situation Room with Wolf Blitzer, “Did you know about Audrey Coil?”
“Maybe.”
“Did you tell Elmer?” Smalls asked.
“Maybe.”
“You motherfuckers, you covered this up to protect Roberta Coil.”
“Actually, I did it to protect Audrey Coil. She could be in serious legal trouble, if somebody wants to give it to her—and she’s a kid. She’s seventeen.”
“She oughta be in jail, along with her mother for the cover-up,” Smalls said.
“Jesus, Porter, this whole thing was about a cover-up. You were there at the creation.”