afternoon,” Lance said. “Meet me at the East Side Teleport at four o’clock.”
“Certainly. See you then.”
But Lance had already hung up.
—
Holly stood next to her car and watched the chopper from Langley descend through the overcast, make its approach, then set softly down on the pad, shiny with drizzle. Holly’s driver removed a bag from the helicopter’s luggage compartment, then opened the rear door. Lance got out and, ducking unnecessarily under the spinning rotors, went over to where Holly stood waiting. Holly shook his hand and waited until her driver had put the bag into her car and gotten back behind the wheel.
“Let’s walk,” Holly said.
“You don’t even want to talk in your own car?”
“No, and not even with my own driver.”
They watched Lance’s chopper lift off, head downriver, and climb into the overcast, then they walked around the edge of the pad and stood overlooking the East River.
“All right,” Lance said. “Why do you want Teddy Fay’s name removed from the Agency watch list?”
“Because it’s already been removed from every law enforcement database and, although I haven’t checked, probably from every other government and media database, as well. Google him, and you’ll get nothing.”
“On your authority again?” He looked hard at her. “Think before you answer.”
“Not mine. On what authority do you think such an action could be effected?”
Lance thought about that for a moment. “Possibly the national security adviser,” he said finally, but not with any conviction.
“If you were director of the FBI and you got such a request from the national security adviser, what would you do?”
“Raise hell, probably. The director of national intelligence could do it.”
“But would he? On his own authority?”
“Probably not.”
“If he tried, the FBI and others would be demanding to know who ordered it.”
“Certainly I would.”
“Did you get an order for Teddy’s files to be scrubbed from our database?”
“No, I did not.”
“Then the files should still be there, shouldn’t they?”
“They should be,” Lance agreed.
“But they’re not,” Holly said. “I checked.”
As usual, Lance’s face betrayed nothing, but Holly knew him well enough to know that he was as amazed as she had been.
“The only authority that could have effected this is—”
“Yes,” she said, cutting him off. “You wanted background—here it is. Maybe eighteen months ago, Teddy surfaced in an e-mail to me. I took it to Kate. After some discussion she proposed that we reach a truce with Teddy: if he would stop misbehaving, we would stop hunting him. I passed that on to Teddy, and he agreed. We’ve heard nothing from or of him since.”
“Did Kate say anything about scrubbing Teddy’s name from multiple databases?”
“No, and I don’t think that would have entered her mind.”
“Did you do anything to effect this?”
“Only my e-mail to Scott Hipp.”
“But Scott contacted you first?”
“Yes. Teddy’s name surfaced in a computer scan of satphone and cell phone transmissions. Apparently, the authority who ordered his name scrubbed forgot about our standing watch list.”
“In what context did Teddy’s name turn up?”
“In a satphone conversation between someone aboard an aircraft in the middle west and a New York City landline.”
“Who was on the airplane?”
“Undetermined. I don’t think they have that capability, or they would have found out.”
“Who was on the landline?”
“Lance, please believe me when I tell you, you don’t want to know.”
“Was it Kate?”
“No, Kate had nothing to do with the conversation. But that’s all I can tell you.”
“You mean, it’s all you will tell me.”
“If you like.”
“Holly . . .”
“Please don’t press me on this, Lance.”
Lance squinted at the Pepsi-Cola sign across the river. “Do they still make Pepsi-Cola?” he asked. He was not thinking about Pepsi-Cola.
“They do.”
“Holly, has Teddy Fay received a presidential pardon?”
“I have no information to that effect.”
“Why would Will Lee do that?”
“I have no information to indicate that he has.”
“If it hasn’t been made public, then he must have done it under seal.”
“I have no such information,” Holly repeated.
“Where would a sealed pardon be housed?”
“Lance, stop this. Will Lee is still your boss, and there’s at least an even chance that when he leaves office, Kate will be your boss once again. As of this moment, neither you, nor I, nor Scott Hipp has any evidence that such an event has taken place. If such a notion were published or broadcast, a firestorm of speculation would ensue, and that might change the outcome of a presidential election. If something to that effect should appear, then the only possible source would be you or me. And it’s not going to be me.”
“I don’t like this.”
“Frankly, I