Durance by Lyn Gala Page 0,69

the door.

Smith called out after her, but the door fell shut behind her as she left. Smith looked around, and for the first time he projected genuine concern.

“My colleague might have...” Halverson stopped. “I can’t say she’s overreacting, and she’s not prone to dramatics, but she could have presented that information in a more politically palatable way.” Halverson shrugged, and now Smith seemed even more concerned.

“If there is an imminent threat to the country—”

“There is,” Kavon said. “I suspect Salma al Ghamdi came here because the Egyptian authority knew something about this problem. However, Salma is not likely to discuss the internal politics of her group.”

“That would imply she has concealed information important to national security.” Smith was clearly searching for someone to blame.

“I disagree,” White said. “She has brought valuable funding into the bureau, and every time I have talked to her she has been clear that she hopes to facilitate better relations between those with Talent and those of us without it. If she had information about an imminent threat, she would have said something. And if she had a vague notion that trouble was on the horizon, we can’t blame her for not speaking out. After all, a Native shaman is trying to help us and we are rejecting their assistance.” White’s voice was desert-dry. Even though the tone wasn’t directed at Kavon, he still felt the discomfort. He wasn’t sure if it was his own or if he was feeling Darren’s emotions.

“Sir,” Kavon said, “what exactly has the center requested?”

“Something legally improbable if not impossible,” Smith answered for the director. “They would like you to work in the field with their shaman and keep the person’s identity secret. That would hamper prosecution. No,” Smith interrupted himself, “that would hamstring the prosecution. There’s no way a jury would convict if the FBI refused to identify the primary source of information. And the fact that this person wants to work with the victims of the last attack... this is not possible.”

Confusion flowed through the bond. “How did it work when the Native shamans worked with the BIA?” Darren asked.

“The reservation authorities handled the prosecution,” White said. “The cases with anonymous shamans as investigative leads never went to a federal or even state court.”

“And I am not going to be the one to test those waters,” Smith said firmly. “Our office cannot do our jobs if we can’t call witnesses. I’m sorry, but this is not possible.”

“But, in Canada—.” Darren stopped, blew out a breath and started again. “I haven’t been a shaman long, so a lot of the community rules surprised me. One of the biggest surprises is the fact that shamans can punish each other by destroying guides. I know they don’t do that often, but given how much power our suspect is dropping, I assumed the council would insist that the guide be destroyed, making it impossible for the suspect to continue his attacks. After all, most of his crimes aren’t technically crimes. Nothing on the law books say you can’t run around the city dropping power all over the place.”

“No, however, attacking a federal agent and massive property damage are both against the law.” Smith was even more condescending than Halverson, and that was a high bar.

“If I were a lawyer,” White said, “and I am, I would argue that the assault case against

Agent Oberton can’t be proved. We have multiple cases of property crime, and any defense lawyer could argue that the injury was a side effect of the out-of-control magic. I’m not sure you could get a conviction at all, not when most people with Talent hoard their power. I could convince a jury this was more likely to be a mistake than an attack.”

Smith shifted in his chair to face Assistant Director White. “Do you want to be the person to make that call? Do you think field agents or even assistant directors should make the final decision about which cases get prosecuted?”

White leaned forward. “I already have. By sending this investigation to the Djedi center, I have already admitted that we’re not going to be able to prosecute. I have wide shoulders, so I can carry that burden.”

The two men stared at each other, and Darren’s stress increased as the hostility became overt.

Finally Smith closed his file by slapping his hand onto it. “I can’t stop you from using the laws that are on the books,” he said, “but I am advising the Attorney General that he needs to consider writing