gains a little added weight . . . don't you think?" She gave me a moment to think about it, then said, "Now you persuade the Arlington police that it was suicide. And bring back that briefcase."
"Are you ordering me to lie to the police? I want to be clear on this."
"Did I say that?"
"In so many words . . . yes."
I couldn't see her smile, but I could picture it. She said, "You're a lawyer, Drummond. Handle it."
"Am I part of this investigation?"
"Do you want to be?"
"No."
"Then now you are. Is that settled?"
"Not yet. Who am I working for?"
"You report to me."
"And who do you report to?"
She ignored my question and said, "The Agency inspector general and the FBI already have an ongoing investigation, of which Daniels was a subject. But we'll handle them as parallel efforts. Ours will be kept separate, quiet, distinct."
Interesting. "And will one hand know what the other hand is doing?"
"I receive ongoing updates on what they're doing."
"That's not what I asked."
"Figure it out."
I figured it out. Phyllis would hold all the cards. I asked, "What am I investigating?"
"Whether Daniels was murdered or not. We'll see where it leads from there."
"And Major Tran?"
"Yes . . . I'm glad you brought her up. Do you feel you can trust her?"
"As much as I trust you."
Now I was sure she was smiling. She asked, "More relevantly, does Major Tran trust you?"
"Absolutely. As we speak, she's on the other side of a glass slider, trying to read my lips."
Phyllis laughed. She asked, "Can you work with her?"
"I can work with you, so I'm sure I can work with her."
I thought I heard a sharp breath. I think I had just worn out her patience for my insolence. Part of the fun of this job was seeing how far I could push it. The Army, peculiar institution that it is, tends to be fairly stiff regarding such issues as insubordination and disrespect to superiors. Candor is permitted, even encouraged, so long as it is rendered respectfully. Of course, one senior officer's interpretation of respect can differ substantially from another's, so you have to watch your P's and Q's. The CIA, also a fairly hierarchical organization, is sort of a halfway house between a martial culture and a civilian one, and you have a little more leeway to be a pain in the ass.
Back to Phyllis. She said, "I think it would be invaluable to have the Defense Secretary's own investigative staff in on this. The Pentagon is, after all, a fortress of sorts. You should . . . partner with her."
"You mean, use her as a Trojan horse?"
"You know how much I dislike analogies. You shouldn't oversimplify complex situations." She added, after a long pause, "But yes, that one fits."
Lest you think I'm a complete fool, it was Phyllis, after all, who dispatched me to this death scene in the first place, and nothing she does, or thinks, is serendipitous. She is well aware of my nosy, mulish ways, my propensity to rush around corners, my . . . well, enough virtues. The larger point is, I was the sole military person in her office, Mr. Daniels was an employee of the Pentagon, and it was suddenly clear why she picked me for this job.
And now she was exploiting one Trojan horse to recruit another-- a frightening display of how her mind works.
The truth is, our relationship is no more or less complicated than that between a cat and a mouse. I'm nimble and quick. And so is she, with a facile mind and razorlike paws. It's sort of fun, also scary, and often dangerous. But the larger truth is, I wanted a piece of this case.
Phyllis mentioned, "Incidentally, Bis dat qui cito dat."
In plain English, he gives twice who gives promptly--and I understood what she meant, and why. As soon as Clifford Daniels's identity was nailed down, via witnesses, personal identity cards, dental records, and/or fingerprints, the Arlington Police Department public affairs people would issue a standard public notice. With luck, the local press might not recognize the significance of Daniels's name before they filed their late edition; without luck, some enterprising reporter would run Clifford's name through Lexis, Google, or Yahoo! and get an interesting hit. Either way, by morning, the nuts and junkies would be on this like flies on poop.
Washington has always thrived on juicy rumors and corpulent conspiracy theories, fueled by amateur Oliver Stones--people with dark outlooks, overheated imaginations, whose mental bolts could stand