Last Chance to Die, Noah Boyd [most read book in the world TXT] 📗

off their access to her, but by his own admission their director was too close to her to let the FBI stay actively involved. The last thing Bevson needed right now was more bad press. They’d been all over him recently on the issue of the escalating crime rate in the District, and there were rumors that the present administration was about to replace him because of it. The Bannon case was supposed to sweep all that into obscurity, and it probably would once its depth was reported to the world.

If they fired him anyway, the important thing was having a soft place to land. If he could publicly manipulate his role in this treason case against an FBI higher-up, the big firms would be calling. Washington loved a good spy story, and there were firms that would hire him for no other reason than to hear the insider gossip. But all that would be diluted if the FBI was going to leak every detail of the case, as they usually did when it was to their advantage. For once he was going to beat them to the punch. But first he would have to put out another one of their well-placed brush fires. “This is Al Bevson, can I help you?”

“Karl Brickman. I see from your online bio that you went to Georgetown Law, so I know you were taught the concept of due process. Apparently you think there’s some exception to the rule when it’s an FBI agent who’s been charged.”

“I’m sorry, who is your client again?”

“You want to know who my client is? Put on the six o’clock news tonight and you’ll find out. It won’t matter which network—they’ll all be carrying it.”

“You told my secretary it’s a Kate Bannon.”

“And you’ve had her in custody for three days without taking her before a judge or a magistrate. In civilized countries that’s called an abduction.”

“Mr. Brickman, if we were holding someone as you have suggested and you went to the media, be advised you could be violating national security.”

“If you consider what you’ve done to Kate Bannon as being in the best interests of national security, then it needs to be violated.”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about the case.”

“Apparently there’s a lot you don’t know about prosecutorial malfeasance. I’ve already contacted the assistant director at the FBI who has jurisdiction over this case, William Langston, and given him the same option I’m about to give you. If I don’t meet with my client within three hours, in three hours and one minute I start making calls to the media.”

The door opened, and Bevson’s secretary came in and handed him a note.

Assistant Director Langston, line 3.Urgent!

“Mr. Brickman, can I call you back?”

“No, you can’t. In exactly three hours, I’ll be at the FBI building. If I’m not immediately taken to see my client, you know where I’ll be going next.” The line went dead.

Bevson punched the line-three button. “Al Bevson.”

“Bill Langston. I’m the Counterterrorism AD. Did you get a call from a lawyer named Brickman?”

“That’s who I was on the phone with. Who is he?”

“I made a couple of calls after he threatened me. His practice is primarily criminal. A one-man firm, and he is not a media hound. I guess that’s why I’ve never heard of him, but the word is he’s the last guy you want to have coming at you.”

“How the hell did he find out about Bannon?”

“I was going to ask you. You’re the one who won’t let us near her, remember?”

Bevson said, “Someone might think a call to a lawyer would be a good way to get even with us for that.”

“It’s just as likely that someone from your side did it. You’re the one with all the lawyers. Maybe you should ask around and find out if any of your people know him personally.”

Bevson knew that was true. These days, “leaking” was an act of self-indulgence. “It’s out there now, so it doesn’t matter. What do you think we should do about it?”

“This cannot get to the media. Until we can secure some cooperation from Bannon or we can be sure no one else is involved, we’ve got to keep this buttoned up. Every time there’s the least hint of someone’s being identified, that person is murdered, and each time it’s arranged so it looks like the Bureau had a hand in it. How about this: Have a couple of marshals bring her over with one of your assistant prosecutors, and we’ll give her the full-court press one more time before Brickman shows up. He told me he was coming over at three o’clock. In fact, how soon can you get her here?”

“I’m guessing an hour or so.”

“Good, I’ll line up our best available interviewers, and they can take a shot at her.”

“Can my man sit in?”

“The best interviews are done one-on-one, but if she breaks, your man can draft up the formal statement, and then you’ll be able to spin it any way you want.”

“I don’t care who gets credit, I’m just—”

“Please, Al, save it for the press conference. Just have them call my extension when they bring her in—2117.”

Kate sat in her cell at the Correction Treatment Facility in southeast Washington. It was where all female prisoners arrested in the District of Columbia were housed. The cell had a window, but it had been covered over with sheet metal, which made the cement-block cubicle seem that much smaller. She had never experienced claustrophobia, but the moment they shut the door, she felt a sense of mild suffocation, as if the air were being secretly drawn out of the space, or at least the oxygen level was being manipulated to a level that would not allow logical thought.

A concrete bed with a thin mattress, a seatless toilet, and four pale green walls were all she’d seen for the last three days, except for the matronly guard with a lifeless face who brought her meals twice a day.

Kate was well aware that