“Something on your mind, Roger?” He met the man’s posture and gaze. The ritual was stupid and primitive, and he didn’t enjoy it, but it was a dance that needed dancing. “Something you want to say?”
“I said it.” Dickinson didn’t blink or flinch. “Want to let me work?”
He’s not a coward. An insubordinate bigot with boundless ambition, but at least not a coward. So what do you say, Coop? How far do you want to take this?
“Gentlemen.” The voice behind them was cotton padding over hardened steel. It snapped the schoolyard moment like a twig. Cooper and Dickinson turned as one.
With his conservative suit, rimless glasses, and impeccable shave, Drew Peters looked like a clerk or a pediatrician, not a man who routinely ordered the murder of American citizens. “Join me in the hall.”
The moment the heavy wooden door slammed shut, Peters turned. “What was that?” His voice quiet and firm.
Cooper said, “Agent Dickinson and I were just conferring about the best way to handle Bryan Vasquez.”
“I see.” Peters looked back and forth. “Perhaps that kind of discussion should be had in private?”
“Yes, sir,” Dickinson said. Cooper nodded.
“And how is it, Agent Dickinson, that you happen to be interviewing Vasquez at all?”
“My team discovered that the files on Bryan Vasquez had been altered. The current file lists him as a loser with no last-known address. But the original file showed he lived and worked in DC.”
“Someone hacked our system?” For the first time, Peters sounded genuinely annoyed.
“Yes, sir. Either that, or…” Dickinson shrugged.
“Or?”
“Well, it could have been done by someone inside the agency.”
Cooper laughed. “You think I was covering for Bryan Vasquez? All us twists hang out together on Friday nights?”
Dickinson shot him a glare. “I’m just pointing out that it would have been easy to alter the files from inside the department. Under the circumstances, I thought it best to detain Vasquez immediately. Since Agent Cooper wasn’t present, I began the interview myself.”
“Very proactive,” Peters said dryly. He turned to Cooper. “Take over as primary.”
Dickinson said, “But, sir—”
“Vasquez is his target, not yours.”
“Yes, but—”
The director cocked one eyebrow, and Dickinson swallowed whatever he had been about to say. After a moment, Peters said, “Grab a coffee.”
Dickinson hesitated, then said, “Yes, sir,” and started away. To Cooper’s eyes, the tension and fury radiating from every muscle made the man seem almost wreathed in flame.
Cooper said, “He’s a problem.”
“I don’t think so. He’s a good agent, almost as good as you. And he’s hungry.”
“Hunger I appreciate. It’s running a one-man witch hunt that I don’t like.”
“The man who burns a witch—does he do it because he likes seeing people on fire, or because he believes he’s fighting the devil?”
“Does it matter?”
“Enormously. Both men are doing a terrible thing. But the first is entertaining himself, while the second is protecting the world.” The director took off his glasses and polished them with a handkerchief. “You and Dickinson are a lot alike. You’re both true believers.”
“The only thing Dickinson believes is that I’m in his way. You can’t honestly think that someone inside the department altered those files.”
Peters waved the idea away as he put his glasses back on. “I don’t doubt Alex Vasquez had the skill to hack our systems.”
“And Dickinson knows that. But he’s throwing accusations anyway.”
“Of course. And I’m sure he does want your job. More than that, he probably genuinely doubts you. Remember, many people haven’t really accepted that abnorms aren’t the enemy. Oh, they’ll hold forth on it at a cocktail party, how it’s not norms versus abnorms, it’s civilization versus anarchy. But in their hearts…”