Black Flagged Redux

Chapter 10





11:20 AM

FBI Headquarters, Director's Office

Washington, D.C.

Frederick Shelby, director of the FBI, stared intensely at Special Agent Hesterman for several uncomfortable seconds. Sharpe had given Hesterman the full briefing on what to expect from the director and hoped the agent didn't fidget. The director hated fidgeting under pressure, and often did whatever he could to elicit what he considered to be an undesirable trait. Eric held it together, only breaking eye contact a few times, but remaining silent and composed until the director spoke.

"This looks promising, Agent Sharpe. Very promising. Agent Hesterman? Excellent job with this discovery. Solid presentation skills I might add. Sharpe. I would like a moment alone with you," he said and turned to face one of the vast windows in his office.

Sharpe patted Hesterman on the back and winked at him. "Can you find your way back?" he whispered.

"I'll figure it out," he said, suppressing a grin.

Hesterman collected the meticulously prepared folios of support documents and satellite imagery, and removed the portable hard drive connected from the computer connected to the director's wall mounted flat-screen monitor.

"See you in a few," Sharpe said.

Hesterman started to walk to the door.

"Agent Hesterman?" the director said.

"Yes, sir?" he said, turning to face the director, who continued to stare out at the inner courtyard of the J. Edgar Hoover building.

"You had one hell of a senior year playing for Michigan. Starting linebacker for an undefeated season. Rose Bowl win over Washington State," he said.

"Thank you, sir. It sure beat the year before," Hesterman said, not sure if he was pushing his luck.

"Damn straight it did. I lost a considerable amount of money on the '96 season. Made up for it your senior year, plus some, so I won't hold it against you."

"I appreciate that, sir. Wolverine?"

"Lacrosse for four years. Graduated in '62, which was one of the worst football seasons in history up until that point. Keep up the good work, Agent Hesterman," the director said, and Sharpe signaled for him to leave.

"Take a look at this," the director said, still facing the window.

Sharpe walked over to join him and stared out at a busy courtyard, filled with agents and support staff, mostly clustered in small groups.

"Can you imagine? Having the time at two in the afternoon to take a little sun break out in the courtyard?"

"Not really, sir. This is the first glimpse of the outside I've seen today," Sharpe said.

"Well, nobody comes to headquarters to enjoy the sun. Especially not while they're on the clock," he said.

Sharpe made a mental note to avoid the courtyard, even if it represented a shortcut to another section of the building.

"Keith Ward won't be happy to know you've gone over his head with this."

"I felt you needed to see this first, without it being watered down," Sharpe said.

"I can appreciate the fact that you had the guts to do it, despite the consequences."

"Surprisingly, it wasn't a difficult decision, sir."

"That's called personal integrity, and it's by far my favorite trait in a person, especially another agent. I'll need to make a few calls on this. I should be able to convince the right people at the Pentagon that we need a look at Argentina. I presume you'd like to keep the CIA out of this?" Shelby said.

"I assume that was a rhetorical question, sir?"

"Very well, we'll leave our scheming brethren out of this one."

"What will you do if the satellite photos ID our man?" Sharpe said.

"Do my very best to rain fire and brimstone down onto him."