The Killing League

6.

Mack

Mack was surprised and more than a little disappointed to see him. FBI Assistant Director Paul Whidby stood near the back of the small group who had waited to speak with Mack upon the completion of his lecture.

Whidby looked exactly the same to Mack, even though he hadn’t laid eyes on the man in several years. A career politician, Whidby looked the part. A tall, handsome black man in an expensive suit and tie, perfect teeth, the arrogant posture of a man who thought he owned the room.

Mack hid the surprise at Whidby’s presence, and the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Mack caught the eye of his old partner, Ellen Reznor, who seemed to transmit a what-are-ya-gonna-do expression to him.

The last student thanked him for the speech, leaving Mack, Whidby and Reznor alone.

Whidby approached him. Mack noted that the man made no pretense of offering a handshake.

“Interesting speech,” Whidby said.

“Thanks,” Mack said. That really means a lot to me, he thought, but held back from actually letting the sarcasm fly.

“I see semi-retirement hasn’t stifled your creativity,” Whidby said.

Mack almost smiled at the thinly veiled insult. Whidby had always been the first to attack Mack’s theories as pure speculation. Only when a case was cracked and Mack proved right did Whidby ever get on board. And he did so only then to try to take credit.

“And you haven’t lost your knack for missing the obvious,” Mack said.

Reznor held up her hands and literally stepped between the two men. “Guys, no pissing match here, please,” she said. “Just say hello, and go on your separate ways.”

“Clearly, no one consulted me on letting you give these presentations,” Whidby said. “I would have told them to save their money.”

Mack nodded. “I’m not surprised no one consults you, Paul. Sounds like the value of your input hasn’t increased over the years.”

“But I found out it’s part of your extremely generous retirement package,” Whidby said. “These little seminars or whatever they’re called.”

“All right, good to see you,” Mack said and brushed past Whidby. He was halfway down the auditorium stairs to the exit doors, when Whidby called out.

“Hey Mack, I’m just curious,” he said. “Were you drunk when you came up with all these theories?”

Mack stopped, but Reznor put her hand in the middle of his back.

“Keep going, he’s not worth it,” Reznor said.

Mack felt his face burn.

Now he remembered why he left the Bureau, or more accurately, why he’d let Whidby force him out.