Stephanie slid back one of the metal chairs and settled into its thick cushion. “It was interesting, to say the least.”
Harriett Engle was a recent appointee, previously Kentucky’s senior senator. When she’d announced that her fourth term would be her last, President Danny Daniels had asked her to resign early and serve as his third attorney general. He hadn’t fared well with two previous AG choices. One had proven a turncoat, the other inept. Harriett seemed the exception. Smart, savvy, competent. Initially, Stephanie and Engle had not hit it off—too much testosterone between them—but they’d eventually come to an understanding.
“You have a lovely home,” Harriett said. “You were smart when you bought this place.”
That she was. She’d left the key where Harriett could find it.
“After I was sworn in, I read your file,” her boss said. “You’ve been a single woman a long time. Do you think you’ll ever stop missing him?”
Her husband, Lars, had taken his own life years ago. Thankfully, with Cotton Malone’s help, she’d settled all her disputes with the past. “We lived apart for a long time before he died. Still, his death hit me hard.”
Harriett smiled. “My husband passed a few years ago.”
She already knew that. Engle was approaching seventy, her age belied by the presence of high cheekbones, a ruddy tone, and bright-green eyes. Her blondish-gray hair, raked flat against her scalp and twisted in a knot, lay as smooth as marble. Some might say a surgeon had restored some of her youth, but the allegation would be a lie. That was simply not this woman’s style. Stephanie had come to know that Harriett’s sly smile offered no clue to her mood, and usually contradicted her true emotions. Also, a disarming, grandmother-like voice masked an intellect first nurtured in law school, then refined at the Harvard Kennedy School of Government.
“Tell me what happened,” Harriett said.
And she reported the events from the mall ending with, “Chick-fil-A Man seemed to like his job. But I’d never have such half-assed, pathetic fools working for me.”
Contrary to what was said during the show staged in the department store, Terra Lucent had promptly reported the first contact made by Treasury and the blackmail attempt. That information had been passed up the line to Harriett, and they’d allowed the incursion into the Magellan Billet to find out what was going on. The encounter at the mall had been arranged by Stephanie to flush out the problem, knowing that Terra was most likely being watched. Audio surveillance of their meeting seemed a given, which was why the mall had been chosen for the locale. Once Chick-fil-A Man knew Terra had confessed, it seemed reasonable that Treasury would make a move.
And it had.
“They’re definitely focused on Paul Larks,” she said. “And they don’t want Cotton around.”
All of which seemed puzzling. Cotton’s task had been simple. The U.S. attorney for the Middle District of Alabama had requested the Billet’s assistance. Standard procedure called for the names of all federal fugitives to be provided to the National Security Agency. The label Anan Wayne Howell was an unusual combination, easily flagged, and had been detected during NSA’s routine international telephone surveillance. From that the FBI had learned that Larks would be traveling to Venice to board a cruise boat and meet with Howell. Three years Howell had been on the run, and the U.S. attorney thought this might be a good opportunity to snag him. So Stephanie had hired Cotton to shadow Larks and see what developed. A typical in-and-out scenario that should have been without drama.
“I’m told Mr. Malone can be a handful,” Harriett said.
“That’s true. But he gets the job done.” She paused. “The secretary of Treasury has apparently decided that these missing copies are so important, he’s willing to threaten and coerce members of another intelligence unit. Interestingly, the secretary doesn’t feel he can simply ask us for the information. On both incursions into my files, they’ve only gone after the reports Cotton has made from that cruise.”
“They want to know how close he’s getting.”
“To what?”
“I don’t know, but it’s time to find out.”
Harriett located her phone and punched in a number. The unit was on speaker, and her boss laid it on the table as the line rang and a female voice answered, “Office of the Secretary of Treasury.”
“It’s the attorney general of the United States. I need to speak to the secretary.”
“I’m sorry but he—”
“Please tell the secretary that either we speak now, or he can speak to the president later, after I report everything I know on Paul Larks.”
A full two minutes passed before a male voice said through the speaker, “All right, you have my attention.”
Everything that had happened was reported, then Harriett said, “Joe, we set your man up to see how far you were willing to take this.”
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. This is not my forte.”
“What’s going on?”
“Just like my agent said, we believe Larks copied some sensitive documents from Treasury archives. The breach was only recently discovered, and we want them back.”
“What kind of documents?”
“The classified kind.”
“I need more than that, Joe.”
“Not on this phone.”
Stephanie realized that classified did not necessarily mean “top secret.” Still, you didn’t discuss either on an open line.
“We’re after a fugitive,” Harriett said. “That’s all. He was indicted in federal court for tax evasion, tried and convicted in absentia. He fled the country just after his trial started, and really pissed off the local U.S. attorney. His name is Anan Wayne Howell. For us, this isn’t a big deal.”
A few moments of silence passed.
“Unfortunately for me, Harriett, it is a big deal. There’s more here than you realize.”
Stephanie heard the strain in the secretary’s voice.
“I gather that,” her boss said. “But you’ve gone about this all wrong.”