HARPER BROWN.
That’s what the visitor’s nametag said.
Decker and Jamison had walked into a small conference room at the Hoover Building and found Brown sitting next to Bogart and across from Milligan.
Brown was about five-seven, lean and fit, with blonde hair down to her shoulders. She wore a black pleated skirt, a white blouse, and high heels. Decker put her age at late thirties. The face was mostly unlined except for a trio of creases in the middle of her forehead, which made Decker think that she either frowned a lot or thought deeply a great deal, or frowned when she thought deeply.
She smiled when she saw Decker, rose, and held out her hand.
“Amos Decker, your reputation precedes you.”
There was a southern twang to her words that Decker placed somewhere between Tennessee and Mississippi.
Decker shook her hand and glanced questioningly at Bogart.
“Agent Brown is with a sister agency. She called last night and asked for this meeting.”
Decker and Jamison sat down after Brown shook hands with her too.
“What sister agency?” asked Decker.
“DIA.”
“Defense Intelligence Agency,” replied Decker.
“That’s right,” said Brown.
Decker said, “You’re like the military’s CIA, only your global reach is arguably bigger.”
“And how did you come by that knowledge?” asked Brown, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
“I like to Google as much as the next person. Are you with the Clandestine Service, the Attaché Systems, or the Cover Office?”
“I doubt you have the security clearances to hear the answer.”
“There’s no doubt about it. I don’t have the security clearances to hear it.”
“Amazing what’s on the Internet these days,” interjected Milligan, glancing nervously between the two as they stared stonily across the table at each other.
Bogart cleared his throat and said, “Agent Brown has some things to share on the Dabney-Berkshire matter. Things that we apparently are cleared for.”
Decker sat back and looked expectantly at her. “That would be helpful. All we have right now are lots of unanswered questions.”
Brown said, “I can’t promise to answer all of them, but I think I can give some clarity to certain pieces.”
She put her elbows on the table and assumed a more businesslike look. “Walter Dabney has been involved in a lot of high-level government contracting work.”
“We know that,” said Milligan.
“But you don’t know of the work I’m going to tell you about.”
She pursed her lips, took a few moments to marshal her thoughts, and plunged ahead. “Walter Dabney was apparently not the patriotic citizen that people believed he was.”
“What does that mean?” asked Bogart.
“That means that he was selling secrets to our enemies.”
Jamison glanced at Decker, whose gaze held steadfastly on Brown.
She continued, “We don’t believe that he was a true spy in the sense that he wanted to bring America down.”
“Then what was his motivation?” asked Milligan.
“Gambling debts. They were enormous.”
“We don’t have any record of him being a gambler,” said Bogart. “Trips to Vegas, or—”
Brown cut in, “There are many ways to gamble, Agent Bogart. Nowadays you don’t have to get on a plane and fly to Vegas or go out to the racetrack. All you need is an Internet connection. And the losses can be staggering. And he had to pay them off.”
“By selling secrets,” said Jamison.
“Yes.”
“What sorts of secrets?” asked Decker.
She looked at him. “Classified secrets. But I can tell you that they involve multiple contracts that his firm was working on across a half dozen DOD and civilian agency platforms.”
“So serious matters,” said Bogart.
“Very serious.”
“Did anyone else at his firm know about this?” asked Bogart.
“We don’t believe so, but we’re still looking into it.”
“So why kill himself?” asked Jamison.
“We were closing in,” she replied. “He saw it coming.”
“You took a while to come forward on this,” said Decker.
“This has been a very sensitive and long-running investigation. But after assessing the situation, the decision was made to send me here to convey certain information. We didn’t want you to be spinning your wheels unnecessarily.”
“And why kill Anne Berkshire?” asked Decker.
She scrutinized him. “I understand that you have hyperthymesia. And synesthesia. From a football injury.”
“And does that somehow explain why he killed Anne Berkshire?” Decker said impassively.
“No, just making an observation. As to Berkshire, we believe that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“And so why kill her if he was going to kill himself?” asked Decker. “What was she in the wrong place for? Him going nuts?”
“It’s difficult to fully understand what’s going through the mind of a person who’s about to lose everything. Dabney was under enormous pressure. It’s highly possible that he just snapped. Or he thought she might be with the FBI, since they were right outside the Hoover Building. He may have been paranoid at that point.”
“And it’s also possible that you’re wrong,” said Decker.
“He was stealing secrets and he did it because of gambling debts,” retorted Brown.
“Granted, that might be the case. But you could still be wrong about why he killed Berkshire.”
“Do you have a theory?”
“No. But when I do you can be pretty certain it’ll be the correct one.”
“You seem very sure of yourself, Mr. Decker.”
“Well, if I can’t be, who can?”
“Right,” said Bogart suddenly. “We appreciate the information, Agent Brown. Where do we go from here?”
She slowly turned to him. “I think, for you, nowhere. This is an active DIA case. We’re pursuing all possible leads. This is a national security matter and thus anyone investigating it must have the proper security clearances.” She glanced at Decker. “Which, unfortunately, leaves you out.”
Decker ignored this and said, “What do you know about Berkshire?”
“What?”
“You must have investigated her. We found some curious elements about her past. You must have done the same.”
“What we have found or not is an internal DIA matter. I only came here today as a courtesy to a sister agency.”
“And to tell us we’re off the case,” added Decker.
She looked directly at him. “Without getting into too much detail, I can tell you that the secrets that Dabney stole compromise strategic assets of this country. If certain of our enemies gain access to this information it could be 9/11 again, only far worse.”
“That’s a big statement,” said Bogart, staring at her in amazement. “If things are that dire, our agencies cooperating may be the best strategy.”
Brown rose. “Thank you for your time. I would appreciate any files you have collected be sent over to my office, Agent Bogart. You can use the contact information I’ve already provided.”
She had turned to leave when Decker spoke.
“I saw Walter Dabney shoot Berkshire. And I saw him try to blow his head off.”
She turned back to look at him. “And your point?”
“I’m not sure you’re cleared for it.”
She gave him a tight smile, pivoted on her heels, and walked out.
Bogart looked over at him. “We might need to give you a refresher course in interagency etiquette.”
Decker said, “Then make sure Agent Brown attends it too. So what’s our next step?”
“Next step in what?”
“The Dabney case.”
“Decker, didn’t you just hear the woman? We’re off the case.”
“I heard someone from DIA come here and tell the FBI that they’re off the case. I haven’t heard anyone from the FBI tell us that.”
Bogart started to say something but remained silent.
Milligan said, “I think Decker has a point, Ross. And far worse than 9/11? Our mission is to protect the United States. If the Bureau’s not going to be involved in something potentially this big, then what the hell are we doing?”
Jamison added, “I think so too. And can I just say that I do not like that woman one teeny little bit.”
Bogart stirred. “I can’t say I much like her or getting thrown off a case that happened right on Bureau territory. If the stakes are this big we can keep going, but we have to do so cautiously. Any misstep and we could get in trouble. And that won’t help anything.”
Decker rose.
Bogart said, “Where are you going?”
“To find a beat-up Honda.”