The Big Bad Wolf - James Patterson [79]
It took us only fifteen minutes to get to the field office at that time of night. We filed into a conference room at the field office, and I saw a lot of weary, confused, and pissed-off agents. Nobody was saying much yet. We’d gotten close to a possible break on this case, and now we’d been ordered to pull back. Nobody seemed to understand why.
The ASAC finally came out of his office and joined the rest of us. Joseph Denyeau looked thoroughly disgusted as he threw his dusty cowboy boots up on a conference table. “I have no idea,” he announced. “Not a clue, folks. Consider yourselves debriefed.”
So about forty agents waited for an explanation of the night’s action, but one didn’t come, or wasn’t “forthcoming,” as they say. The agent in charge, Roger Nielsen, finally called D.C. and was told they would get back to us. In the meantime, we were to stand down. We might even be sent home in the morning.
Around eleven o’clock Denyeau got another update from Nielsen and passed it on to us. “They’re working on it,” he said, and smiled wryly.
“Working on what?” somebody called from the back.
“Oh, hell, I don’t know, Donnie. Working on their pedicures. Working on getting all of us to quit the Bureau. Then there’ll be no more agents and, I guess, no more embarrassing screwups for the media to report. I’m going to get some sleep. I’d advise all of you to do the same.”
That’s what we did.
Chapter 93
WE WERE BACK at the field office by eight the next morning. Several of the agents looked a little messed up after the night off. First thing, Director Burns was on the line from Washington. I was pretty sure the director rarely, if ever, spoke to the troops like this. So why do it now? What was up?
Agents around the room were looking at one another. Brows crinkled, eyebrows arched. No one could fathom why Burns was so involved. Maybe I could. I’d seen the restlessness in him, the dissatisfaction with the ways of the past, even if he couldn’t effectively change them all at once. Burns had started as a street cop in Philadelphia and worked his way up to police commissioner. Maybe he could change things at the Bureau.
“I wanted to explain what happened yesterday,” he said over the speakerphone. Every agent in the room listened intently, myself included. “And I also wanted to apologize to all of you. Everything got territorial for a while. The Dallas police, the mayor, even the governor of Texas was involved. The Dallas police asked that we pull back because they didn’t have full confidence in us. I agreed to the action because I wanted to talk it through with them rather than force our presence there.
“They didn’t want mistakes, and they weren’t sure that we have the right man. The Lipton family has a good reputation in the city. He’s very well connected. Anyway, Dallas was surprised that we listened to their concerns—and now they’ve backed off again. They respect the team we’ve assembled.
“We will continue our action against Lawrence Lipton, and believe me, we’re going to take that bastard down. Then we’re going to take Pasha Sorokin down, the Wolf. I don’t want you to worry about past mistakes. Don’t worry about mistakes at all. Just do your job in Dallas. I have the utmost confidence in you.”
Burns went off the line, and just about every agent’s face in the room wore a smile. It was quite magical, actually. The director had said things that some of them had been waiting years to hear; especially welcome was the news that he believed in their ability and wasn’t worried about mistakes. We were back in the game; we were expected to bring down Lawrence Lipton.
Minutes after the phone call ended, my cell went off. I answered, and it was Burns himself. “So how’d I do?” he asked. I could hear the smile in his voice. I could also almost see the cocky upturn of his lip when he grinned. He knew how he’d done.
I walked away from the group into a far corner of the room and told him what he wanted to hear. “You did good. They’re pumped to do