The Book of Fate - Brad Meltzer [141]
“So under the guise of The Roman, The Three would bring the tips into their separate agencies, then just corroborate them amongst themselves . . .”
“. . . making it look like everyone—FBI, CIA, and the Service—were all in agreement. Sad to say, it happens all the time—last year in the State Department, someone made up a tip. The difference is, in most cases, they get caught because it doesn’t match what the other agencies are saying. But here . . . well, if they hadn’t gotten so greedy, it might’ve been a simple way to supplement their midlevel government salaries.”
“But they got greedy?”
“Everyone’s greedy,” the First Lady says as years of buried anger rise again to the surface. “They knew the system. They knew that small tips about some hidden training camp would only net them fifty thousand or so. And they also knew that the only way to get the big money they were after was to lie low and save their energy for those onetime shock-and-awe tips: The Golden Gate Bridge is being targeted . . . that shoe warehouse in Pakistan is really a chemical factory. Once everyone’s convinced that The Roman’s last nine tips were right, they’ll pay anything for the jumbo-sized tenth—even if it never happens. And when the FBI and CIA and Service all corroborate it and agree the threat is real? That’s how the informant who brought it in gets his multimillion-dollar payday.”
“So what was their problem?” I ask, trying to sound strong. Adrenaline only lasts so long. With each new detail of our old lives, the nauseous undertow floods back.
“The problem was, FBI and CIA case officers can only approve payouts of $200,000. To get into the multimillion range that would put The Three in retirement, the payday had to be approved by the White House.”
“And that’s what Blackbird was, right? They were starting to cash out with their first big tip, but it got shot down by the President.”
She nods, and eyes me, impressed. “That’s when they realized they needed someone on the inside. Boyle was warned about it back then—that they might try approaching him, especially because of his background . . .”
“Wait, whoa, whoa—so The Three—”
“Stop calling them that. Don’t you see? None of this happened because of The Three. It happened because they got smart and reached out for a new member. The Three was done. This is about The Four.”
83
You sure that’s right?” Rogo asked, reading from the original May 27 entry in Boyle’s datebook. He held it up to the redacted photocopy just to make sure it was a perfect fit. Underneath the
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
were the handwritten words
Dr. Eng 2678 Griffin Rd. Ft. L.
“That’s the big secret they were hiding from the masses?” Rogo added. “That Boyle had a doctor’s appointment?”
“It is personal information,” Freddy pointed out, slowly approaching them as Rogo tucked the original into a nearby file.
“Makes complete sense,” Dreidel agreed. “In every White House, half the staff lines up to see a shrink.”
Standing at the edge of one of the long research stacks, Rogo turned to his friend, who was sitting on the corner of a nearby desk. “Who says he’s a shrink?” Rogo challenged.
“Wha?”
“Dr. Eng. What makes you think he’s a shrink?”
“I don’t know, I just assumed he—”
“Listen, guys, I’d love to spend the rest of the night debating the merits of Eng’s particular practice,” Freddy interrupted, “but this is still a government building, and like any government building, when the little hand reaches the five—”
“Can you just run one more quick search?” Rogo asked, pointing to the library computers.
“I’m trying to be helpful. Really. But c’mon—the library’s closed.”
“Just one more search.”
“It’s already—”
“Just put in the words Dr. Eng,” Rogo pleaded. “Please—it’ll take less than thirty seconds. It’s just typing two words—Dr. and Eng—into the bat-computer. You do that and we’ll be gone so fast, you’ll be home in time for the early early news.”
Freddy stared at Rogo. “One last search and that’s it.”
A few keystrokes later, as Freddy hunched over the keyboard,