The Tenth Justice - Brad Meltzer [20]
“You think this’ll work?” Nathan asked.
“Can’t hurt to try,” said Ben.
Nathan looked around the empty waiting area, paneled in fake knotty pine. “This place has Mafia written all over it,” Nathan whispered.
“What are you talking about?”
“It does,” Nathan said. “It smells musty like my cousin Lou’s house. We should get out of here.”
“You can go,” Ben whispered. “I’m staying.”
“This was a bad idea,” Nathan said. “For all we know, Rick could be in that room.”
Before Ben could respond, the doorman and a small man with a mustache stepped out of the office. “I’m the manager. Can I help you?”
“Hi, I’m Rick Fagen’s brother,” Ben said, extending a hand to the manager. “He told us to meet him here.”
The manager ignored Ben’s extended hand, and examined Ben and Nathan. Putting his hands in the pockets of his slacks, he smirked. “If you’re his brother, how come you didn’t know he moved out of here two weeks ago? Listen, people like their privacy here. If you think you’re going to fool us, you’ll have to make up a better line of bullshit than saying you’re his brother. Now, unless you’re cops, get the fuck out of here.”
The doorman opened the door, and roughly escorted Ben and Nathan outside. “I think that was pretty successful,” Nathan said as the glass door closed behind them. Standing under the building’s awning, Ben stared out into a furious downpour. Opening his umbrella, Nathan said, “Well, at least we won’t get—”
“I’m a dead man,” Ben said as he rushed into the rain, toward the car.
Throughout the drive back, Ben was silent. “C’mon, snap out of it,” Nathan said when they returned home.
“I just need to think,” Ben said, heading straight for the kitchen.
“You’ve been thinking for the past fifteen minutes. Say something.”
“What do you want me to say?” Ben raised his voice. “I just got screwed, and I jeopardized my entire career. Boy, what a wonderful day!”
“Listen, don’t take this out on me,” Nathan said. From the refrigerator, he poured himself a glass of iced tea. “I’m here for you, and I’ll do my best to help you, but don’t make me your whipping boy.”
“I’m sorry,” Ben said as he sat at the small kitchen table. “It’s just—I just—this’s a disaster.”
Nathan handed the iced tea to Ben. “That’s okay. But let’s at least do something. Focus your energy. How about we plan Rick’s death?”
“I’ve been doing that for the past three hours,” Ben said, clutching the glass. “So far, the best I can come up with is slicing off his eyelids and sitting him in front of a mirror. He’ll go insane watching himself since he won’t be able to shut his eyes.”
“That’s one way to deal with him.”
“I’m not screwing around,” Ben said. He took a gulp of tea. “I have to find this guy. If word gets out that I leaked a decision, my life is over. And without Rick, I can’t prove my innocence. At least with him, I can try to prove his link with Maxwell. Otherwise, I don’t know what else to do. Can’t we put a search on him through the State Department?”
“Not without saying why we’re looking for him. And if you do, you can say good-bye to your job.”
“And my entire career.”
“But we can do a confidential search,” Nathan blurted, his voice racing with newfound confidence. “All we need is a member of Congress to—” Hopping off the counter and grabbing the phone, Nathan dialed Ober’s number. “Hello, Ober? It’s me. We need some serious help. Are you still answering constituents’ letters?”
“Absolutely,” Ober said. “I’m the master of junk mail.”
“Then you still have access to the pen-signing machine that fakes the senator’s signature?”
“Of course,” Ober said. “Did you really think Senator Stevens signed your birthday card?”
“I need a favor,” Nathan said. “I need you to write an official request on Senate letterhead. Address it to my attention at the State Department and ask that a confidential background check be done on—what’s his name, Ben?”
“Richard or Rick Fagen,”