Zero Game - Brad Meltzer [123]
“Sir, if there’s anything you need me to—”
“I appreciate it, William. I truly do. But before I get you knee-deep in this, let’s just see what else we can find.”
“But I can—”
“Believe me, you’re invaluable to the case, William—I won’t forget it. Now let’s just keep hunting.”
“Absolutely, sir,” William said with a grin. “That’s what I’m working on right now.”
“Any leads worth talking about?”
“Just one,” William said, pointing down to the folder, where a fax from the Financial Crimes Enforcement Network poked out from the top. “I ran all of Janos’s identities through the guys at FinCEN. They came up with an offshore account that bounces back through Antigua.”
“I thought we couldn’t get to those . . .”
“Yeah, well, since 9-11, some countries have been a little more cooperative than others—especially when you say you’re calling from the Attorney General’s office.”
Now Lowell was the one who was grinning.
“According to them, the account has four million dollars’ worth of transfers from something called the Wendell Group. So far, all we know is, it’s a shelf company with a fake board of directors.”
“Think you can trace ownership?”
“That’s the goal,” William said. “It’ll take some peeking in the right places, but I’ve seen these guys work before . . . If I gave them your last name, they’d find the twelve-dollar savings account your mom opened for you when you were six.”
“Then we’re in good hands?”
“Let me put it like this, sir—you can go get coffee and some McDonaldland Cookies. By the time you come back, we’ll have Wendell—or whoever they are—sitting in your lap.”
“I still appreciate what you’re doing,” Lowell said, holding his glance tight on his assistant. “I owe you for this.”
“You don’t owe me a Canadian penny,” William said. “It all goes back to what you taught me on day one: Don’t fuck with the Justice Department.”
64
THIS IS IT?” Viv asks, craning her neck skyward and stepping out of the cab in downtown Arlington, Virginia. “I was expecting a huge science compound.”
Dead ahead, a twelve-story modern office building towers over us as hundreds of commuters pour out of the nearby Ballston Metro Station and scurry past the surrounding coffee shops and trendy eateries that are about as edgy as suburbia gets. The building is no bigger than the others around it, but the three words carved into the salmon-colored stone facade immediately make it stand out from everything else: National Science Foundation.
Approaching the front entrance, I pull open one of the heavy glass doors and check the street one last time. If Janos were here, he wouldn’t let us get inside—but that doesn’t mean he’s not close.
“Morning, dear—how can I help you today?” a woman wearing a lime green sweater set asks from behind a round reception desk. On our right, there’s a squatty black security guard whose eyes linger on us a few seconds too long.
“Yeah . . . we’re here to see Doctor Minsky,” I say, trying to stay focused on the receptionist. “We have an appointment. Congressman Cordell . . .” I add, using the name of Matthew’s boss.
“Good,” the woman says as if she’s actually happy for us. “Photo IDs, please?”
Viv shoots me a look. We’ve been trying to avoid using our real names.
“No worries, Teri, they’re with me,” a peppy female voice interrupts.
Back by the elevators, a tall woman in a designer suit waves at us like we’re old friends.
“Marilyn Freitas—from the director’s office,” she announces, pumping my hand and smiling with a game show grin. The ID badge around her neck tells me why: Director of Legislative and Public Affairs. This isn’t a secretary. They’re already pulling out the big guns—and while I’ve never seen this woman in my life, I know this tap dance. The National Science Foundation gets over five billion dollars annually from the Appropriations Committee. If I’m bringing one of their appropriators