Double Jeopardy

27

9:50 P.M.

THE FBI AGENT PRESSED his fingers against his throbbing temples. Thank God Henderson wasn’t in. That would have screwed everything up. Although that was about the only complication that hadn’t occurred yet. First, Moroconi botched his flawless escape plan, then he intentionally dragged Byrne into this mess just for spite. He didn’t have much doubt about who was having Byrne’s apartment watched, either. Everything that could possibly go wrong was going wrong.

And of course there was the goddamn list. Did Moroconi really give it to Byrne? After all his trouble to get the damn thing, would he give it away just to sign Byrne’s death warrant?

He realized he made a major-league mistake when he got into bed with Alberto Moroconi. If he just hadn’t needed the money …

There was only one solution. He would handle this rendezvous himself. He’d take Simpson along. Simpson was a new, fresh-faced recruit—eager to please, unquestioning. He’d do what he was told. And if Simpson needed any help keeping his mouth shut afterward, he’d haul out those pictures he had of Simpson with his male roommate. Most feds wanted to follow in the footsteps of J. Edgar Hoover, but Simpson took it a bit too far.

“Excuse me, sir. Are we going to log that call?”

He snapped out of his reverie. It was Mooney again, no surprise. The same sniveling idiot who got in his way every time he turned around.

“I was listening on the extension, sir,” Mooney added.

The FBI agent maintained a calm, even demeanor while silently calling Mooney every swear word he knew. This definitely complicated matters.

“I believe standard procedure is to log the call and fill out a report,” Mooney continued. “Then I would recommend a staff meeting to consider our options and assemble a field team to deal with this situation.”

“Would you indeed?” And if I don’t, you’ll file a report accusing me of incompetence. Or dishonesty. Or both. You need to be taken care of, Mr. Mooney. “I’m afraid we don’t have time for a meeting.”

“This is very unorthodox, sir.”

“You can’t always play by the book, Mooney. A good agent knows that.”

“We should at least wait for Henderson to return. He’s due back shortly.”

“Sorry, that’s impossible.”

Mooney looked at him strangely. Did he suspect? “If you won’t wait for Henderson, sir, then I feel I should accompany you. As an independent observer.”

“You? Why—” He bit down on his tongue. On second thought, yes, that was a splendid idea. That would work out perfectly. “Fine, Mooney. Get your gear. We leave in five minutes.”

Mooney departed for the locker room. Excellent. With any luck, the whole affair would be resolved before Henderson even knew about the phone call.

He had to recover that damn list before it was traced back to him. He had to pin the rap for everything on Byrne. And with Mooney along, he could accomplish both goals at once.

Agent Janicek took his gun out of the desk drawer and slid it into his shoulder holster. He would get that list back. No matter what he had to do.