Double Jeopardy

68

7:10 P.M.

IN A SMALL OFFICE ON the penthouse floor of a high-rise in downtown Dallas, the real Special Agent Henderson stormed into Agent Simpson’s office. He was behind Simpson’s desk before the man had a chance to blink.

“Mr. Henderson!” Simpson cried, startled.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Henderson growled.

“Oh no,” Simpson said, pushing himself out of his chair. I wouldn’t dream—”

Henderson shoved him back down. “I want to know what’s really going on, Simpson. And you’re going to tell me.”

“I don’t know what you mean—”

“Bureau 99 is going to hell in a handbasket, that’s what I mean. I had a clean, perfectly functioning little team here, and suddenly it’s all gone to shit. I think we have a mole.”

“A mole?” Simpson did his best to feign surprise. “Surely not.”

“Spare me the crap. I’m onto you.”

“Don’t tell me you suspect that I—”

“No, I don’t. You haven’t the imagination.” He hovered over Simpson’s chair; Simpson could feel his hot breath on his face. “But I think you know who it is.”

“Why me?”

“You’ve always been a mindless little toady. Anything anyone wanted you to do, no matter how dirty, you were ready to do it.”

Simpson tried to squirm out of his chair, but Henderson didn’t give him an opening. “But, sir—”

“Mind you, I’m not complaining. There’s a place for mindless toadies in every operation, as long as you know who they are and who they’re working for. So that’s my question, Simpson. Who are you working for?”

“You, sir!” Beads of sweat trickled down his brow. “I only take orders from you.”

“Is that right? I just had some phone records pulled up from the central database in Quantico. Maybe you didn’t know we had a double check on the phone monitor?”

Simpson’s befuddled expression showed that Henderson had guessed correctly. “I didn’t—”

“Funny thing. I found several unauthorized, unrecorded phone calls to Mr. Janicek’s extension. And they all occurred while either you or the late Agent Mooney were supposed to be monitoring the phones.”

Simpson desperately wanted to loosen his collar but feared it would be a dead giveaway. “You know, sometimes the switchboard gets so busy, it’s possible I might miss a call—”

Henderson grabbed him by his shirt. “What really happened at that shopping mall, Simpson? I never believed for a minute that Travis Byrne killed Mooney.”

“B-but—he did, sir. It was just like—”

“Bull. Makes no sense. And if he wasn’t killed by Byrne; that means it was either you or Janicek.”

He tightened his grip on Simpson’s shirt, lifting him out of his chair. “One of you is going up the river, Simpson. Who’s it going to be?”