Now and Then

11 .

It was about three in the afternoon. The rain had stopped, and the day was bright and not very warm when I walked down Cambridge Street to the Government Center Holiday Inn. I was meeting the special agent in charge of the Boston FBI office. His name was Epstein and he was at the bar with a Coke when I got there.

“That’s tempting,” I said.

“The Coke?” Epstein said. “Bureau is really pissy about having the SAC drunk during business hours.”

I ordered a scotch and soda. Epstein turned his glass slowly on the bar in front of him.

“Sure,” Epstein said. “Rub my nose in it.”

“What do you know about an organization called Last Hope?”

Epstein stared at me.

“What am I, Public Information?”

Epstein didn’t look like too much. He was balding and kind of scrawny, and he wore round dark-rimmed glasses that looked sort of stark against his pale skin.

“The bureau have any interest in them?” I said.

My drink arrived.

“As far as I know, the bureau never heard of them.”

“Which means you never heard of them,” I said.

“Same thing,” Epstein said. “But I’ll check.”

“How about a guy named Alderson?”

“Who he?” Epstein said.

“He appears to be the head of Last Hope.”

“Again,” Epstein said, “I’ll check, but as far as I know, we don’t know him or his outfit and we have no interest. Should we?”

He continued to turn his half-drunk glass of Coke slowly on the bar in front of him, using just the tips of his fi ngers, watching the procedure as if it were interesting.

“Don’t know yet,” I said.

I took a drink. Epstein looked up and watched me sadly as I drank.

“How about Operation Blue Squall?”

The glass kept turning. Epstein continued to look at me sadly.

“What about Blue Squall?” Epstein said.

“I understand it’s an anti-terrorism project,” I said. “Which is currently interested in an outfit called Freedom’s Front Line.”

Epstein stopped turning his glass and sat back in the highbacked bar stool.

“FFL,” Epstein said. “You want to tell me how you know about this stuff?”

“I want to tell you some of it,” I said.

“I may want all of it.”

“Cross that when we come to it,” I said.

Epstein nodded.

“I’m working on a divorce case,” I said. “Husband thinks the wife is cheating on him, wants me to fi nd out if she is.”

“Exciting work,” Epstein said.

“Right up there with investigating subversives like Dr. King.”

“Okay,” Epstein said. “Okay. We did do some work in Mississippi, too.”

I nodded.

“So I find out that the husband’s fears are justified, and for proof, I bug the love nest and listen to them.”

The excitement of the turning Coke glass seemed to have waned for Epstein. His attention was on me with nearly physical force.

“The lover is Alderson,” I said. “The husband appears to be one of your agents.”

“Shit!” Epstein said. “Who?”

I shook my head.

Epstein was silent for a moment, then he took his cell phone off his belt and dialed a number.

“Shauna?” he said. “It’s me. I’ve run into something and I won’t be back in the offi ce today . . . no, in the morning . . . tell him in the morning . . . thanks, babe.”

He broke the connection and put the cell phone away. Then he signaled to the bartender and when she came pushed the Coke toward her.

“Take this away,” he said. “Bring me an Absolut martini on the rocks with a twist.”

We sat silently beside each other at the bar until the martini came. He looked at it for a moment, picked it up, and took a meaningful pull.

“Better?” I said.

“You have no idea,” he said.

“I might,” I said.

“I’m going to have to know who the agent is,” Epstein said.

“He may be guilty of nothing but a bad marriage,” I said.

“I have to know,” Epstein said.

“Yes,” I said. “You do. But I won’t tell you until I know the deal.”

“You can get jugged for contempt,” Epstein said, “until you tell me.”

“I know,” I said.

“But you won’t tell me anyway.”

“No.”

“Might put some pressure on the guy hired you,” Epstein said.

“Might,” I said.

“If he’s a stand-up guy,” Epstein said.

“He might be.”

Epstein drank some more of his martini. He looked affec tionately at the glass while he swallowed.

“I have worked with you a couple times,” Epstein said, “and know you to be a big pain in my tuchis.”

“Nice to be remembered,” I said.

“You been a tough guy so long, you forgot how to be anything else.”

“But sensitive,” I said.

“My ass,” Epstein said.

“Wow,” I said. “Two languages.”

Epstein finished his drink and gestured for another. The bartender looked at me. I nodded.

“What we got brewing here,” Epstein said, “is a fucking impasse.”

“We do,” I said.

“Which is not going to do either one of us any good,” Epstein said.

“True,” I said.

Our drinks came. We both allowed them to sit untouched for a dignifi ed moment. Then we both took a swallow.

“You got any thoughts on how to resolve it?” Epstein said.

“I do.”

“Thought you might,” Epstein said. “Keep in mind that counterterrorism is not grab-ass. One of my agents gets compromised, people may die and some of them may not deserve to.”

“I know,” I said.

“Your plan?” Epstein said.

“I’ll fi nd out,” I said.

“What?”

“Everything, and I’ll keep you informed on anything you need to know.”

“And you decide what I need to know?”

“We’ll collaborate on that,” I said. “If I find that your agent is compromised, I’ll give him to you.”

“I agree to that and the bureau finds out, I’ll be working the teller’s window at a drive-in bank in Brighton.”

“If you can make change,” I said. “I was never good making change.”

“When you say everything, do you include Blue Squall?”

“Not unless I bump into it,” I said. “I’ll investigate my client, his wife, and her lover.”

“Perry Alderson,” Epstein said.

I hadn’t mentioned Alderson’s fi rst name.

“Yep.”

“Last Hope,” Epstein said.

“Yep.”

“We’ll look into it from that end,” Epstein said.

“Maybe we’ll meet in the middle,” I said.

“We fuck this up,” Epstein said, “and I go down in flames.”

I shrugged.

“Think of it as a blaze of glory,” I said.

“And if I do,” Epstein said, “I’ll take you with me.”

“No pain, no gain,” I said.