“There is the law,” the man answered stiffly.
She ignored him. “Furthermore, I asked the commissioner about the qualifications of the Millennium man who’d disarmed it. The name didn’t mean doodly to me, but he said the man is one of the foremost bomb experts in the world, for chrissake! Did you know that?”
There was no answer.
“I also asked the commissioner if the crime site had been compromised. He said not by Millennium’s security team. The place had been tracked through by others before the bomb was found—it was a hallway, after all—but Millennium’s people had kept subsequent disturbance to a minimum. He said the whole thing had been handled very professionally.”
She eyed Forsberg with more curiosity than irritation now. “Have you ever heard of the evaluation of importances, Millard?” When he didn’t answer, she continued. “Since you haven’t seen fit to respond intelligently to my questions, when you answered at all, I’ve concluded you don’t take professional criticism well. So I’m going to dictate a job report on you, expressing my serious reservations about your competence and your judgement. Because frankly, Millard, you acted like a damned robot, instead of a sentient human being. Meanwhile you’ll be receiving an order from the Attorney General to withdraw your charges.”
She glared at the screen. The face looking back was stiff with indignation and suppressed anger, and she cut the connection, thinking she’d overreacted again. “Hell,” she said aloud, “he’ll resign and go straight to the Senate with it. But what else could I do with someone like that?”
“I’m sure you’ll handle it.” Willem Enrico Groenveldt was smiling wryly at her from a chair. She’d forgotten he was there.
“I read the summary report too,” he said. “Before you did, while your back was being worked on. It didn’t say how Millennium found the bomb. Considering where it was, it’s remarkable it was found at all. I’d think dogs would have trouble smelling something situated like that.”
The President frowned. “I never thought to wonder,” she said, and looked at him appreciatively. “Hank, you’re a lawyer, and you also think. How’d you like to be Acting Director of the FBI?”
He laughed. “I’m utterly unqualified. Besides, I already have a job. I’m the personal aide of the President of the United States.” He paused. “I do have another question though. Is there any particular reason you decided to intervene in this? Besides the fact that Forsberg went off half-cocked.”
Her look turned thoughtful. “Three of them,” she said. “First, no harm came of what Millennium did. And secondly, the FBI has worked hard to upgrade their public reputation. This would filthy it up again, especially since Millennium’s Ladder and Hand and Bailout projects have earned so many points with the public.”
“That sounds to me like two reasons, Madam President. What’s the third?”
She sighed. “The third is one of the major financiers of Millennium. I’ve known him since college; in fact he once asked me to marry him. Biggest mistake I ever made was to turn him down, but my girlish taste ran to hunks. Large hunks!”
Her gaze was direct, calm. “And I trust him implicitly, as I do you. He wouldn’t be pumping millions into Millennium unless he was damned sure it was straight, from top to bottom.”
She paused, examining her nails. “I wonder if Bill Foley would take the job? Because whether or not Millard Forsberg resigns, I’m going to replace him.”
“Who is Bill Foley?”
“The Boston police commissioner. But he’s probably got too much sense to work for me.”
* * *
The phone rang. Thomas Corkery set aside his book and answered, knowing by the caller ID who was on the other end. He touched a key, and a picture popped onto the small screen.
“You’re ill-advised,” Corkery said, “to be calling me like this.”
“What happened? Ngunda Aran should be dead! You were paid a total of $12,000 to get the job done. My money sources are going to demand either performance or their money back!”
“Jack, Jack! I’m surprised at you. After all these years in the murdering business, you still haven’t grasped how easily these things go askew. You’re too impatient with other men’s work, Jack. Impatient! Your trouble is, you’ve always been a sender. Ye’ve done precious little wetwork yourself. If any.”