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“Damn, I wanted to tell you myself.”
“This is a great day.”
“You bet it is. Why don’t you work on the details of getting us married as soon as possible, and I’ll book us a table somewhere spectacular for dinner tonight.”
“Will do,” she said,
“I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
He hung up, and the car continued to the Hoover Building. As Kinney left the car he was approached by a man in a blue suit, showing an I.D. card.
“Good morning, Director Kinney,” he said. “I am Agent Marvin Green of the United States Secret Service, and I will be in charge of your security detail.”
Kinney shook the man’s hand but was puzzled. “Since when does the director of the FBI get Secret Service protection?” he asked.
“Since right now, sir, by order of the president. Your elevator is waiting.”
Kinney was shown to the director’s private elevator, and Green and two other agents rode with him. “I need to stop by my office,” Kinney said.
“We’re going directly to your new office, sir,” Green said. “Your secretary has already supervised the removal of your effects from your old office.”
Kinney stepped out of the elevator to a round of applause from dozens of agents and clerical workers. He quieted them. “Thank you very much,” he said. “Have all you people been watching television when you should have been working?” Everybody laughed. “Get back to work; you’ll be hearing from me.” Helen, his secretary, was sitting at a desk in his new suite of offices, and Kerry Smith was waiting for him.
The three secretaries stood and applauded, and Kerry shook his hand.
“Come in, Kerry,” Kinney said. “I’m appointing you chief assistant to the director.”
“Thank you, sir,” Smith said.
“You can still call me Bob when nobody’s around.” Kinney set his briefcase on his new desk and looked around. A large conference table was at the other end of the big office, and it was filled with many objects wrapped in plastic.
“What the hell is all that?” Kinney asked.
“It’s the wreckage of Teddy Fay’s airplane,” Kinney said.
“What’s it doing here?”
“I want you to see it personally.”
“Why?”
“Because there’s something very odd about it.”
Kinney didn’t like the sound of that.
SEVEN
HOLLY CALMED HESELF, taking deep, regular breaths. She had taken a polygraph before, in the army. She had even attended a class where she learned to administer them. She forced herself not to think about the money in the Grand Cayman bank account or the credit card in her purse. She was not able to prevent herself thinking about the statement she had signed, under penalty of perjury, that she had divulged all her financial information.
A man opened a door and beckoned her inside a small room. A woman was sitting in a chair next to the machine, and a large mirror was built into one wall. Holly assumed that this was a one-way mirror that allowed others to monitor her performance.
“Please remove your upper body clothing down to your bra and sit down,” the woman said.
Holly pulled off the sweatshirt she was wearing and sat down facing the mirror.
“You are here to take a polygraph examination. Have you ever had a polygraph before?”
