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She said, her voice clipped, hard, “Yes, I know who they are, and yes, the CIA has been involved with them before, on a firewall installation. Do sit down, Alan. Long day, long night. A woman, you say?”
He nodded. “Was she watching Cummings’s house? I’ll call Bexholt in the morning, find out who had that SUV yesterday. Haul her in here and find out why she was there.”
Alan hadn’t moved toward the gray leather sofa. He still stood watching his boss. Farriger said, “No, don’t call them, don’t go see her. I want to handle this. The last thing I want is for the FBI and Metro to find out we brought someone here to question. No, I’ll deal with it. Any more pertinent info you waited until the bitter end to tell me?”
“There is one other thing, ma’am, but I doubt it has anything to do with any of this, whatever this is. There’s talk in his group he and his wife haven’t been getting along. Bottom line appears to be she wants him to quit the agency, go private where he could earn a lot more money. But that’s not unusual.”
She shook her head. “Still, if there is real conflict at home, it could be a red flag.”
“Justice told Pamela Snow in our office that his wife and daughters left for the Poconos a couple of days ago. I suppose her leaving could mean something.”
“It’s late, Alan. Go ahead and send your people home. We’ll pick this up in the morning. But keep me posted. He shows up, call me.”
“I will. Good night, ma’am.”
Farriger watched Besserman walk across the shined oak floor. She turned back to the window, heard the door quietly open and close. It started to rain, thick fat drops striking hard against the glass. It was mesmerizing. She would wait another day until she knew more, then she would decide what the FBI had to know.
But now she had to deal with a more pressing problem—the woman their agent had spotted watching Cummings’s house. She looked out at the heavy rainfall for several more minutes, then picked up her cell phone.
