Tom sat down across from the Director and pulled out a thick folder. He took a slow breath and focused on the speech he had practiced several times the night before as well as on the drive over.
“I’ll get to that in a moment sir, but first of all I want to apologize for the way I acted the last time we talked. As you know, for legal reasons I’m not able to discuss my assistance with the investigation that Agent Murstead and his team were carrying out. But let me be clear about one thing – it was never my intention to keep you or anyone in this team in the dark. I was simply following strict orders from the CIA not to discuss it, and they made it very clear what would happen to me if I didn’t comply.” He paused and pretended to search for the right words. “I only hope that this situation hasn’t destroyed my opportunity to continue working with you and the Department, sir.”
Jack Preston looked at Tom with a somber expression before spinning his chair around and gazing at the winter landscape outside his window. When he finally spoke, his voice was low and soft. “When you’ve been in the intelligence community as long as I have, you come to realize a few things. One of the first is that every agency but your own seems to have a monopoly on the best and brightest talent… and the same thing goes for luck. Of course, if you haven’t figured out that luck plays a huge part in our business, then you’re just a complete goddamn idiot.”
He spun around and fixed his dark green eyes on Tom.
“You also learn that the only way to make any headway against the fanatics seeking to destroy our little patch of democracy in this fucked-up world is by putting your trust in the team of people who swore to defend against them. Up until a few weeks ago, Tom, I thought you were a dedicated member of this team. But your recent side job with the CIA has forced me reevaluate your loyalties, and it’s gonna take a helluva lot more than an apology to make me think otherwise. Do you understand?”
Tom nodded his head silently.
“You’re a damn good investigator, Tom. Certainly much better than your pay grade might suggest. But I’ll be damned if you don’t keep stepping on your own dick with this fucking dream of being a CIA agent.” Preston leaned forward and pointed his freckled hand at Tom, his eyes wide. “I only hope this last little taste finally set you straight, because truth be told, your brother-in-law royally fucked you. Not that I’m surprised. That’s the way they do things at Langley. Christ, just imagine what he might have done if you two weren’t actually family.” He waved his hands dismissively and sat back in his chair. “Anyway, I’m not here to give you a fucking sermon. But if you still want to be a part of this team, you’ve got a shitload of rebuilding to do.”
Tom nodded and allowed his stony expression to relax with a hint of relief.
“I intend to do just that, sir.”
Preston eyed him keenly. “And how do you intend to start?”
Tom leaned forward and tossed the thick manila folder onto Preston’s desk.
“By giving you full disclosure.”
The Director looked at him suspiciously before casually flipping open the folder. “What’s this?”
“As I said sir, for legal reasons, I can’t verbally discuss the details of the investigation I assisted Agent Murstead with. But that doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to see the personal notes I might have left lying around my office while assisting our fellow agency, correct?” He looked up and gave Preston a conspiratorial grin. “After all, anything I placed in my ICE files, regardless of the materials, would technically be the legal property of the Department if I’m not mistaken.”
Preston smiled back. “That would be correct… technically.”
Tom stood up from his chair and walked towards the window. The Director’s corner vantage looked out over the large parking lot of the Flagstaff field office, its black pavement now covered in a thin blanket of white snow. He instinctively scanned the parked cars for a maroon sedan. This shit can drive you fucking crazy he thought as he shook his head and faced Preston.
“What you’re holding in your hands is a summary of a terrorist investigation that Agent Murstead and the CIA now consider closed. Corporate terrorism to be precise.” Tom reached forward and grabbed the folder from the Director’s hands. “However, as of yesterday, I have new evidence that strongly suggests the terrorist at the center of this investigation is not dead. Furthermore, if this man’s pattern holds true, an employee of the Petronus Energy Corporation is in imminent danger of being murdered in the next few days.”