probably."
Reys suddenly looked like the victorious coach of a high school foot ball team.
"So you admit that you destroyed a document relating to an ongoing investigation into your conduct?"
There was the frustration again, but this time he was less successful at pushing it away.
"Give me a fucking break, Gerald! You're going to tell me you keep every draft of every report given to you?"
"And you knew that, as a matter of course, your trash is shredded."
"It's the twenty-first-fucking century, you asshole. You can't destroy documents anymore. They just sit around on disks or in memory or on backup tapes." Beamon jabbed a finger in the general direction of the folder, now in the protective custody of the man to Reys's left.
"For God's sake you have the report you say I destroyed!"
"Yes," Reys said.
"Fortunately, you weren't very thorough, were you?"
Beamon shifted wildly in his chair but couldn't find a comfortable position. This couldn't really be happening.
"Mr. Beamon, I've had exhaustive discussions with the highest echelons of the FBI, including the director "
"I thought you said this document just came to your attention."
Reys flashed an irrelevant little smile and continued. "... and we've agreed to offer you a deal. Plead guilty to a felony obstruction of justice charge, and we'll recommend that your jail time be limited to six months " Beamon jumped up from his chair and Reys scooted back away from the table. The two men he had come in with stepped forward and blocked Beamon from crawling over the table and strangling the little prick with his ugly tie, answering the question of why they were there.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Beamon shouted, leaning over the desk as far as he could while still keeping his feet on the carpet.
"You want me to go to jail for not signing a poorly drafted document written by some kid in my office about an investigation in which you have no evidence of wrongdoing? Jesus Christ, by this time next week everyone in the Bureau is going to have a copy of the document I destroyed."
"Would you step back, please?" Reys said. His calm had been restored by the intervention of his two bodyguards.
"What?"
"Step back away from the table."
Beamon took a deep breath and managed to construct a facade that would pass for outward calm. When he complied, Reys matched him with a step forward.
"You didn't let me finish, Mr. Beamon. If you agree to this, you'll retire with your full pension. If not, the FBI is willing to use whatever resources necessary to prosecute you to the full extent of the law. You'll spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a defense. I understand that you lost most of your savings in the market crash. If you lose, you're looking at bankruptcy and a potential ten-year jail term. Even if you win, you're still bankrupt, but with no pension."
Beamon felt everything come crashing down on him. Twenty plus years sleeping, eating and breathing the FBI, and this is how it was going to end for him. He wanted to say something that would express that, that would let Reys know what the political machine pulling his strings had done. How he was destroying a man's life for nothing more than the off chance it might cool the heat a bunch of amoral political hacks had brought down on themselves. But what words could do that? In the end, he just turned away and started walking toward the door.
"Three weeks, Mr. Beamon," Reys called after him.
"I'll give you three weeks to make a decision. I think that's more than generous under the circumstances."
Uome ON, Tristan!"
"I'm trying!" His voice was strained and he was breathing harder than he should have been.
"Well, try harder!"
Darby stretched her arm further around his bare waist, attempting to support a little more of his body weight. They were both sweating profusely and he was getting more slippery with every step.
The forest had closed in quickly behind them and was becoming increasingly dense as they fought their
Reys suddenly looked like the victorious coach of a high school foot ball team.
"So you admit that you destroyed a document relating to an ongoing investigation into your conduct?"
There was the frustration again, but this time he was less successful at pushing it away.
"Give me a fucking break, Gerald! You're going to tell me you keep every draft of every report given to you?"
"And you knew that, as a matter of course, your trash is shredded."
"It's the twenty-first-fucking century, you asshole. You can't destroy documents anymore. They just sit around on disks or in memory or on backup tapes." Beamon jabbed a finger in the general direction of the folder, now in the protective custody of the man to Reys's left.
"For God's sake you have the report you say I destroyed!"
"Yes," Reys said.
"Fortunately, you weren't very thorough, were you?"
Beamon shifted wildly in his chair but couldn't find a comfortable position. This couldn't really be happening.
"Mr. Beamon, I've had exhaustive discussions with the highest echelons of the FBI, including the director "
"I thought you said this document just came to your attention."
Reys flashed an irrelevant little smile and continued. "... and we've agreed to offer you a deal. Plead guilty to a felony obstruction of justice charge, and we'll recommend that your jail time be limited to six months " Beamon jumped up from his chair and Reys scooted back away from the table. The two men he had come in with stepped forward and blocked Beamon from crawling over the table and strangling the little prick with his ugly tie, answering the question of why they were there.
"What the fuck are you talking about?" Beamon shouted, leaning over the desk as far as he could while still keeping his feet on the carpet.
"You want me to go to jail for not signing a poorly drafted document written by some kid in my office about an investigation in which you have no evidence of wrongdoing? Jesus Christ, by this time next week everyone in the Bureau is going to have a copy of the document I destroyed."
"Would you step back, please?" Reys said. His calm had been restored by the intervention of his two bodyguards.
"What?"
"Step back away from the table."
Beamon took a deep breath and managed to construct a facade that would pass for outward calm. When he complied, Reys matched him with a step forward.
"You didn't let me finish, Mr. Beamon. If you agree to this, you'll retire with your full pension. If not, the FBI is willing to use whatever resources necessary to prosecute you to the full extent of the law. You'll spend hundreds of thousands of dollars on a defense. I understand that you lost most of your savings in the market crash. If you lose, you're looking at bankruptcy and a potential ten-year jail term. Even if you win, you're still bankrupt, but with no pension."
Beamon felt everything come crashing down on him. Twenty plus years sleeping, eating and breathing the FBI, and this is how it was going to end for him. He wanted to say something that would express that, that would let Reys know what the political machine pulling his strings had done. How he was destroying a man's life for nothing more than the off chance it might cool the heat a bunch of amoral political hacks had brought down on themselves. But what words could do that? In the end, he just turned away and started walking toward the door.
"Three weeks, Mr. Beamon," Reys called after him.
"I'll give you three weeks to make a decision. I think that's more than generous under the circumstances."
Uome ON, Tristan!"
"I'm trying!" His voice was strained and he was breathing harder than he should have been.
"Well, try harder!"
Darby stretched her arm further around his bare waist, attempting to support a little more of his body weight. They were both sweating profusely and he was getting more slippery with every step.
The forest had closed in quickly behind them and was becoming increasingly dense as they fought their
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