blanche for a period of time and reasonable funds. Reactivate me as a special-team leader. If anyone fails, it can be me.”
T.C.’s eyes went cold as old steel. He crossed his arms. Paul was losing him. “You don’t want to return? Doesn’t sound that way from here.”
“One shot, T.C. You’ll get one hundred percent of the credit when we find him. He won’t be alive to remember the past. Anyone’s past.”
T.C. seemed to be weighing the proposition. “We’re not talking about a sanction here? Breaking and entering, shooting things up, rampant muscle? Keeping the man healthy was your calling in life.”
“We both know the DEA doesn’t plan deaths. Evenplanning the deaths of monsters like Martin Fletcher would have been illegal.”
T.C. looked uncomfortable. “Of course. I’d like to help you. But I really can’t see any advantage. And our budget is limited. Bastard senators on the Appropriations Committee have clipped my wings. They’re destroying this country, Paul. Drugs pouring in from everywhere. They don’t want them stopped because it would be bad for the law-enforcement business.”
“You don’t see a political advantage to letting me get Martin?”
“I’ll be frank. If Martin Fletcher is fool enough to be back in the country, we can find him without you. The FBI can deal with him, it’s their job. If you are back in the administrative saddle, you pose a political threat because people liked you—hell, they probably still do. There are a few people in high places who would do anything to help you.”
“Physically, T.C.”—Paul pulled the wounded hand from the pocket, and it trembled visibly until he returned it to the pocket—“I can’t do what I could.”
“Your apparent handicaps aren’t enough to keep you inactive. I’ve read your meds. The hand’ll get better. Besides, look at Bob Dole. Never one hundred percent, but who the hell is? A little plastic surgery and you’ll be good as new. And with Jack McMillan behind you—”
“I told you, Jack isn’t.”
“There are people who’d help you on the off chance it might please Jack McMillan. Frankly, Paul, I can see nothing but a downside for me, politically speaking, and I’m a political animal. Maybe if you could get Jack to help me be appointed director once and for all? That isn’t much for the man to do. One phone call to the right cigar-chomping dinosaur, and I’m a shoo-in.”
Paul sat up on the edge of his chair. “Jack McMillan is a friend of mine, and I don’t use my friends. If I did, he wouldn’t be a friend.”
“Jack McMillan is probably the most powerful man in this town.” He smiled. “If you’ll talk to him about me and swear you won’t come back into the DEA, I’ll giveyou my American Express card and my wife, and you can cut Martin Fletcher’s throat at high noon on the White House lawn with Robert E. Lee’s sword.”
Paul shrugged,
“You can do that, Masterson. McMillan owes you a life. Surely you haven’t used up that favor. Favorite son. I’m sure a word from you and—”
“I wouldn’t ask him for that.”
“Because he wouldn’t do it?”
“No, T.C. He would do it. Fact is I don’t need his help for this. You are going to do what I’m asking.”
“Why do you imagine that? You need to have the rocks in your head changed. Why would I?”
“It’s the only thing you can do.”
T.C.’s face grew red as his anger built. “You wouldn’t have him drop weight on me? I have my friends, too, Paul.”
Paul leaned in toward T.C.’s chair. “Normally I wouldn’t see him or speak to him for any favor, and neither would I ask him to use his power against anyone on my behalf. But don’t forget that we’re talking about my family’s safety. This is one hundred percent personal. If anything, and I do mean anything, happens to my family, you won’t have to worry about what Jack McMillan does. There won’t be enough of you left to do anything to.”
T.C. stood, his face
T.C.’s eyes went cold as old steel. He crossed his arms. Paul was losing him. “You don’t want to return? Doesn’t sound that way from here.”
“One shot, T.C. You’ll get one hundred percent of the credit when we find him. He won’t be alive to remember the past. Anyone’s past.”
T.C. seemed to be weighing the proposition. “We’re not talking about a sanction here? Breaking and entering, shooting things up, rampant muscle? Keeping the man healthy was your calling in life.”
“We both know the DEA doesn’t plan deaths. Evenplanning the deaths of monsters like Martin Fletcher would have been illegal.”
T.C. looked uncomfortable. “Of course. I’d like to help you. But I really can’t see any advantage. And our budget is limited. Bastard senators on the Appropriations Committee have clipped my wings. They’re destroying this country, Paul. Drugs pouring in from everywhere. They don’t want them stopped because it would be bad for the law-enforcement business.”
“You don’t see a political advantage to letting me get Martin?”
“I’ll be frank. If Martin Fletcher is fool enough to be back in the country, we can find him without you. The FBI can deal with him, it’s their job. If you are back in the administrative saddle, you pose a political threat because people liked you—hell, they probably still do. There are a few people in high places who would do anything to help you.”
“Physically, T.C.”—Paul pulled the wounded hand from the pocket, and it trembled visibly until he returned it to the pocket—“I can’t do what I could.”
“Your apparent handicaps aren’t enough to keep you inactive. I’ve read your meds. The hand’ll get better. Besides, look at Bob Dole. Never one hundred percent, but who the hell is? A little plastic surgery and you’ll be good as new. And with Jack McMillan behind you—”
“I told you, Jack isn’t.”
“There are people who’d help you on the off chance it might please Jack McMillan. Frankly, Paul, I can see nothing but a downside for me, politically speaking, and I’m a political animal. Maybe if you could get Jack to help me be appointed director once and for all? That isn’t much for the man to do. One phone call to the right cigar-chomping dinosaur, and I’m a shoo-in.”
Paul sat up on the edge of his chair. “Jack McMillan is a friend of mine, and I don’t use my friends. If I did, he wouldn’t be a friend.”
“Jack McMillan is probably the most powerful man in this town.” He smiled. “If you’ll talk to him about me and swear you won’t come back into the DEA, I’ll giveyou my American Express card and my wife, and you can cut Martin Fletcher’s throat at high noon on the White House lawn with Robert E. Lee’s sword.”
Paul shrugged,
“You can do that, Masterson. McMillan owes you a life. Surely you haven’t used up that favor. Favorite son. I’m sure a word from you and—”
“I wouldn’t ask him for that.”
“Because he wouldn’t do it?”
“No, T.C. He would do it. Fact is I don’t need his help for this. You are going to do what I’m asking.”
“Why do you imagine that? You need to have the rocks in your head changed. Why would I?”
“It’s the only thing you can do.”
T.C.’s face grew red as his anger built. “You wouldn’t have him drop weight on me? I have my friends, too, Paul.”
Paul leaned in toward T.C.’s chair. “Normally I wouldn’t see him or speak to him for any favor, and neither would I ask him to use his power against anyone on my behalf. But don’t forget that we’re talking about my family’s safety. This is one hundred percent personal. If anything, and I do mean anything, happens to my family, you won’t have to worry about what Jack McMillan does. There won’t be enough of you left to do anything to.”
T.C. stood, his face
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