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having this information on another computer system just increases the odds of a breach.’

    ‘That may be, but if we limit the computers this information is on, any breach will be easier to trace.’
    Annie gave him the kind of sweet smile you gave to the mentally deficient. ‘So, the criminals you tapped at the seminar to do your dirty work for you aren’t getting a look-see at this stuff?’
    Smith’s spine straightened imperceptibly. Apparently the Feds didn’t mind encouraging law-breaking when it suited their purpose; they just didn’t like to hear it spoken aloud.
    ‘Oh, come on. Let’s cut to the chase here. You’ve got posts of real live murders the FBI can’t track, at least not legally, because the servers are registered in countries where U.S. access is denied. So what do you do? You call in a bunch of salivating hackers and tell them that if they try to access these foreign server accounts they will be in violation of international law. Good grief. Talk about dragging a slab of bacon in front of a bunch of wild dogs.’
    ‘I can assure you that was not the Bureau’s intention.’
    ‘Yeah, right. And these eyelashes are real. The point is, we don’t give a gnat’s ass about your text files. Don’t even have to look them over. But if you want us to write software that differentiates real murders from staged ones, we need to download the videos of those bodies in the five cities.’
    ‘I am not authorized to give you permission to do that.’
    Harley moved the mass of his body a step closer to Smith. To his credit, the smaller man held his ground. ‘We’re going to download the videos. Are you going to fink us out?’
    It took Smith a minute to remember what
fink
meant. He
    ‘I just told you we’re going to do that.’
    ‘Yes you did. But in my opinion, that was bravado. I do not think it was sincere; therefore I will not report it.’
    Annie tucked her hands into her hips and tapped a toe on the marble floor. Agent Smith watched the toe moving up and down, mesmerized. ‘I can’t decide if your instructions are to handle us just like those other poor fools at the seminar, or if you might actually be a good guy.’
    ‘I have never been accused of being a good guy.’
    ‘Uh-huh. You want some chili before we get to work, darlin’?’
    ‘No, thank you very much for the offer.’
    ‘How about a beer?’ Harley raised his own bottle.
    ‘FBI agents do not drink alchololic beverages on duty, sir.’
    ‘Yeah, yeah, and FBI agents are always on duty, right?’
    ‘Precisely.’
    ‘Well, I guess that makes my goals pretty clear here. Before you leave I’m going to see you totally snockered with three belly dancers sitting on your chest and a really great Cuban cigar stuck between your teeth. Let’s get up to the office.’
    For the first time in his career, John Smith was conflicted. When you boiled it all down, this whole assignment required that he consort with the kind of criminals he’d spent his life trying to convict. Who knows how many laws these people had broken. Besides, they looked weird. And they all carried concealed weapons. On the other hand, they were
    What the hell do you think you’re going to get from the Feds?
    That had been his dad, a D.C. beat cop for thirty years, totally psyched on instinct and puzzle-solving, totally down on a bunch of suits who thought academia trumped people skills.
    You got the Feds, who think those of us in the trenches are pretty much part of the trash they’re trying to sweep under the rug, and then you got the cops, who know the people on the streets and do the hard work separating the bad guys from the good guys. And here you are, choosing the high road that doesn’t know shit about what’s real.
    His dad hadn’t come to his graduation; hadn’t even sent a card when he’d made agent, but he’d read his future in a bottle of Pabst when John had come home for his uncle’s funeral.
    They’ll eat you up for your first ten years, use you