Ours has to do with matters touching on national security.”
“I don’t have that kind of clearance,” Anna put in quickly.
“Actually”—Bartlett allowed himself a small smile—“you do now.”
Had she been cleared without her knowledge? “Regardless. It’s not my terrain.”
“That’s not strictly the case, is it?” Bartlett said. “Why don’t we talk about the NSC member you did a Code 33 on last year?”
“How the hell do you know about that?” Anna blurted. She gripped the arm of her chair. “ Sorry . But how? That one was strictly off the books. By the direct request of the AG.”
“Off your books,” Bartlett said. “We have our own way of keeping tabs. Joseph Nesbett, wasn’t it? Used to be at the Harvard Center for Economic Development. Got a high-level appointment at State, then on to the National Security Council. Not born bad, shall we say? Left to his own devices, I suspect he’d be all right, but the young wife was a bit of a spendthrift, a rather grasping creature, wasn’t she? Expensive tastes for a government employee. Which led to that lamentable business with the offshore accounts, the diversion of funds, all of it.”
“It would have been devastating had it come out,” Anna said. “Damaging to foreign relations at a particularly sensitive moment.”
“Not to mention the embarrassment to the Administration.”
“That wasn’t a primary consideration,” Anna retorted sharply. “I’m not political that way. If you think otherwise, you don’t know me.”
“You and your colleagues did precisely the right thing, Ms. Navarro. We admired your work, in fact. Very deft. Very deft.”
“Thank you,” Anna said. “But if you know so much, you’ll know that it was far from my usual turf.”
“My point remains. You’ve done work of genuine sensitivity and displayed the utmost discretion. But of course I know what your daily fare consists of. The IRS man guilty of peculation. The rogue FBI officer. The unpleasantness involving Witness Protection—now, that was quite an interesting little exercise. Your background in homicide forensics was indispensable there. A mob witness is killed, and you single-handedly proved the involvement of the DOJ case officer.”
“A lucky break,” Anna said stolidly.
“People make their own luck, Ms. Navarro,” he said, and his eyes were unsmiling. “We know quite a bit about you, Ms. Navarro. More than you might imagine. We know the account balances on that ATM slip you were writing on. We know who your friends are, and when you last called home. We know you’ve never padded a travel-and-expense report in your life, which is more than most of us can say.” He paused, peering at her closely. “I’m sorry if any of this causes you disquiet, but you realize that you relinquished any civil rights to privacy when you joined the OSI, signed the disclaimers and the memoranda of agreement. No matter. The fact is that your work has invariably been of a very high caliber. And quite often extraordinary.”
She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.
“Ah. You look surprised. I told you, we have our own way of keeping tabs. And we have our own fitnessreports, Ms. Navarro. Of course, what immediately distinguishes you, given our concerns, is your particular combination of skills. You have a background in the standard ‘audit’ and investigative protocols, but you also have an expertise in homicide. This makes you, may I say, unique. But to the matter at hand. It’s only fair to let you know that we’ve done the most thorough background check on you imaginable. Everything I’m going to tell you—anything I state, assert, conjecture, suggest, or imply—must be regarded as classified at the topmost level. Do we understand each other?”
Anna nodded. “I’m listening.”
“Excellent, Ms. Navarro.” Bartlett handed her a sheet of paper with a list of names on it, followed by dates of birth and countries of residence.
“I’m not
Learning to Kill: Stories