Taylor asked, “Are we being relieved of our duties?”
Whitmore replied, “I have no authority to do that. But it is my role to advise your superiors of any actions I believe might improve the cooperation between American and German law enforcement. And even setting aside your blatant disregard for jurisdictional boundaries and your cavalier behavior which endangered your lives as well as the success of this investigation, the nature of this case has fundamentally changed since this morning. I will be recommending to the Provost Marshal General that he dispatch a team from the Fifth MP to take over the CID’s role in this investigation, specifically a team from the Terrorism and Criminal Investigation Unit in which Mr. Vance served. They will have a more comprehensiveunderstanding of the national security context behind the assassination of Mr. Vance and the planned assassination of Mr. Jenkins.”
Brodie was sure that General Hackett would jump at an excuse to summon them back to the States. Would Colonel Dombroski have their backs? Hard to say. Did they evenwantthis case if the legal attaché was treating them like this? Well, yes. Wounded pride is no excuse to abandon your duty.
As for Ms. Whitmore, she was a diplomat, and she wouldn’t risk alienating the two CID agents on her team unless she was fairly confident that her recommendation was enough to send them home. Of course, she could have done this all behind their backs, without this face-to-face meeting. But that wasn’t the Bureau’s way. She was required to brief them until the moment they were no longer assigned to this case. In the FBI, even betrayal was by-the-book.
Whitmore assured them, “This is not personal. I am doing my job, which is to shepherd this case to a successful conclusion.”
Brodie said, “A good shepherd can spot the wolves in sheep’s clothing.”
She stared at him with her unblinking brown eyes. “And who is that, in your estimation?”
“I don’t know yet,” replied Brodie. “But it’s not us.” He dug a scrap of paper out of his jacket pocket and tossed it on the table.
Whitmore picked up the paper and looked at it. “A phone number.”
“For a man named Hasan. He is a congregant at the Al Mahdi Islamic Center in Neukölln, and he put Harry Vance in touch with Rafeeq Nasir. He lied to German investigators about this, out of fear of reprisal from Nasir, but he is now prepared to amend his statement.”
Butler asked, “Last name?”
“We’ll leave the detective work to you.” Brodie looked at a note on his phone, then jotted another name and number on the pad in front of him and slid it across the table. “And this is Faruk. Works at the Ember Berlin hookah lounge on Karl-Marx Straße in Neukölln. He saw Mr. Vance the night of his murder. He also lied to German investigators, and for a similar reason to why Hasan lied. The Lebanese mobs in Neukölln have a lot of power, and people are easily intimidated by them. Faruk is also ready to amend his official statement.”
If Jason Butler was impressed, he didn’t say so, but he did say, “I don’t know how you found these people—or how they found you—but it appears that they told you what you wanted to hear, or what they wanted you to hear. In any case, it seems that you have stepped into off-limits territory.”
“That’s where all the answers are, Jason.”
Butler had no reply.
Taylor, following her partner’s lead, transcribed a note from her phone to her pad and slid it over. “And this is the address and phone number for Anna Albrecht, Harry’s lover here in Berlin. We interviewed her in person, at her apartment, and she had some interesting stories to tell that she is ready to repeat to the German authorities.” She added, “Mr. Vance’s personal effects are in her apartment.”
Except, thought Brodie, for the microscope slide that he had in his pocket, and which he decided not to hand over.
Whitmore remained poker-faced as she stared at the pad containing Anna Albrecht’s contact info, but Jason Butler looked like he’d lost another hand of five-card stud. He asked, “How did you find her?”
Brodie replied, “We were looking for her. We find people we’re looking for.”
Butler had no response to Brodie’s arrogance, but informed Brodie and Taylor, “This woman had an intimate relationship with the murder victim and did not identify herself to the police. She could be a flight risk. And if she skips town—”
Brodie interrupted, “It was obvious to us within three minutes of meeting her that she was a witness, not a suspect.” He added, because he and Taylor were going to be sacked anyway, “I’m sure it would be obvious even to an FBI agent, Jason.”
Butler did not reply directly to the insult, but said, “You know, I began my FBI career in the Boston field office. I often had to work with local law enforcement. Staties were mostly professional. But the Boston detectives… the cops… they were always about their instincts, theirguts. A lot of posturing and BS from little cowboys with big chips on their shoulders. And when it hit the fan, you couldn’t count on them. You’d see the fraud you always knew was there.”
Brodie said, “I’m sure the feeling was mutual.”
Whitmore said, “Gentlemen, please.”
Brodie enjoyed a good pissing match, but it was time to return to business. He took Harry Vance’s passport from his pocket and put it on the table in front of Whitmore. “We took this from Mr. Vance’s personal possessions that were in Ms. Albrecht’s apartment. It is the property of the United States government, and I return it to you.”
Whitmore opened the passport and flipped through it, but said nothing.
Taylor said to FBI Agents Whitmore and Butler, “My instincts tell me you’re not going to congratulate us on a job well done.”
Neither Whitmore nor Butler responded, but Butler said, “You’ll write a report on all this… all you’ve done since you’ve been here. And if Ms. Albrecht skips town, you’re in a world of trouble.”
Brodie assured him, “We can find her again.”
Whitmore was looking increasingly uncomfortable with this conversation and placed her hand on Butler’s arm, which was enough to shut him up.
