“We’re FBI agents,” Begley continued, “and I’d like for you to reholster your weapon before you shoot somebody, namely me.”
The policeman was young, under thirty by several years unless Hoot missed his guess. SAC Begley’s nutcracker and authoritative tone flustered him. Only after his pistol was put away did he remember to ask to see their identification. They complied.
Satisfied that they were who they purported to be, he smartly introduced himself. “Harris. Cleary PD.” He touched the brim of his uniform hat, which was dusted with melting snow. His uniform pants were stuffed into tall rubber boots. His shearling-lined leather bomber jacket looked a size or two too small, preventing his arms from hanging naturally at his sides. They stuck out several degrees from his body.
Gus Elmer scratched his beard as he gawked at Hoot. “You’re an FBI agent? No foolin’?”
“No foolin’,” Begley replied, answering for him.
“So what’re y’all doin’ here? Wha’d’ya want with Mr. Tierney?”
“To talk.”
“ ’Bout what? Is he wanted for somethin’? What’s he did?”
“I’d like to know that myself,” said Harris. “Are you serving an arrest warrant?”
“Nothing like that. We just have a few questions for him.”
“Huh. Questions.” Harris chewed on that for a moment, giving each of them a dubious appraisal. “Have you got a warrant to search these rooms?”
So, Hoot thought, Harris wasn’t as inexperienced as he’d appeared.
Ignoring the question, Begley asked, “Your chief’s name is Burton, correct?”
“Yes, sir. Dutch Burton.”
“Where can I find him?”
“Right now?”
It was such a stupid question, Begley didn’t deign to answer it. He didn’t recognize a timetable other than right now.
When Harris realized his gaffe, he stammered, “Well, uh, I just heard dispatch say the chief was going to round up Cal Hawkins—he has the town’s only sanding truck—then take him over to the drugstore for some coffee.”
“Hoot, do you know where the drugstore is?” Begley asked. Hoot nodded. Begley turned back to Harris. “Tell Chief Burton that we’d like to join him there in half an hour. Got it?”
“I’ll tell him, but he’s anxious to—”
“Nothing is as important as this. You tell him I said that.”
“Yes, sir,” Harris replied. “About that warrant?”
“Later.” Begley rapidly crooked his finger at the young officer, who clumped over to him. Unlike his jacket, his boots seemed a size too large. Begley drew close to him and spoke in an urgent undertone. “If you communicate my message to Chief Burton over your police radio, tell him only that it’s imperative we meet this morning. Don’t mention any names. Do you understand? This is a top-priority, extremely delicate matter. Discretion is vital. Can I count on your confidentiality?”
“Absolutely, sir. I understand.” He touched the brim of his hat again and rushed out.
When Hoot had been reassigned to the bureau office in Charlotte, he’d welcomed the opportunity to serve under its famed director. Up till now, he’d worked with Begley from the sidelines. This was Hoot’s first chance to watch him in action and observe the skills for which he’d become a living legend with other agents and criminals alike. Colleagues learned from him. Lawbreakers learned from him too, but to their detriment.
Although he never discussed his days of service in the Middle East, the story was that Begley had talked himself and three other men out of being executed for conducting intelligence operations against Saddam H
ussein’s regime. Although that was exactly what they were doing, Begley convinced their captors that they had the wrong guys, that it was a case of mistaken identity, and that there would be hell to pay if they were harmed, mistreated in any way, or murdered.
Five days after their capture, the quartet of dusty, thirsty men walked into the lobby of the Hilton Hotel in downtown Baghdad to the amazement of colleagues, diplomats, and media personnel, who’d given them up for dead.
The story had been elaborated with each retelling, but Hoot didn’t doubt the essence of it. Begley was as straight as an arrow, but he had the soul and mind of a con man. His reputation for manipulation was well deserved.
He had revealed nothing of consequence to young Harris but had appealed to his ego by including him in their “top-priority, extremely delicate matter” and thereby made him forget that they didn’t have a search warrant and that, basically, they’d been caught red-handed breaking and entering.