Saving Faith

by David Baldacci

  "It is for my client. A lot of people are counting on this one, Harvey. And most of them can't even walk yet."

  "I hear you."

  "You should take a fact-finding trip over there. I'll go with you.

  It's really beautiful country, you just can't use the land for shit.

  God might have blessed America, but he forgot about a lot of the rest of the world. But they keep going. If you ever think you're having a bad day, it's a good memory to have."

  Milstead coughed. "My schedule is really full, Danny. And you know I'm not running for reelection. Two more years and I'm out of here."

  Okay, shop talk and humanitarian plea time is over, Buchanan thought.

  Now let's play traitor.

  He leaned forward and casually moved his briefcase out of the way. One twist on the handle activated the recording device secreted inside.

  This one's for you, Thornhill, you smug bastard.

  Buchanan cleared his throat. "Well, I guess it's never too early to talk about replacements. I need some people on Foreign Aid and Ops who'll participate in my little retirement program. I can promise them as good as I'll be paying you. They'll want for nothing. They just have to get my agenda done. I'm at the point now where I can't afford defeat on anything. They have to come through for me. That's the only way I can guarantee the payoff at the end. Just like you. You always come through for me, Harvey. Almost ten years and counting, and you always get it done. By hook or crook."

  Milstead glanced at the door and then spoke in a very low voice, as though that made it all better. "I do have some people you might want to talk to." He looked nervous, uncomfortable. "About taking over some of my duties. I haven't broached the issue with them directly, of course, but I'd be surprised if they weren't amenable to some sort of arrangement."

  "That's real good to hear."

  "And you're right to plan ahead. The two years will go quickly."

  "Christ, in two years I might not be here, Harvey."

  The senator smiled warmly. "I didn't think you'd ever retire." He paused. "But I guess you have your heir apparent. How is Faith, by the way? Vivacious as ever, I'm sure."

  "Faith is Faith. You know that."

  "Lucky to have someone like her backing you up."

  "Very lucky," Buchanan said, frowning slightly.

  "Give her my best when you see her. Tell her to come up and see old Harvey. Best mind and legs in the place," he added with a wink To this, Buchanan said nothing.

  The senator sat back against the couch. "I've been in public service half my life. The pay is ridiculous--chickenshit, really, for somebody of my ability and stature. You know what I could earn on the outside.

  That's the trade-off when you serve your country."

  "Absolutely, Harvey. Of course it is." The bribe money is only your due. You earned it.

  "But I don't regret it. Any of it."

  "No reason you should."

  Milstead smiled wearily. "The dollars I've spent over the years rebuilding this country, shaping it for the future, for the next generation. And the next."

  Now it was his money. He saved the country. "People never appreciate that," said Buchanan. "The media only goes after the dirt."

  "Guess I'm just making up for it in my golden years," Milstead said, sounding a little contrite.

  After all these years a little humility, a little guilt remain. "You deserve it. You served your country well. It's all waiting for you.

  Just like we discussed. Better than we discussed. You and Louise will want for nothing. You'll live like a king and queen. You did your job, and you'll reap the rewards. The American way."

  "I'm tired, Danny. Weary to the bones. Between you and me, I'm not sure I can last two more minutes, much less two more years. This place has sucked the life right out of me."

  "You're a true statesman. A hero to us all."

  Buchanan took a deep breath and wondered if Thornhill's boys parked in the van outside were enjoying this sappy exchange. In truth, Buchanan too was looking forward to getting out. He looked at his old friend.

  An expression of giddiness was on the man's features as he no doubt thought of a truly glorious retirement with his wife of thirty-five years, a woman he had cheated on many times, who had always allowed him back. And kept silent about it. The psychology of political wives would be a worthy college course, Buchanan believed.

  In truth, Buchanan had a soft spot for his Townies. They actually had accomplished a lot, and in their own way were some of the most honorable people Buchanan had ever met. And yet the senator had no problem being bought.

  Very soon Harvey Milstead would have a new master. The Thirteenth Amendment to the Constitution had outlawed slavery, but apparently no one had bothered telling Robert Thornhill that. He was turning his friends over to the Devil. That's what troubled Buchanan most of all.

  Thornhill, always Thornhill.

  The men rose and Buchanan and the senator shook hands. "Thank you, Danny. Thank you for everything."

  "Please, don't mention it," Buchanan said. "Please don't." He grabbed his spy briefcase and fled the room.

  CHAPTER 18

  "DEGAUSSED?" REYNOLDS STARED AT THE TWO TECHNICIANS.

  "My tape has been degaussed? Will someone please explain that to me?"

  She had watched the video twenty times now. From every angle possible.

  Or rather, she had watched jagged lines and dots swarm across the screen like a World War I aerial dogfight with heavy doses of ground flack thrown in. She had been sitting here for a very long time and knew no more than when she had first walked in.

  "Without getting too technical-" one of the men started to say.

  "Please don't," Reynolds interjected. Her head was pounding. If the tape was useless? Good God, it can't be.

  ""Degaussing' is the reference term used for the erasure of a magnetic medium. It's done for many reasons, some of the most common being so that the medium can be used again, or to eliminate confidential information that was recorded. A videotape is one of the many forms of magnetic media. What happened to the tape you gave us was an unwanted intrusion al influence that has distorted and/or corrupted the medium, preventing its proper utilization."

  Reynolds stared in wonder at the man. What the hell would his technical answer have been?

  "So you're saying someone intentionally screwed with the tape?" she said.

  "That's right."

  "But couldn't it be a problem with the tape itself? How can you be sure someone 'intruded' upon it?"

  The other technician spoke up. "The level of corruption we've seen in the images so far would preclude that conclusion. We can't be one hundred percent sure, of course, but it really does look like third party interference. From what I understand, the surveillance system used was very sophisticated. A multiplexer with three or four cameras on line, so there was no dwell time gap. How were the units activated?

  Motion or trip?"

  "Motion is better. The systems these days are so sensitive they can pick up a hand reaching for something on a desk in a one-foot-square zone. Trips are obsolete."

  "Thanks, I'll keep that in mind," she said dryly.

  "We did a pixel zoom for detail enhancement, but still nothing.

  Definitely interference."

  Reynolds remembered that the closet at the cottage containing the video equipment had been found open.

  "Okay, how could they have done it?"

  "Well, there's a wide variety of specialized equipment available."

  Reynolds shook her head. "No, were not talking a lab setting. We're looking at doing it on site, where the equipment was set up. And maybe whoever did it wouldn't have even known there was video recording equipment there. So assume that whatever they happened to have with them would have been what they used."

  The techs thought for a moment. "Well," one of them said, "if the person had a powerful magnet and passed it over the recorder a number of times, that could distort the tape by rearrangi
ng the metallic particles, which would, in turn, remove the previously recorded signals."

  Reynolds took a deep, troubled breath. A simple magnet could have blown away her only clue. "Is there any way to get it back, the images on the tape?"

  "It's possible, but it will take some time. We can't make any guarantees until we get in there."

  "Do it. But let me make this real clear." She stood, towering over the two men. "I need to be able to see what's on that tape. I need to be able to see who was in that house. You have no higher priority than that. Check with the AD if you have a conflict, but whatever it takes, twenty-four hours a day. I need it. Understood?"

  The men looked at each other briefly before nodding.

  When Reynolds got back to her office, a man was waiting to see her.

  "Paul." She nodded at him as she sat down.

  Paul Fisher rose and closed the door to Reynolds's office. He was her liaison at Headquarters. He stepped over a pile of documents as he sat back down. "You look like you're overworked, Brooke. You always look like you're overworked. I guess that's what I love about you."

  He smiled and Brooke caught herself smiling back.

  Fisher was one of the few people at the FBI whom Reynolds looked up to, literally, as he was easily six-foot-five. They were about the same age, although Fisher was her superior in the chain of command and had been at the Bureau two years longer. He was competent and assured. He was also handsome, having retained the tousled blond hair and trim figure of his California days at UCLA. After her marriage had started to disintegrate, Reynolds had imagined having an affair with the divorced Fisher. Even now, his unexpected visit made Reynolds feel fortunate she'd had the opportunity to go home, shower and change her clothes.

  Fisher's jacket was off, his shirt draped gracefully over his long torso. He had just come on duty, she knew, although he tended to be around at all hours.

  "I'm sorry about Ken," he said. "I was out of town, or I would've been there last night."

  Reynolds played with a letter opener on her desk. "Not as sorry as I am. And neither of us is anywhere near where Anne Newman is on the sorry meter."

  "I've talked to the SAC," Fisher said, referring to the special agent in charge, "but I want you to tell me about it."

  After she told him what she knew, he rubbed his chin. "Obviously the targets know you're on to them."

  "It would seem so."

  "You're not that far along in the investigation, are you?"