CHAPTER 16
GLARING IN DISGUST at the early evening street, Smith stamped the pavement angrily in front of the Old Mansion on Pennsylvania.
“I’m on the carpet and you lost her. This is f*****g incredible.” He eyed the large black Lincoln warily as it pulled up.
“Stay on it, you ugly bastard.” Smith hung up as the door opened and Thomas Moffett, Director of the FBI, leaned over to wave him inside.
He crept into the seat facing Moffett, grimacing as he sat on one buttock without being too obvious, easing a hand back to massage the aching spot.
“I heard she tagged you,” his boss gave him the once over from across the aisle. Smith dropped the pretense. It was all over the Bureau.
“Right, you’re almost presentable!” The Lincoln moved and the monstrous Old Mansion banked away like a silent
