13. Saving Katz
To Land, I said, “Fascinating case. Good luck with it.” To Daffy, I said, “I’ll send Roth the bill for my expenses.” Assistant Director Roth was Agency’s contact at the Bureau, the one who’d asked for me.
If Daffy’d had wine to splutter with, he would have. “What the Hell—did I miss something here, Arklow? Or did you?”
I spread my hands in mock-apology. “I’m sure Roth told you: I work only on what interests me, while it interests me.”
The Southern gentleman in Daffy took a step back. “What the fuck’s not to interest you? The case got bigger and your role with it. Free upgrade. You’ll get whatever you need. Analysts to assist you. This thing’s right up your alley.”
I shrugged. “I agreed to meet Special Agent Katz and decide if I’d help with her puzzle. Worthwhile puzzle, congenial collaborator. Now the context has changed. I’ve plenty of other work to do.”
Daffy made a show of glancing around the terrace. “Always the same. It’s after-dinner drinks time and not a damn waiter in sight. Agent Katz, do us a favor and get us something from the bar. Make mine a cocktail. One that takes a long time to build.”
Katz sat still for several seconds, getting more red than before. Then, without a word, she rose and marched to the side of the bar facing the outdoor terrace. She climbed onto a stool and waved over a barman.
I stretched out my legs and waited. Land assumed his earlier posture, long legs crossed, hands clasped over one knee, attentive but detached. Let the boss deal with the politics.
“What’s your problem, Arklow?” asked Daffy. It was almost a bark.
“I have no problem at all, Daffy.”
“All right, what would entice you to bestow upon us the boon of your celebrated genius?” His voice dripped honey-sweet with sarcasm.
“Sorry, I don’t have a list. It’s a matter of feelings.”
“Pray, how would your feelings like to be stroked?” The sarcasm was becoming acid.
“Thought I made that clear. Agent Katz and I work well together. She’s bright and understands technical aspects of the case better than I do. Her skills complement mine. I had a good feeling about that collaboration.”
As I said the words, I realized I’d better stay clear of logic, or I’d talk myself into a hole. There wasn’t a good rationale to insist on working with Katz. Truth was, I just liked the idea of it. I was the kid who’d made a new friend, then been told I couldn’t play with her anymore. My reaction? Stubborn, pig-headed revolt. I was gonna hold my breath till I turned blue. It wasn’t rational.
Here’s the thing, though. I can afford to be irrational from time to time. In fact, I make a point of it. Makes me hard to predict. Reassures me I’m human.
Plus, Esther Katz had saved my ass from Barston. I owed her one.
Daffy lifted his hands dramatically. “Technical skills? Not a problem. Doug can team you up with a roomful of computer geeks, if that’s what it takes.”
Easy one. “Do you really think techies without intuition for the case would help?” I already knew he didn’t. His reaction to mechanical approaches like Pythia told me that.
Daffy scowled, sourly. “What, then?”
Like that was a stage cue, a waiter arrived with a glass of cognac for me. Katz must have sent it. I glanced her way. She sat hunched over a second half-pint of beer like it was her sixth bourbon. The barman was doing a jig with his shaker.
I slipped into consulting magician mode, the cognac glass my wand. “Let me help you with your Katz quandary.” I knew they thought of her as yesterday’s solved problem, but I ignored that. “Agent Land, what would you say are the essential qualities of a good FBI agent?”
Land smiled that slow smile of his. Likely, he smelled a trap. “They’re in our recruiting material. Fidelity. Bravery. Integrity. From experience, I’d add intelligence, imagination, and determination.”
“Not big muscles?”
Daffy answered, still scowling. “If you’re making the point that she’s good material, don’t bother. We know that—she passed training. All my agents are smart. Some are more experienced than others, that’s all.”
“They all passed training,” I conceded. “So one recruit’s as good as another, right? When there’s funding for new recruits—funding for a Pythia field investigation team, for example—you don’t have to bother checking the profiles that pass your desk. You just pick as many off the top as your budget allows. And Agent Katz happened to be in that bunch.”
Daffy opened his mouth, then shut it and glared at me with slitted eyes. I bet he was feeling off-balance without a drink in his hand.
Land’s smile grew. It wasn’t him in the trap. He rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and mused, “I recall spending three evenings sweating Academy graduate profiles with you, Daffy—whittling them down, debating them, interviewing our picks. Figuring who’d have the most potential in case the Pythia program failed.”
I’d begun to like Land.
“That’s clever,” I said. “Use the money to grab the top recruits, even if you’re doubtful about the project.”
Land nodded. “It’s what I’ve always admired about Daffy. With him, it’s all about getting and holding onto the best people. It’s how he got where he is.”
“Oh, go to Hell,” growled Daffy.
At the bar, Katz hadn’t moved. The barman was twirling a block of ice with tongs, shaving it with a cleaver. He was putting on quite a show, like he was trying to cheer her up.
“Let me make some guesses about Katz’s profile,” I mused. “Her background was unusual, coming directly from industry.”
“Yep,” agreed Land. “The Bureau can accept applicants with no law enforcement experience, but many have some. Law students who don’t make the bar, forensics students, ambitious police academy kids with a couple of years on a force. There are often parents behind them who’d hoped for more, but won’t settle for less than the Bureau. Katz’s admission profile had no law enforcement, only a year of work experience, and none of those glowing testimonials from family connections. She’s at the bottom of the allowed age range. She might not have got into the program if recruiting hadn’t been down.”
“I bet her profile was uneven, too,” I said.
“Train wreck,” muttered Daffy.
“Uneven,” said Land.
“She could hardly drive, for example.” I watched Land’s eyes as I spoke, since he seemed to know her background. Unlike Katz, he had a good poker face. But I’m a good reader.
Land’s eyes gleamed at me. “True, when she started. Nearly derailed her. But at Quantico, she took every course, including the ‘crash course’. You get into a crash and risk actual injury. She took that one twice. From her expense reports, I know she’s still taking advanced training, like motorcycles and heavy vehicles.”
He was talking a lot for a taciturn guy. I figured he was talking for Daffy’s sake. Reminding him.
“Never touched a gun,” I said.
“True, that. But she earned a decent qualification score. Does range practice on weekends.”
“No martial arts.” I was less sure of myself there.
“Not since high school judo. She got clobbered by her classmates at Quantico—she’s on the light side—but stuck to it.”
I gently swirled the cognac. “I bet she got mixed results in case exercises. Good at tactics, not so good at taking the shot.” In case exercises, the FBI puts trainees through realistic scenarios that would give some people nightmares. Arrest the bad guys or take them down or get shot or shoot the wrong person by mistake. The last is the worst.
“Took a paint ball twice,” said Land. “Never hit the wrong target, though. That saved her, but the results got her pegged for an analyst’s job.”
“Bet nobody told her that.”
“Nope.”
I continued. “But she did fine on the physical fitness tests.”
“Yep. She ran the New York marathon in three hours. That’s top one percent for women. Tournament fencer, too.”
“Hard worker.”
“Hardly sleeps, according to her FTO.”
“Brilliant student.”
“Took the honor at her academy graduation. She speaks German, Russian, and some French, Hebrew, and ASL. Double Masters at NYU. Published a paper on machine learning that got attention and was offered a full scholarship to do a PhD. Accepting an offer from IBM Research was a mistake for her. That project has NSA funding. They’d put your brain in a freezer if they could.”
“We’re all entitled to one career mistake.” I looked at Daffy. “Or two.”
Daffy showed me the finger. So much for Southern gentleman.
I turned back to Land. “You do a complete psychometric assessment of each trainee, including two versions of the IQ test.”
“We don’t share the results even with the recruits,” said Land, narrowing his eyes.
“I’ll guess her composite score, anyway.” I gave Land a range high on the scale.
Nailed it. I could see it in his eyes.
I tossed in my last ring. “She’s got quirks, like everyone—things some people would hide. But she was candid about them.” I could guess at a couple, but what they were wasn’t relevant.
“Straight shooter, far as we know,” said Land.
I raised my glass so that it gleamed in the pergola lights. The magician’s finale. “Now, let’s go back to your list. Fidelity, bravery, integrity, imagination, intelligence, and determination. I can vouch for imagination and intelligence. Good intuition, too. Does she fall down on any others? She chicken or something?”
Land shook his head. “I watched the video of that chase. Not chicken. And not stupid. Some would have got into a gunfight halfway through.”
I looked down my nose at Daffy. “In conclusion, her profile was uneven, but outstanding in ways that made her one of your top picks. Begs the question: how did Deputy AD Krome parlay his program’s failure into jacking your top picks out from under you? Perhaps he’s not an idiot.”
I took a sip of cognac and glanced towards the bar. That put Daffy out of view, but I swear I could hear his teeth grinding.
Katz was standing. The barman was making a last flourish with an oversized salt shaker.
Daffy’s voice, harsh and tense. “My agent was nearly killed because you have some history with boogaloos. But Barston’s an amateur. Some of his terrorist playmates are far worse than him. We can’t put a desk analyst fresh out of training on a counter-terrorism op.”
I turned to look levelly at him. “How you organize your people is your affair. I’m only saying that a condition for me to consult on the matter is that Special Agent Katz is my Bureau point of contact. Good chance that’s going to be difficult for you if she’s working for Krome.”
Daffy and Land looked at each other.
Katz arrived, bearing a tray with drinks on it.
One was a whisky. That’d be for Land. The other was a foot-high, broad-rimmed goblet carved from a block of ice. In it, a smaller ice island turned slowly in a sea of blue-green liquor. Orange-peel sharks floated in the sea. On top of the island was a beach scene fashioned from salt, fruit, and cocktail umbrellas.
Katz plunked it down in front of Daffy. “Your cocktail, sir. It was the one the guy said would take longest to build. Kind of expensive, though. I put it on your tab.”
When I bid the agents goodnight, Land was still having fits of laughter.