Read Online Horns of the Devil - Jeff Trask [02] by Marc Rainer - Free Book Online Page B

secretary on the way out. Trask noticed that the lovely Marissa’s smile lingered twice as long on the face of Special Agent Michael Crawford as it did for either Doroz or himself.
    “I think old eye patch recognized one of those photos,” Trask said as they walked back toward Dupont Circle.
    “How do you figure that?” Murphy asked.
    “Just a feeling. Don’t you guys keep some sort of roster of personnel for foreign embassies?”
    “Yes. It’s called the Diplomatic List. Why?”
    “I’d be interested in seeing whatever information you have about the deputy chief of mission,” Trask said.
    “And why is that?”
    “Call it a feeling again, Murph. Call it whatever you want to. Is there a problem furnishing us that info?”
    “Probably not, but I may have to get the Secretary’s approval. It’s on a need-to-know basis, that sort of thing.”
    “See what you can do, please.” Trask looked at Murphy and smiled. “Tell the Secretary that my US Attorney is personally interested in the matter, and that we’d appreciate being kept ‘in the loop’ on our own investigation.”
    “Of course.” Murphy was not smiling now. The train slowed. “This is my stop. I’m heading back to State. You fellows have a nice day.”
    “I’m with you, Jeff,” Doroz said after the doors closed again. “Darth Vader recognized that photo. The fourth one, Morales.”
    “What’s up with the State Department wanting to guard this Diplomatic List?” Crawford asked.
    “State has always operated under the theory of ‘don’t make waves.’” Doroz said. “When you have to try and solve problems by talking them to death, you don’t want to see the problem in the first place. A lot of times, the messenger who brings the problem in gets shot—figuratively, of course. State hates real bullets.
    “Murphy was probably hoping it would be either a quick solution—photo recognized, case closed—or a case of random violence with no repercussions for anyone. The last thing he wants is complications, especially complications over which State has no control. Don’t sweat the info, though. We’ll get it. If not from State, then through some of our other sources.”
    Meaning CIA, Trask said to himself. That’ll stir the pot.
    “Speaking of sources,” Doroz continued, “it seems that our man Puddin’ here was really cultivating one in the embassy. Think you can handle her, Mr. Crawford?”
    Crawford was blushing again.
    “Just remember to register her on the appropriate official Bureau forms when she starts providing you information,” Doroz prodded. “You did have your cell phone number written on the back of your business card, didn’t you, Mike?”
    “You told me to put it on all my cards,” Crawford protested.
    “Good man,” Doroz said as the cell phone on Crawford’s belt began to chime. “Wonder who that could be.”
    “I better stop and take it here,” Crawford said as they neared the down escalator to the Metro.
    “Yep, wouldn’t want to lose that signal,” Doroz agreed.
    Trask started humming a song.
    “What’s that?” Crawford asked, holding the Blackberry to his ear.
    “ Hot Child in the City . Nick Gilder. 1978. Before your time.” Trask’s fingers drummed the beat on the handrail as he descended into the Metro.

    Trask and Doroz walked back through Judiciary Square, reached the FBI field office, and took the elevator to the squad room. Trask saw Lynn at her computer terminal.
    “Hi, babe. Violate any international protocol this morning?” she asked.
    “He did fine, as usual,” Doroz said, slapping him on the back. “The ambassador said he ought to go into the foreign service.”
    “Not without me,” she said.
    “No worries there,” Trask said. “But with the permission of the squad supervisor, I’d like the squad analyst to see what she can find out about a couple of things.”
    “Granted,” Doroz said.
    “Give me a rundown on anti-gang initiatives undertaken by the ARENA party before