Read Online Murder at the FBI by Margaret Truman - Free Book Online Page B

finally said, “Mr. Teng, I’m Special Agent Jacob Stein. I’m the one who’ll be talking with you. Maybe you can help straighten this out.”
    The severe expression of Teng’s face never changed as he said in perfect English, “Mr. Gormley wishes Mr. Griffith to be present during our talk.”
    “That may be true, sir, but I can’t proceed without his direct authorization.”
    Griffith, who’d sustained his pleasant facade, now appeared to be losing patience. He said, “If that’s true, Mr. Stein, I suggest you obtain it or conclude this little get-together. Mr. Teng and I have busy schedules.”
    “So do I, Mr. Griffith. I’ll see what I can do in the next ten minutes.”
    Stein hurried to the Ranger suite and found Chris Saksis in the computer room reading a print-out Barbara Twain had just given her. He quickly explained the situation and they went to Lizenby’s office. He wasn’t there.
    “I don’t know what to tell you,” Saksis said. “Maybe Griffith is from the CIA. They’re the ones who brought Teng over here.”
    One of the secretaries came to the door and said, “Mr. Stein, there’s a call for you. Assistant Director Gormley.
    Stein looked at Saksis. “He’s never called
me
before,” he said, going to a phone and picking it up. “Special Agent Stein here.”
    “This is Assistant Director Gormley, Mr. Stein. The interview with Mr. Teng can go forward as scheduled
with
Mr. Griffith present.”
    “Yes, sir, I just wanted to hear it from higher authority.”
    “I appreciate that. You now have it from higher authority.”
    “Yes, sir. Mr. Griffith—is he agency personnel?”
    “No, but that doesn’t impact on you or your interview. Simply proceed and treat Mr. Teng with tact and courtesy.”
    “Yes, sir, I intended to do that from the beginning. Sir.”
    “Yes?”
    “I would like to call you back just to confirm that I’m speaking with you.”
    “Mr. Stein, that’s… Yes, of course.”
    The return call to Gormley’s number was picked up immediately.
    “Thank you, sir,” Stein said as he hung up.
    Saksis, who’d been standing behind Stein, started laughing.
    “What’s so funny?” he asked. “Standard procedure. How the hell do I know it isn’t somebody talking like Gormley and—?”
    “I’m not arguing, Jake, it’s just a first for me.”
    “Me, too,” he said, grinning. “I’ll be back.”
    Walter Teng’s face defined the word impassive, a flat mask of noncommitment. He wore a cream-colored Mao suit. On the pinky of his right hand was a large diamond ring. There was a small tattoo on the back of his right hand. It was blue and green, and looked to Jake Stein like a large dog, or wolf with its fangs bared.
    The first time Stein had seen Teng walking around the building he could think only of old war movies in which a Japanese camp commandant extracted information from downed American flyers. Of course, Teng was Chinese, not Japanese, but that was a minor hitch in Stein’s vision of the squat, powerfully built Asian.
    Stein knew why Teng had been in the Hoover Building for the past two months. The Central Intelligence Agency had arranged for Teng to receive training, first at Quantico, then at headquarters, so that he could return to China to update its own version of the FBI.
    It had been a top-secret project until columnist Jack Anderson broke the story and questioned whether the training would be used to enhance the secret and powerful police force to carry out Communist policies. George Pritchard, before his demise, had voiced loud objections to the project, which had not endeared him to the bureau hierarchy. He’d confined his comments, of course, to within the bureau, but he’d been vocal enough to receive a reprimand from Assistant Director Gormley, and to prompt a heated and not very private argument with the CIA’s liaison at the bureau, Bert Doering.
    Hoyt Griffith carefully arranged himself in a stuffed chair and quietly observed as Jacob Stein placed