Read Online The Big Scam by Paul Lindsay - Free Book Online Page B

Washington, awaiting any similar opportunity. With the sudden, dramatic arc in his career, Dreagen placed the memory of those left behind into his mental shredder, making room only for those who could bring future advantage. But today was the first day of the month-long inspection, a time when authority’s pecking order was annoyingly jumbled.
    As Lansing entered the office, Dreagen rose dutifully and offered a practiced smile along with his hand. “Chuck, how are you?” From the crooked grin on Lansing’s mouth, Dreagen sensed that he, like all inspectors, expected to be treated with deference.
    Lansing was wearing the unofficial uniform of FBIHQ: a blue blazer, medium gray trousers, white shirt, and a regimental-stripe tie with just enough red not to call attention to itself. His hair, sandy and thinning, was frozen in place by some kind of fixative that left his shining scalp substantially more noticeable. Dreagen ran his hand gratefully through his own thick, dark hair.
    â€œI’m good, Bernie. How about yourself?”
    Dreagen held his arms out to encompass his unlimited good fortune. “The center of the universe, my friend. Center of the universe. How long have you been on the inspection staff?”
    â€œThis is my third time out.”
    â€œAnd you’re finding it…?”
    â€œUneven. One minute everything’s running like a solid gold Rolex, the next, you’re feeding some guy’s career into a wood chipper.”
    That Lansing had used the word “career” implied a threat. It meant the “guy” was management. Street agents, those rank-and-file men and women whose only responsibility was to investigate and solve cases, weren’t thought of by managers as having careers. Lansing’s reference indicated that he had come here to commit the misdemeanor of inspection extortion. He was looking for an informant who could relieve him of the inconvenience of tediously going through files to determine which agents could be taken out.
    Dreagen wondered if he had become a target. The grin he’d screwed onto his face weakened and slipped away. Hopefully Lansing had other priorities, because Dreagen wasn’t ready for another confrontation. He had just come from SAC Hansen’s office, where it had been explained to him, in relatively unpleasant terms, that he had no right to convert to his own use a Mercedes or any other seized vehicle in the FBI’s possession. The ASAC then made the mistake of arguing that the “Bureau dregs” under Nick Vanko’s supervision were irresponsible and had probably wrecked the car on a whim and then deceived the SAC as to how it happened. “You’re the admin ASAC, you have no idea what that squad does. Just handle administrative matters. Leave the heavy lifting to the real agents.” The SAC, a veteran of clashes with ambitious men, knew that Dreagen would not hesitate to seek revenge for the minor whipping on those he perceived as responsible. “And stay away from them. If you have any problems with Vanko’s squad, come to me, and I’ll handle it. Do you understand?”
    Dreagen put the smile back on his face. “So what brings you here, Chuck? Am I in trouble already?”
    â€œI really haven’t started yet, so it would be premature to try and answer that.”
    With a little bit of playful suspicion, Dreagen said, “Small FBI. We used to work together, and you draw me for the inspection.”
    â€œIf you’re asking me if I arranged this assignment—guilty. I thought since we were in the same unit once, we might be able to give each other a hand.”
    â€œAnd what am I giving you a hand with?”
    â€œAny areas that you might think need my attention.”
    â€œAnd I would do that—why?”
    â€œI imagine that unless you drop one in the end zone, you’ll be going out as a SAC before much longer.”
    As veiled threats went, this