Page 84 of Dead Mountain

“Yes, sir.”

The fact that Garcia and Sharp would even be in the office at seven in the morning set her pulse racing. They had spoken to General Marsby and the colonel at 1 PM the previous afternoon—they’d promised a prompt investigation, but surely it couldn’t be this prompt.

She smoothed her hair, tugged on her suit, and walked down the hall. In a few minutes she arrived in Garcia’s corner office with its view of the Sandia Mountains, covered in fresh snow, touched by the morning sunrise.

Garcia was standing in front of his desk with Sharp next to him, and neither man looked normal. The SAC’s face was dark, his thick eyebrows creased, pupils contracted into points. He didn’t greet her or invite her to sit down or even look at her. She glanced at Sharp and saw that he looked uncharacteristically angry—furious, in fact, with a suppressed rage that almost frightened her.

Nobody said anything. Corrie finally stammered, “Um, good morning. Is everything all right?”

“I got a call from Raeburn last night,” said Garcia. “At three in the morning.”

Corrie’s heart leapt into her throat. Raeburn was the director of the FBI.

“Raeburn told me—me, you, everyone in this building—to discontinue the Kirtland line of investigation.”

Corrie stared at him. “What?”

Garcia made an effort to control himself. “We can no longer consider Kirtland connected in any way to the investigation.”

“But—did the bomb accident happen or not? I mean, it could be the key to the whole case!” Corrie suddenly stopped herself, remembering whom she was talking to.

Garcia looked at Sharp, then back to Corrie. “I was given no information about such an alleged incident.”

“I’m sorry, sir,” Corrie said. “But I’m just not following you. How are we supposed to drop such a crucial part of the investigation?”

Garcia looked exasperated. “Agent Swanson, I’m relaying orders from the FBI director himself. Those orders are clear: drop Kirtland from the case. I was given no further explanations. Do you understand?”

“No,” said Corrie defiantly.

“Then I’ll explain,” said Sharp suddenly, his voice edged with sarcasm. He turned to Corrie, with a face the color of liver. “Obviously, your informant was right. Kirtland did drop a nuke. It caused an explosion and fire that, indirectly, led to the deaths of those nine hikers. They want us to suppress the investigation to cover up their incompetence.”

“I don’t get it,” Corrie said.

Sharp went on. “When air force command heard our story, they panicked. They went up the ladder to somebody high in the government and were told to quash it. And now we’ve been ordered to pretend to investigate. Our role now is to put on a show, humiliate and debase ourselves in acting out a charade of incompetency and stupidity—just what the parents of the victims have accused us of.”

“That’s quite enough,” said Garcia quietly to Sharp.

“It’s never enough,” said Sharp.

Garcia gave Sharp a penetrating stare. “Look. I hate this. You hate it. The FBI director hates it. Obviously Agent Swanson hates it. But we’ve been given direct orders. This came down from a level higher than the director, probably even higher than the AG.”

“You mean, from yesterday afternoon to three o’clock this morning,” Corrie said, “this problem went all the way up to, what, the White House? . . . And then back down to the FBI director?”

“I’d say that’s a strong possibility.”

Corrie could hardly believe what she was hearing. “So we’re supposed to lie to the public, pretend to investigate, and intentionally let the case die?”

“Sometimes you have to carry out orders you don’t like,” said Garcia. “I don’t mind telling you, this is the worst example of that I’ve ever seen. It’s a hard one to swallow. But it’s the job. Both of you will get major commendations.”

“I can’t accept this, sir,” said Corrie.

Garcia looked at her for a long, steady moment. “Keep in mind, Agent Swanson, that an FBI agent who deliberately reveals classified information harming our national security could be prosecuted for capital treason.”

At this, silence settled over the office. Sharp abruptly turned and left the office.

For a moment, Corrie didn’t know what to do. Was the meeting over? Even if it was, she had one question she still wanted answered. “Did Gold also find out about the bomb accident?” she asked. “Did he get shut down, too? Is that why he quit the FBI and finally went off the rails?”

Garcia looked at her. “We’ll never know, will we?”

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