As I’d said to Ellen, my mention of Judge Morrow had given me an idea, and the more I thought about it, it was the only one that made sense. If the Treasury higher-ups were really determined to get their hands on the documents to make sure they never saw the light of a courtroom, there was no point in taking them back to the office. With the necessary authority they could walk into Justice any time they wanted to, and I wasn’t sure that even the Attorney’s influence would be enough to stop them. Treasury had a lot of clout in the higher echelons of the government. There would certainly be nothing that Maggie or Harry could do to slow them down, and it was absolutely certain that there was nothing I could do.
But invading a court was another matter. I was pretty sure that even Treasury would baulk at that, and even if they didn’t, the documents would be safe by the time they figured out where I’d taken them. It bothered me slightly that we had no actual evidence that anyone at Treasury had any evil intent towards the evidence. It was possible that we had simply been spooked by their suspicious, over-protective attitude – not that I think anyone could have blamed us for that. But my gut was telling me that something more sinister was afoot, and Ellen’s gut obviously had the same impression. The stakes were high, and I didn’t want to take the risk. These documents were not going to disappear on my watch. Besides, I reassured myself, what I was doing was absolutely legal; in fact, I was doing the right thing. I didn’t answer to Treasury; I worked for Justice, and it was my duty to secure the evidence Ellen had unearthed. I was doing just what the court had ordered us to do. My plan was even proper procedurally. Any party could deposit documents with the court if there was a need to preserve them. So what could possibly go wrong? I let the thought go. This was no time for navel-gazing. I had to focus. I’d asked Ellen to avoid the higher-ups for fifteen minutes. I couldn’t reasonably ask more of her. I had to move quickly.
I ran back to the office, deposited the four documents, still wrapped in the Washington Post, in my briefcase, and hurriedly camouflaged them using a couple of yellow pads and the remains of the wrapping from my lunchtime sandwich. I took a deep breath and reviewed the situation. Problem: how to get myself out of the Treasury building without anyone noticing, assuming, as I felt I had to, that security had been told to keep a look out for me and detain me on sight. Solution…?
The obvious way was to use the public entrance on 15th Street, which would be busy at this time of the afternoon. There would be security guards in place, and there wouldn’t be enough people leaving the building to give me cover if the guards were actively scanning the area for me, but it might be the best shot. I was rapidly regretting not having studied my plan of the building in more detail. I had been concentrating so hard on deciding what rooms to search, and in what order, that I hadn’t really taken in the location of the various entrances. I’d always come and gone by the 15th Street entrance, and it had never occurred to me to come in or go out any other way. To make matters worse, I realised that I’d given my plan to Ellen, and I didn’t have time to trek back to 484B to retrieve it now.
I thought feverishly. The north and south wings boasted the elegant formal entrances to the building. There were gates, but I wasn’t sure whether they were in continual use, and even if they were, there would be security staff there, and they would be bound to take a greater interest in me than if I were just part of a crowd leaving the building on 15th Street. The quiet west wing was an unknown quantity. I knew there were exits there. They led into East Executive Avenue, just across the street from the White House, and the tree-lined wall was usually quiet, but there would still be…
And that’s when it occurred to me: it wasn’t a question of where I exited the building; it was a question of when. I had to forget about my assumption. There would be security guards everywhere, and if the higher-ups had already sounded the alarm, it was already too late; there was nothing I could do. On the other hand, why would they have put out an APB so quickly? Until they’d spoken to Ellen they had no real reason to panic, and certainly no reason to do something as dramatic as having me, a senior government lawyer, detained. On the other hand, these people seemed to have an unhealthy dose of paranoia, and if Roberto had alarmed them, there was no telling what they might do. But I couldn’t control that. The odds were that I had a window, at least for a short time, and the only thing that made sense was to play the odds. It was a matter of getting out now. The direction I took was less significant, but it seemed best to head for my usual exit into 15th Street, where at least there would be a crowd. I glanced at my watch. If Ellen had bought me the fifteen minutes I’d asked her for, I had just over five of them left.
I raced to the elevator, and joined a large number of staff and visitors making their way out. I mingled with them as much as I could and walked in their midst, head down, briskly but without running, to the exit. I was nearly there, when one of the female guards I recognised looked up at me as I was passing her desk. We’d wished each other good morning or evening a number of times. She seemed to focus her gaze on me, and I could feel my heart beating faster. The briefcase suddenly felt very heavy. For a second or two we stared at each other. Then she smiled, gave me a nod, and wished me a good evening. I wished her the same, pushed my way through the door, and found myself outside, gratefully inhaling a deep breath of fresh 15th Street air.
A cab was passing. I hailed it, and asked the driver to take me to the Claims Court.