Missing.
The word exploded through her head and ripped through her organs.
It took her a moment to find her voice. ‘How long?’
‘Three days,’ he said. ‘Today is day four.’
Darby felt her entire midsection disappear.
Missing, she thought.
Four days.
Coop.
A missing Federal agent would be front-page news, and there hadn’t been a single mention of such a thing in the Montana papers, TV news or on the Internet. She had checked.
Covington forged ahead, using a gentle tone. ‘Needless to say, we’re very concerned.’
Which was complete and utter bullshit. If Covington was concerned about Coop’s welfare, he would have come right out and asked her about Coop at the beginning of the interview. If the man really cared, he would have gone straight to the hotel and asked her in person. He knew why she was there. He could have picked up the phone at any point and called her, or dropped by for a face to face.
But Covington hadn’t done any of these things, because his job was about one thing and one thing only: protecting the Bureau’s image and its own self-interests. The public thought the FBI was all about protecting and defending the US against terrorism and foreign intelligence threats, and providing services to Federal, state and local law-enforcement agencies, but its main business was brand management, and the brand had to be protected at all costs. The Bureau had been caught with its pants down here in Montana, and Covington needed to fix that – by any means necessary. His job wasn’t finding Coop; it was collecting information. And, once he got it, he’d pack up and leave. She had seen it happen time and time again.
‘We’ve combed through Cooper’s phone records – all the calls, texts and emails he made on his Bureau phone and his personal phone,’ Noel said. ‘The last person he spoke to, it seems, was you.’
Darby felt something cold and hard move through her chest.
‘Cooper sent two texts to your phone last Wednesday. The first one was at 1.54 p.m., Mountain Standard Time. It said, “You around?” You replied yes. Then, at 2.08 p.m., he sent you a second text, which read, “Battery almost dead. Will call from payphone.” Did he call you?’
‘You know he did,’ Darby said. ‘You already checked my phone records.’
‘Why did he ask you to come to Montana?’
‘Why didn’t you pick up the phone and call me?’
‘Because several people – Cooper, included – told me you have an inherent bias against the FBI.’
Not true, Darby thought. She said nothing.
‘You also have severe anger-management issues. You get results – your record proves that. Your success rate is, without a doubt, stunning.’ His voice was tinged with what sounded like sympathy, maybe even understanding. ‘But, at the end of the day, the only thing you care about is serving your own personal agenda, which is why you were ultimately fired from the Boston Police Department. Why is that?’
‘I have a problem with assholes – and liars,’ Darby said. ‘Especially liars.’
‘Why did Cooper ask you to come to Montana?’
The truth was, she didn’t know; Coop hadn’t gone into specifics.
She said, ‘Show it to me.’
‘Show you what?’
‘The court order.’
‘I’m not following.’
‘Tactical Operations need one to break into someone’s home.’
Agent Covington glared at her from across the table.
‘Show me the court order,’ Darby said, ‘and I’ll answer all your questions.’
‘I don’t think you’re fully grasping the reality of your situation.’
‘I understand the reality of my situation just fine. The question is, do you understand the reality of yours? Both you and your friend behind the glass know you can’t allow me to go in front of a judge because you’d have to inform him – or her – of the particulars of my arrest, which would open your covert division to all sorts of questioning, and we know the Bureau isn’t going to allow that to happen.’
‘You knew you were being watched. Instead of calling the police, you lured them into a trap where you assaulted two men –’
‘I worked this cult case with the Bureau about five, maybe six years ago,’ Darby said. ‘I don’t know the cult’s name – I don’t think it has one – and I don’t know the names of the people involved, but I can tell you they’re very secretive, and that they’re still after me. I’m sure all the details are in that big, fat file on me you’ve got there. I’m sure the judge would love to know the details.’
‘You don’t want to go down that road.’
‘The court order. Show it to me.’
‘Don’t need to. I have what’s called a “self-written search warrant”. It allows me all sorts of special powers.’ Covington’s tone was unquestioningly polite, but it also carried a clear warning. ‘It means I can break into anyone’s home – or motel room – and not only search it but take possession of any single goddamn thing I want. Your computer or phone, your chequebook and wallet, even your dog.’
‘My ovaries are tingling. Tell me more.’
‘I also have what’s called an “emergency letter”. That means any phone company, Internet service provider, financial institution or credit card company has to hand over any single piece of information I want – again, without court approval. And the best part? It’s all perfectly legal, thanks to the Patriot Act.’
‘I want to find Jackson Cooper. What do you want, Noel?’
‘For you to tell me why Cooper asked you to come to Montana.’
‘If I cooperate, will you drop the charges?’
‘I’ll seriously consider it.’
No, you won’t, she thought. I’m willing to bet my life savings you’ll tuck me away in some secret Federal detention facility until you solve this thing, whatever it is, and clean it up. You’re afraid Coop told me the reason why the Bureau sent him here. That’s why you put the Bureau’s best undercover agents on me, to try to bug my computer and motel phone.
Darby looked down at the table. Every second wasted increased the probability of not finding Coop – and the chances of finding him alive were already slim because he’d been gone for three full days. She knew the statistics.
‘Ball’s in your court, Doctor.’
Every cell screamed at her to cut through the bullshit and cooperate with Covington – to answer every question and do everything he wanted as long as he brought her into the fold so she could help to find Coop.
Covington took out his pen, a fancy Montblanc. Uncapped it.
‘Not one piece of evidence seized under the Patriot Act has, to date, been introduced in a Federal court,’ Darby said. ‘Why? Because the Federal government can’t risk a judge ruling that the Patriot Act is, in fact, unconstitutional. You’re not going to bring charges because you can’t. You don’t have a leg to stand on in court.’
Covington slid the cap back on his pen.
‘Obstruction of justice,’ he said. ‘We’ll start there and work our way down the list to assault.’
Darby said nothing.
Covington stuffed her file back into his briefcase. When he stood, she said, ‘If it’s after eight in Boston, then you’re too late.’
Covington took the bait. ‘Too late for what?’
‘For you to speak to my lawyer. Rosemary Shapiro. I spoke to her right after I called 911 and explained what had happened at the motel room. How the three men following me weren’t members of this dangerous cult but actual Tactical Operations agents.’
‘Goodbye, Doctor.’
‘She’ll have seen the video by now, I’m sure,’ Darby said. ‘I’m talking about the one I took of your man Kevin Fields breaking into my room.’
Covington stood as if rooted to the floor.
‘I set my MacBook to record when I left my room,’ Darby said. ‘The camera streamed video directly to my lawyer’s office in case something happened to me. I also sent her the pictures I took of Kevin Fields, his ID, his toolbox, everything.’
Covington’s eyes were bright with anger.
‘She’s probably already getting everything ready for the press conference, so it’ll make the eleven o’clock news cycle,’ Darby said. ‘I’m sure it will be all over the Internet by morning.’
Covington turned to the two-way mirror.
‘It’s 6921,’ she said. ‘That’s the code to unlock my phone and MacBook. Go ahead and take a look.’