Sphere Of Influence (57 page)

"Actually, sir, right now, I think I pretty much am above the law. If you'd like to test your political juice against mine, be my guest."

"Look, this isn't productive," Laura cut in. "Let's get back to the issue at hand. Can we do that?"

When the Director's voice came over the phone again, the raw fury in it made him sound a little like someone was strangling him. If only it were true . . .

"Beamon, you are protecting people who are selling material that could be turned into a bomb that could kill millions! How do you think that would play in the papers?" Beamon started across the grass again, shaking his head miserably. The FBI's insistence on arresting people sellin
g
nuclear material was infuriating. Billions of tax dollars were pissed away every year on shameless pork, and the government couldn't set aside a few million to make America the world's best-paying and most reliable purchaser of this crap.

"I don't care how it plays in the papers," Beamon said. "You bust these guys, and the twenty-five other guys behind them are going to get a little bit smarter about how to avoid us next time. It's very simple, sir. All we have to do is go in there, pay them their money, and tell them that we have an insatiable appetite for radioactivity and unlimited funds to pay for it. Inside a year, every asshole with so much as an old glow-in-the-dark watch will call us first."

"You're suggesting that we encourage the trade in illicit nuclear--"

"That's exactly what I'm suggesting! There's tens of thousands of pounds of it lying around half-guarded storage facilities all over Russia, and I think we ought to just whip out our checkbooks and buy it all."

"Director Caroll, Mark is making sense--"

"Be quiet, Laura!"

Beamon frowned deeply. The fact that this pissant bureaucrat could talk to someone like Laura Vilechi that way proved that all was not right with the world.

"I'd like to know how you came upon this information and exactly what your motivation here is, Beamon. I'm guessing that Christian Volkov is involved. But what I can't guess is what your percentage in the deal would be."

Beamon rolled his eyes. Years of working his ass off for the FBI, making people like this prick look good, and he still couldn't get a moment's respect. But then, he didn't really work for the FBI anymore and he wasn't sure he ever wanted to again.

"Laura, has anyone talked to Chet's wife yet?" Beamon said, deciding to pretend the Director didn't exist as he jogged up a short set of stairs and rapped on the door of a freshly painted suburban home.

"Uh, Scott's going tonight."

The porch light went on and Beamon took a hesitan
t
step backward for some reason. "My offer is still open to go in his place."

"Beamon--" Caroll said, trying to cut off their conversation. Laura, obviously feeling a little bulletproof herself, talked over him.

"Scott says it's his job and he's going to do it."

"I'll drive to Vegas tomorrow. I want to tell her . . . tell what happened. She'll want to hear it from me."

The door in front of him suddenly opened and a little blond girl with a tooth obviously missing in front ran out and grabbed his hand. "Mark!"

"I missed your birthday, didn't I, Emory? Seven's a big one."

"Come on, come on, come on!" she said, desperately tugging on his hand. "You're on TV again."

He let himself be pulled through the door and led through the foyer. "Look, Laura, I gotta go. Why don't y'all give me a call when you make a decision on that nuke thing."