“I left something out. The patient he touched inappropriately was a seventeen-year-old boy. Dr. Walters is a repressed homosexual. I don’t care about a person’s … . But he lied about it on his personnel records. We just want people to be open about it, that’s all. So he’s been to the bar. And maybe he really did meet Dawkins there and figured out something about this conspiracy. But it doesn’t matter. We cannot unleash such a noncredible source into the investigation. It will be poison. And since the owner of that bar was found with Dawkins, the investigation can target the bar. There’s no need for Walters’s report. It takes us nowhere we cannot already go.”

Except, she thought, that this is not his real report. We agreed. On how much? she wondered. She felt very far from the we.

“If Walters was in trouble, why was he sent to Africa?” she asked.

“Budget cuts. The branch was short of qualified psychiatrists. It couldn’t afford to place Walters on administrative leave.”

“I see.”

Wenner walked to the window. His shoes were scuffed. He gazed out at the woods surrounding the compound.

“I wish we could see the river from here,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. This is how they do it, she thought. Ruin and discredit a life. Walters was fucked. They were burying him.

“So you’re well enough, I suppose, to return to your normal duties?” he asked. Lancette realized it was not really a question. “And I’ve told Mr. Grayton that you will be at his disposal in case the task force does end up needing information on the Walters matter.”

“Yes, sir,” she answered.

“Thank you,” he said. Wenner was dismissing her.

She stood to leave. We agreed. That’s it? she thought. And what about her? If she didn’t agree? She opened the door to leave.

“Ms. Lancette?”

She paused at the threshold.

“I took your advice on the El Salvador business.”

She had to think for a moment. He was referring to the ICEMAN case they had recently discussed: the former death squad leader who was arrested for drug smuggling and who once had been on the CIA payroll. Wenner had decided not to interfere with the prosecution.

“Thank you,” she said and closed the door.

39 - The U.S. Capitol June 30

39

The U.S. Capitol June 30

Addis flipped through the stack of compact discs in Senate Majority Leader Hugh Palmer’s private hideaway office in the Capitol building. It was all reggae. The senator had never publicized his fondness for the music he first encountered as a Peace Corps volunteer in Barbados in the 1960s. He did not believe Iowa voters would appreciate his devotion to ganja music. Only in his most private spots and moments—and this windowless office was one of Washington’s more private locations—did Palmer indulge.