Bert sat upright, his eyes clear and bright. It was time to think about a few things. Something was going to go down in Las Vegas. Why else would Elias and Judge Easter be going there? Duncan Wright, one of his best agents, had called him at home last night to check on how he was doing. After the amenities, Duncan had shared some information and asked what he should do with it. Bert remembered how he'd broken out into a sweat when Dunk, as the other agents called him, told him a source at the Post told him that Lizzie Fox and Ted Robinson had flown to Las Vegas in the Post's private jet. Somehow or other, Bert had managed to mutter something—and he still couldn't remember exactly what he'd said—about filing a report and putting it on his desk in the morning.

He now shuffled through the stacks of papers on his desk until he found it. Dunk was concise and to the point. It was just the way he'd said it last night and not one word extra. That's when he noticed the sticky note on the back of the report that said Fox and Robinson had checked into the Babylon. And then they'd checked out. They had been met in the casino by a woman.

Bert tugged at his earlobe, something he always did when he tried to figure something out. Maybe this was some kind of cockamamie test. He reached for his phone to call the agent. "Get your gear together, Dunk. You're going to Vegas. Report in to me twice a day, every twelve hours. Pick up three agents, more if you need them, at the local field office in Vegas, and put a tail on Fox and Robinson. By the way, Dunk, in case you haven't heard the scuttlebutt, Director Cummings and Judge Easter are traveling to Vegas to get married. Don't say anything, Dunk, check it out and let me know what you find out."

No matter which way the wind was blowing, it always came down to CYA. And that's exactly what he was doing, covering his ass. He reached for a blank yellow pad and started to scribble—time, date, and the orders he'd just issued. Later, he'd transfer the notes to himself to a formal report on his computer.

Bert inched open the top drawer of his desk and propped his feet on it. In just a few days, if his confirmation came through, he'd be moving two doors down the hall to Cummings's old office. Maybe he'd assign Jackson the task of moving his things into the new space.