"You probably know Bob Backus Sr. His father. He was some kind of supercop the bureau brought in years ago to help set up the Behavioral Science Services and the Violent Criminal Apprehension Program. I guess Bobby Jr. is trying to fill his shoes. The point is, as soon as Ford's off the phone with him, Backus will shut this thing down. Your only way in will be through the bureau."

I couldn't think. I was totally backed into a corner. I stood up and started pacing in the small office.

"Jesus Christ, I can't believe this. This is my story ...

and I'm getting pushed out of it by some dopey guy m a beard who thinks he's J. Edgar Hoover."

"Nah, Nat Ford doesn't wear dresses."

"It's not really that damn funny."

"I know. I'm sorry."

I sat back down. He made no move to dismiss me, even though our business was done. It finally occurred to me what it was he expected me to do. I just wasn't sure about how to ask. I'd never worked in Washington and didn't know how it worked. I decided to do it the Denver way. To be blunt.

"You can get into the computer anyway, right?"

I nodded at the terminal to his left. He looked over at me for a moment before responding.

"No fucking way. I'm no Deep Throat, Jack. This isn't about anything other than a crime story. That's the bottom line. You just want to get there ahead of the FBI."

"You're a reporter."

"Former reporter. I work here now and I'm not going to jeopardize m'

"You know it's a story that has to be told. If Ford's in there on the phone with the FBI, they'll be out here by tomorrow and the story will be gone. You know how hard it was to get stuff from them. You were there. This ends completely right here or is published as some half-assed story in a year or maybe longer with more conjecture than facts.

That's if you don't get me on that computer."

"I said no."

"Look, you're right. All it is is a story that I want. The big scoop. But I deserve it. You know I do. The, FBI wouldn't be coming around if it wasn't for me. But I'm getting shut out ... Think about it. Think if it was you. Think if it was your brother that this happened to."

"I have and I just said no."

I stood up.

"Well, if you change your' 991 won't."

"Look, when I leave here, I'm going to check in at the Hilton. The one where Reagan got shot."

That's all I said as I left him there and he didn't say another word.

the time in my room at the Hilton I upmy computer files on what little I had d at the foundation and then called Greg Glenn to fill him in on everything that had transpired in Chicago and Washington. When I was done, he whistled loudly and I pictured him leaning back in the chair, thinking of the possibilities.