“I’m not sure. But Portman just killed the career of an FBI agent who gave me a little help on the phone. He’s transferring him to Fargo, North Dakota. I don’t think there’s even a field office there. Just a resident agency. Whatever’s in the Del Payton file must be embarrassing as hell to the Bureau. I want you to get your people working on Portman immediately. I want to know everything there is to know about him.”

“I’ll call our Alexandria guy before we fly out in the morning.”

“I’m going to call that FBI agent right now. I owe him an apology.”

“It’s the middle of the night. And it’s later in Washington.”

“I doubt he’s sleeping.”

I pull the phone over from between the beds, dial directory assistance, then use my credit card to call Peter Lutjens at his home in Washington. His phone rings five times before he answers, but his voice is wide awake.

“Peter, this is Penn Cage.”

Silence.

“I had no idea this thing would boomerang on you like this. I am so sorry.”

“Shit. I don’t blame you. I gave you the list, didn’t I?”

“Peter, if there’s anything I can do—”

“Can you get Portman fired?”

“I don’t—” Suddenly an idea hits me. “Maybe I can.”

“What?”

“Peter, have you wondered why Portman would punish you so severely for what you did?”

“He hates you, that’s why.”

“It’s the Payton file. Portman flew to Huntsville, Texas, tonight to warn me off the Payton case. And asking about the Payton file is what got you into trouble. Right?”

“Yes.”

“I think Portman is concealing some illegality about that case. If he is, and you can find out what it is—”

“Stop right there. Are you suggesting that I go back and try to look at that file myself?”

“Have they barred you from the building?”

“No, but—”

“When do you leave for Fargo?”

“Don’t even say that word, goddamn it. And I’m not losing my pension for you. Cowboy time is over.”

“Peter, if that file is damaging enough, it might get Portman thrown out of the directorship. It might buy your old job back.”

“I’ve got a wife and kids. And I’m not out to trash the Bureau.”

“I’ll shut up, then. I really called to apologize anyway.”

“That makes me feel so much better.”

The phone goes dead in my hand.

Caitlin puts the phone back between the beds for me. “He wouldn’t try it?”

“No.”

“Let’s just forget it all for tonight, then.”

She picks up the remote control and flips through the channels, finally settling on a showing of To Catch a Thief. Grace Kelly and Cary Grant zoom across the screen in a vintage sports car.

“Okay with you?”