The Clan Corporate

"You don't know, do you? She doesn't know!"

"Rubbish, he's Sieur Villem du Praha and he's married to Lady Jain of Cours, and he rides with the king's hunt. And look, there's our missy Kara going all gushy over him."

"Kara? She's-"

"You just look, whenever she gets within six feet of him she has to tie her knees together with her stay laces to stop them falling apart. Silly little bitch, she hasn't seen the way he looks at his wife."

"Milady Kara's not one to turn her nose up at a lost cause. But what's with milady the honorable Old Goose? What's she doing with him?"

"Who the-knows, pardon my loewsprache, she's being a witch again. Shamelessly talking to strange men."

"What's shameless about it? She's got her chaperone-"

(Laughter.) "Red-Minge Kara is a chaperone? What color is the sky in your county, and do the fish have feathers to match the birds' scales?"

"I'd like to know what she's talking about, though."

"I've got an idea. Wait here."

(Click.)

"So? What's the story?"

"Give me that."

"Must be a long story to wet your throat like that."

"Long? You haven't heard the first of it-"

"Is she trying to fix Kara up with a paramour?"

"Is she-bah! Even Old Witchy-Goose isn't that stupid, what would people say if her lady-in-waiting got pregnant? I'm sorry I asked. I thought it would be something like that. And the promises I had to make!"

"Promises?"

"Yes, I said I'd ask you to meet Oswelt-him with the belly-behind the marquee in half an hour for a midnight promenade."

"Bitch!"

"Now now, mind your language! Remember I said you weren't a whore? I didn't promise you'd be there, just said I'd ask."

"You did…"

"So if you want…"

"What about her ladyship? What did you find out?"

"Well, it's as well I asked because something tells me we'll be dragged hither and back in the next months, or I'm not a household hand."

"Really? Why? What's she want from him?"

"He's not with the king's wardrobe, he's with the prince's. And you know what that means."

"Oh!"

"Yes."

"The slut!"

"Absolutely wanton."

"We'll be back here three times a night before the month is out."

"Indeed."

"Hmm. So what else did you tell master Oswelt about me…?"

(Click.)

Transcript Ends

Incorrect Assumptions

Twelve weeks ago (continued):

Mike Fleming leaned back in his chair and tried desperately to stifle a yawn. This is crazy, he told himself. How can you be tired at a time like this?

The air conditioner in the conference room wheezed, losing the battle to keep the heat of the summer evening at bay. He desperately needed another coffee. Despite the couple of hours' nap he'd caught back home before the spooks from NSA sucked him in, his eyes kept half-closing, threatening him with a sleep-deprivation shutdown.

"Agent Fleming?"

"Oh. Yeah? Sorry, what was the question?"

"How long have you been awake?" It was Smith, his expression unreadable.

Mike shook himself. "About fifty hours. Got about an hour's sleep before your guys picked me up."

"Ah-right." Out of the corner of one eye Mike barely registered Herz from the FBI office looking sympathetic. "Okay, I'll try not to keep you," said Smith. "We need you awake and alert for tomorrow. Meanwhile, can you give us a brief run-through on the background to Greensleeves? I've read Tony's write-up of your report, but everyone else here needs to be put in the frame, and it's probably better if they get it from the horse's mouth first before they get the folder. How do you take your coffee?"

Mike yawned. "Milk, no sugar." He stood up. "Shall I?"

"Be my guest." Smith waved him toward the podium.

"Okay." Mike forced himself to breathe deeply, suppressing another yawn, as Colonel Smith quietly picked up a white phone and ordered a round of coffees for the meeting. "Sorry, folks, but it's been a long couple of days." Appreciative muttering. "Source Greensleeves. Don't ask me who dreams up these stupid names. A couple of weeks ago Greensleeves, whoever he was, casually dropped the hammer on a ring operating out of Cambridge. At this time it was purely a standard narcotics investigation. A low-level wholesaler, name of Ivan Pavlovsk, was handling the supply line for a neighborhood street gang who were shifting maybe a kilo of heroin every month. Greensleeves left a code word and said he'd be back in touch later. I thought at first it was the usual caped-crusader bullshit but it turned out to be solid and the DA up there is nailing down a plea bargain that should put our Ukrainian friend behind bars for the next decade." He leaned against the podium and glanced at Smith. "Are you sure you want the whole list?"

"Give us the highlights." Smith's eyebrows wrinkled. "Up until yesterday. What you told Tony Vecchio." Tony was Mike and Pete's boss in the investigation branch.

"Okay. We had two more leads from Greensleeves, at one-week intervals. Both were for intermediate wholesale links supplying cocaine in single-digit kilogram amounts to retail operations. There was no lead on Greensleeves himself. Each time, he used a paid-for-cash or stolen mobile phone, called from somewhere populous-a restroom in the Prudential, the concourse of the Back Bay station-and spent between thirty seconds and three minutes fifteen seconds on the phone before ringing off. He came straight through to my desk extension and left voice mail each time-the third time we had a tap and trace in place but couldn't get any units there in time. He used the same password with each call, and gave no indication as to why he was trying to shop these guys to us. Until yesterday Pete here was betting it was an internal turf war. My money was on an insider wanting to cash out and make a WSP run, but either way the guy was clearly a professional." Mike paused.

"If anyone wants a recap, we're having copies of the case notes prepared for you," Smith added. "Can I ask you all not to make any written notes of this briefing," he added pointedly in the direction of Frank the surveyor. "We'd only have to incinerate them afterward."

Like that, is it? Mike wondered. "Shall I continue?"

"When you're ready."

"Okay. We got a tip-off from Greensleeves five weeks ago, about Case Phantom's main distribution center for Boston and Cambridge. Case Phantom is Pete's specialty, a really major pipeline we've been trying to crack for months. Greensleeves used the same code word, this time in an envelope along with a sample of merchandise and-this is significant-a saliva sample, not to mention the other thing that I presume is why we're all here. Greensleeves wanted to turn himself in, which struck us as noteworthy: but what set the alarm bells going was Greensleeves wanting to turn himself in and enlist in the Witness Protection Scheme in return for knocking over Case Phantom. And helping us get it right, this time."

Pete sighed noisily.

"Yeah," said Mike. "Operation Phoenix was part of Case Phantom, too. Back before Greensleeves decided to come aboard. It was a really big bust-the wrong kind."

Now he saw Agent Herz wince. They'd taken up the tip-off and gone in like gangbusters, half the special agents posted at the Boston DEA office with heavy support from the police. But they'd hit a wall-literally. The modern-looking office building had turned out to be a fortress, doors and windows backed by steel barriers and surveillance cameras like a foreign embassy.

Worse, the defenders hadn't been the usual half-assed Goodfellas wa