The Big Bad Wolf

WHEN I WOKE IN THE MORNING, Little Alex was sleeping peacefully beside me, his head on my chest. I couldn't resist sneaking another kiss. And another. Then, as I lay there next to my boy, I found myself thinking about Detective Dennis Coulter and his family. I had been moved emotionally when they came out of that house together. The family had saved Coulter's life, and I was a sucker for family stuff. I had been asked to stop at the Hoover Building, always referred to as "the Bureau," before I drove down to Quantico. The director wanted to see me about what had happened in Baltimore. I had no idea what to expect, but I was anxious about the visit. Maybe I should have skipped Nana's coffee that morning. Almost anybody who has seen it would agree that the Hoover Building is a strange and supernaturally ugly structure. It takes up an entire block between Pennsylvania Avenue, Ninth, Tenth, and E Streets. The nicest thing I could say about it is that it's "fortresslike." Inside, it's even worse. The Bureau is library quiet and warehouse grim. The long halls glow in medicinal white. As soon as I stepped onto the director's floor, I was met by his executive assistant, a very efficient man named Tony Woods, whom I liked quite a bit already. "How is he this morning, Tony?" I asked. "He likes what happened down in Baltimore," Tony answered. "His Highness is in a pretty good mood. For a change." "Was Baltimore a test?" I asked, not sure how far I could go with the assistant. "Oh, it was your final exam. But remember, everything's a test." I was led into the director's relatively small conference room. Burns was already sitting there waiting for me. He raised a glass of orange juice in mock salute. "Here he is!" He smiled. "I'm making sure that everybody knows you did a bang-up job in Bal'more. Just the way I wanted to see you start out." "Nobody got shot," I said. "You got the job done, Alex. HRT was very impressed. So was I." I sat down and poured myself coffee. I knew it was "help yourself" and no formalities with Burns. "You're spreading the word... because you have such big plans for me?" I asked. Burns laughed in his usual conspiratorial way. "Absolutely, Alex. I want you to take my job." Now it was my turn to laugh. "No, thank you." I sipped the coffee, which was dark brown, a little bitter, but delicious - almost as good as Nana Mama's. Well, maybe half as good as the best in Washington. "You care to share any of your more immediate plans with me?" I asked. Burns laughed again. He was in a good mood this morning. "I just want the Bureau to operate simply and effectively, that's all. It's the way it was when I ran the New York office. I'll tell you what I don't believe in: bureaucrats, and cowboys. There are too many of both in the Bureau. Especially the former. I want street smarts on the street, Alex. Or maybe I just want smarts. You took a chance yesterday, only you probably didn't see it that way. There were no politics for you - just the right way to get the job done." "What if it hadn't worked?" I asked as I set my coffee down on a coaster emblazoned with the Bureau's emblem. "Well, hell, then you wouldn't be here now and we wouldn't be talking like this. Seriously, though, there's one thing I want to caution you about. It may seem obvious to you, but it's a lot worse than you imagine. You can't always tell the good guys from the bad ones in the Bureau. No one can. I've tried, and it's almost impossible." I thought about what he was implying - part of which was that Burns already knew that one of my weaknesses was to look for the good in people. I understood it was a weakness sometimes, but I wouldn't change, or maybe I couldn't change. "Are you a good guy?" I asked him. "Of course I am," Burns said with a wholesome grin that could have landed him a starring role on The West Wing. "You can trust me, Alex. Always. Absolutely. Just like you trusted Kyle Craig a few years back." Jesus, he was giving me the shivers. Or maybe the director was just trying to get me to see the world his way: Trust no one. Go to the head of the class.