“A panhandler?”
“A fucking rat! On Fifth Avenue! It’s ridiculous.”
Feinstein laughed. “It’s New York. Deal with it.”
“I don’t want to deal with it.”
“Look, I have several clients in the city. It’s a great place. When was the last time you rode the subway?”
“The subway? I’d rather be dead than set foot on the subway. The amount of coughing, spluttering, screaming crazies, germs—and people who shit themselves in public? Seriously?”
Feinstein pointed to the seat opposite her desk. “You want to up your medication? Anyway, the demographics of New York are the least of our problems. Which is why you’re here, right? I know you’re worried about the unexpected intervention of Caroline McNeal’s husband. And I know you want it resolved. We will resolve it. But we have another problem on that front.”
Graff slumped down in the seat, crossing his legs. He had a feeling it was going to be bad news.
Feinstein handed him a black-and-white photo showing two men. “This was taken earlier today outside the FBI’s Bridgeport satellite office in Connecticut.”
Graff scrutinized the photo, recognizing Jack McNeal from a file he already had on the man. “The taller one. That’s Jack, right?”
Feinstein nodded. “The burly guy? His brother, Peter. Bit of a handful by all accounts. Not averse to roughhouse tactics. Iraq veteran. Not the type to run from a fight.”
“This is getting away from us, Karen.”
“I have a team on this. We are dealing with it.”
“So, what did the McNeals tell the Feds?”
“We have the transcripts, which I’ll send over to you. We also have the documents the Fed helpfully scanned, so we have what they have. He sent it securely to FBI headquarters. We accessed it via the cloud.”
“What exactly do they have?”
“It’s not good, Henry. Somehow, classified Pentagon documents mentioning Meyer’s name have been passed on. Caroline McNeal secured these memos, strictly classified and top secret, and squirreled them away. Jack has come into possession of them. We understand they were sent FedEx by Caroline’s attorney.”
“You think she’s been holding on to documents for safekeeping in case something happened to her?”
“Exactly. And now Jack has them, told his brother, and headed out to the FBI.”
Graff contemplated the situation. “Okay, this is your area of expertise. You’ve got free rein. What do we do?”
“I’ve reached out to a source close to the director through a back channel, an old Pentagon pal of mine. We’re going to work it like that.”
“What’s the name of the Fed they contacted?”
“Special Agent Ryan Bone. Former NYPD cop. He’s bright. Very capable. Similar background to McNeal’s. He’s from Staten Island too.”
Graff smiled. “I can see an opening here. I mean, Jack McNeal is in possession of classified material? Was it stolen?”
Feinstein nodded. “I’m already two steps ahead of you. There are serious issues McNeal could face. We can frame it that Jack has classified government documents, and he passed them to a government employee. It would be a federal offense under the Espionage Act. Secondly, we will insist the FBI return all the ‘national security’ documents in their possession to the Department of Defense staffer who drew up the details. The name I have is Thomas C. Ridell. I know him. What would this achieve? The evidence would point to McNeal committing a serious crime, but, crucially, the stolen documents would not be published or distributed.”
“Excellent.”
“Thirdly, we want Ridell to ensure that all outstanding copies, be they electronic or paper files, are deleted or burned. Everything. Fourthly, we’re going to be putting pressure on the FBI to put Jack McNeal and his brother at the center of this.”
“Political contacts?”
“Intelligence committee chairs. They love having Swiss bank accounts.”
“I’ll bet they do.”
“So, Jack McNeal and his brother were forwarding this classified information. Did they steal it? That’s our angle. That’s just the beginning. I’m in the process of dealing with Special Agent Bone.”
Graff shuddered, an incredible sense of foreboding washing over him. “This needs to end.”
“We’ll reach our goal. This is going to be a multipronged approach. Jack McNeal and his brother don’t know what’s about to hit them.”