Free Death of Secrets by Bowen Greenwood Page A

Two, the guy who came after us last night asked her
specifically about the flash drive."
    "Seriously, Mike," Tilman said. "This is bizarre. You haven’t spoken to the police, have you?"
    Mike shook his head. "I haven’t yet. You taught me better
than that. Control the story.
    "It’s taken me a while to get a grip on all this, you
know? And I keep thinking I’ve got to manage this flawlessly, or I’m going to
wind up all over the front pages with some kind of destructive headline about
‘Congressman and cocktail waitress in gangland shootout.’ But I decided this
morning that I need to just call the cops and take whatever happens like a man.
It’s a good job, this, but I’m not exactly ready to die for it, y’know? And
after last night, it kinda sunk into my head that whoever these people are,
they’d have no compunction about killing me. At least if I tell the cops,
they’ll have some idea where to start if I get shot."
    Tilman shook his head. "Listen, Mike, I don’t want you to
go down the tubes. A lot of people don’t want you to go down the tubes. First
and foremost, you’re a good man, and it’s rare to get one of those in Congress.
I’d like to see you stay.
    "Second – and don’t get mad, in no way am I suggesting
this is more important than the first – your career is something more people
care about than just you. You’re under thirty years old, wealthy, good looking
and smart. The party sees you as an investment, and so does a lot of the
political community. Having come so far at such a young age, there’s a lot that you might accomplish yet. You’re a real rising star, Mike, and I think you
know it, even if you’re not going to admit it. If you blow your career now,
lots of people are going to be mad.
    "You know what I taught you from day one," Tilman
concluded. "If you don't control how the news comes out, you lose."
    Mike scowled, and Tilman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. His
younger friend always struck the balance between idealism and pragmatism
somewhat differently. "None of which is to suggest you should let yourself
get killed. Of course. But I’m sure between the three of us we can work out a
way that involves you not getting killed, but also not going to
the cops and ruining your career. Besides, if everything is as you say it is,
this is probably way above MPD’s head anyway."
    Nathan spoke up now. "Tilman, I understand where you’re
coming from about this. A lot of parties have pretty high hopes for Mike’s
career, and frankly my office happens to be one of those parties. He’s a
friend, and it’d be nice to have a friend rise to high places. But he’s also my
friend, not just the NSA’s. And as a friend, that story of his tells me he’s in
real, honest-to-goodness life-threatening danger."
    Nathan turned his gaze to Mike. "I think you’ve got to go
to the cops. I mean, look. Whatever that flash drive is, you don’t go around
shooting at people for nothing, especially a member of Congress. To be honest,
your James Bond idea is probably right on. It sounds like something espionage
related, either government or corporate. That makes it actually my business in
a way. I’d talk to law enforcement if I was you."
    Tilman snorted. "Are you kidding? Nathan, no offense, but
working with the NSA, you of all people ought to appreciate the concept that
you can’t trust the government. Mike, if you go to the law, a year later you’ll
be getting a call from The Man saying ‘Vote for my budget or your constituents
learn you’ve been chasing college girls at a night club with a bad
reputation.’"
    Nathan sighed. That was a hard point to rebut after some of the
recent revelations about government surveillance programs and their political
ties. He felt it himself. If he let his mind wander at work, he found himself
conscious of the stuff on his own computer he wouldn’t want the NSA looking at.
    Tilman continued. "Listen, Mike, between the three of us,
we can think up something