Free Night Talk by George Noory Page A

“They’re removing computer equipment that has stored information to examine at their offices. They’ll let you continue to broadcast until they make a decision about your future.”
    â€œThat’s big of them. While they’re making decisions about my future, I’ll ask my lawyers to start looking into their futures. As far as I know there’s still a constitution in this country.”
    Batista grinned and threw up his hands. “Hey—I’m just the messenger. This is a federal thing. They just wanted me along for window treatment.”
    â€œWhat agency did you say Mond’s with?”
    â€œIt’s on the papers. I never dealt with them before, but feds are all the same when it comes to us local cops. They want us to do their dirty work so they can keep their hands clean.”
    Batista did another disappearing act. Greg looked at the search warrant. It was issued by a federal judge. The request for the warrant came from Agent Mond, Interagency. Which told Greg nothing.
    Soledad said, “This is insane.”
    â€œTell me about it.”

 
    16
    Walking to his apartment building Greg felt as if he had been wrung out, hung up and left out to dry. And paranoid. He called Liz Tucker again and left another voicemail message. It was too early for her to be at her son’s wedding and she was good at answering calls, but he was sure she would call the network’s general counsel before getting back to him.
    He left the studio after the homicide cop, the federal agent and the searchers faded away. The place looked pretty much the same as it did before the search, but it wasn’t the same. Things had been lifted up, inspected and put back in a slightly different way. Drawer contents that had been orderly were now a mess and some that were a mess looked more orderly. They had taken everything that could be used to store data on but left the studio able to broadcast.
    Greg was relieved that he wouldn’t be hosting the show for the next two nights. More than anything else he was angry. And puzzled. Questions swirled in his head like ghosts in an attic.
    Money got paid to Ethan from one of his accounts—he had called and got his account balance before leaving the office. There had been a $25,000 electronic transfer to Ethan’s account using Greg’s account number and password. As simple as that—someone entered his account and transferred money. And Ethan removed top-secret documents from the government. That had to be a given, if for no other reason than the feds were tearing apart his life to find them.
    Mond had refused to answer Greg’s questions about what evidence they had other than repeating that a receipt for the money transfer was found on Ethan. Mond wouldn’t tell him even the subject matter of the materials he claimed Ethan hacked into and gave to Greg. Or the name of the government agency Ethan worked for or hacked into to steal secrets.
    Ethan was a hacker who had been in trouble before for illegally accessing forbidden territory. That he’d done it before elevated the odds he’d done it again. Greg didn’t know who or what Ethan hacked, but the fact he went to work for the government and had access to top-secret material after being arrested made it a good bet that a federal security agency was Ethan’s employer. That Ethan was on the West Coast and most federal agencies were headquartered near D.C. didn’t matter. Computer work often was done from regional offices and even from home.
    The bottom line was that money got transferred from him to Ethan, Ethan stole secrets, the feds thought Greg paid him to do it and, most important of all, Greg couldn’t give them a good reason for the money transfer to refute their suspicion that he paid Ethan for secrets.
    Mond said Ethan “told people” he gave secrets to Greg. Who would Ethan tell about stealing secrets? That he committed high crimes and