Free The Big Scam by Paul Lindsay

one wasn’t very artful. Apparently, in too big a hurry to get himself promoted, Lansing was making the deadly mistake of not observing the speed limits of ambition. Too many shortcuts, especially in the FBI, inevitably led to biting oneself in the ass. Dreagen knew how to use this against someone, but he had also learned that a hook was best let out slowly. “In other words, you want me to do your work for you.”
    â€œI would think that someone in your position would want to ensure that any impending air strikes were as surgical as possible.”
    Normally Dreagen loved the masculine metaphors of management argot. It was as cool as a guy wearing a fifteen-dollar tie could get. It was their secret handshake, not understood by the unwashed masses, that seven-eighths of the agent population—the portion of the FBI iceberg that floated beneath the waterline of importance. But Lansing, having the advantage of being stationed at Bureau headquarters, the seat of the insider dialect, was too current, too practiced in its use. Dreagen decided it was banal and elitist. “So I’m looking at a pass…for my entire part of the office’s operation.”
    â€œIt’ll add at least a month to your life.”
    Lansing was right; the inspection had a way of suspending time for everyone while those four adversarial weeks ground nerve endings into a fine powder. Besides, ASAC Dreagen needed to settle a score he had been ordered not to. Here was someone offering to do it for him, and it would take absolutely no investment on his part. “Okay, I’ve got something, but when you go for them, you and I never had this conversation.”
    â€œThem?”
    â€œThat’s right, them. An entire squad. And, if you’re thorough enough, you may be able to get just about every person on it. But first you’ve got to convince me this won’t come back to me.”
    â€œHow would it? Why would it?”
    â€œI’m sorry, hypothetical questions aren’t what I need—I need collateral.”
    Lansing hesitated, eyeing the ASAC closely. “This is that good?”
    â€œIt’ll make you employee of the month. Have you ever heard, in the history of inspection, of an entire squad being gutted? And not just censored; I’m talking about actually getting some of them fired.”
    â€œSeems a little too good to be true.”
    â€œWhat you have to remember, Chuck, is that one-tenth of the agents in the FBI are in this division. Hell, there are almost a hundred different squads. That’s going to produce some serious personnel problems. And in New York, the most serious are all buried on one squad.”
    â€œWhat kind of problems are we talking about?”
    â€œYou name it, everything from total incompetence to having a screw loose to criminal behavior.”
    â€œCriminal behavior?”
    â€œOne guy is about to be sent out there while OPR’s looking at him for insider trading.”
    â€œInsider trading? How would an agent have access to that kind of information?”
    â€œHe was working as a UC at a brokerage house.” Lansing’s eyebrows raised. “I’m telling you, you’ll have a field day. Fish in a barrel.”
    â€œWho’s the supervisor?”
    The ASAC was aware that the requested “collateral” had not been provided, but he wanted Lansing to believe that he had outmaneuvered him. “Nick Vanko.”
    â€œWhat’s he like?”
    â€œA ghost. I’ve never seen the guy. In fact, I’ve never even talked to him. The squad works out of an off-site.”
    â€œWhy off-site?”
    â€œThey’re tasked with special projects. And before you ask, I don’t know what that is. I think it’s mostly surveillance, photographic assignments, odds and ends like that. But I’m not positive.”
    â€œAnd they need a separate office for that?”
    â€œI’ve wondered the same thing, and