In the Company of Liars Read Free Page A

member of the Liberation Front,” he says evenly.
    â€œYour dad is, though, right?”
    â€œMy father was a carpet merchant. He is deceased. And he was not a member of the Liberation Front.”
    â€œYou Libbies aren’t real fond of us Americans, are you?” she asks. “The industrialized nations? You attend our schools and use our computers and cell phones, but you hate us.”
    He looks at her hard for a moment, but he declines the bait.
    â€œI am not a member of the Liberation Front,” he repeats.
    Jane McCoy looks at her partner, whose eyebrows arch. “Wait here, please,” McCoy says, as if Ram Haroon had any choice.
    The federal agents leave the room without saying anything more to the detainee. Agent Harrick whispers to McCoy before they make it back to the monitor room.
    â€œConvincing?” he asks.
    â€œConvincing enough. His grades are top of the class.” She looks back at the closed door behind which Ram Haroon is probably wondering what to make of the conversation. “There’s absolutely no basis to hold him. There is no proof that he’s done anything. And he’s leaving, not coming.”
    â€œRight,” Harrick agrees. “Right.”
    Pete Storino steps out of the monitor room as they approach. He was watching, no doubt.
    â€œSo he’s walking,” he says to McCoy.
    She shrugs. “No basis to hold him.”
    â€œDoesn’t mean we can’t.”
    No, that’s probably true, and she senses that Storino enjoys that fact. There is something intoxicating about power. Serving a warrant, scooping a suspect, holding a Middle Eastern man without cause—all different versions of the same thing, the flexing of muscle, belonging to something important enough that it lets you do things others can’t.
    â€œHe’s not on the no-fly,” Agent Harrick says.
    McCoy shoots her partner a look. He’s debating. Not the time, not the place.
    â€œWell, screw the Bureau, I guess,” Storino says, apparently referring to his, not McCoy’s. “This guy’s walking.”
    â€œSorry about the hush-hush.” McCoy shrugs.
    â€œAnd screw interagency cooperation, too, I guess.”
    â€œNot my call, Pete.”
    â€œI expect this crap from NSA, even CIA. Not you guys.”
    â€œWe gotta run, Pete. I appreciate it.”
    Storino nods once, deliberately, squinting his eyes. “I saw you on the tube. Couple weeks back. It was you, wasn’t it?”
    â€œMy ten minutes,” McCoy admits.
    â€œAllison Pagone. The writer. Killed that guy.”
    â€œShe wasn’t convicted, but—”
    â€œShe ate a bullet before it could happen,” Storino interrupts. “I made you for Public Corruption. That whole thing was about bribes, right? State lawmakers on the take.”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œSomething like that,” Storino mimics. “So today I’m making you for CT.”
    The counterterrorism squad, he means.
    â€œWhat’s the murder of a political guy got to do with this Haroon guy?”
    â€œHey, I go where they tell me. My day to catch flags.”
    Storino isn’t convinced. “Look, Agent McCoy—”
    â€œCall me Jane.”
    â€œâ€”you want to give me the Heisman, give me the Heisman. Do me a favor, though, don’t blow smoke up my ass.”
    McCoy sighs. “Again, Pete, thank you, and I’m sorry about this. I’m just a working gal here.”
    â€œYou think this guy killed Allison Pagone,” he says. “You think she didn’t take her own life.”
    â€œPete—”
    â€œI’ve got a Pakistani national with a flag walking through my airport, I’ve got someone from Homeland in D.C. telling me to do whatever you say, and I don’t know shit about it.”
    â€œI owe you one,” McCoy says. “Okay? No joke. Anytime.” She looks at her watch. “He’s going to