The staffer's name was Erskine DeVries, and Turrin knew him as a yes-man, recognized for his ability to kiss up the appropriate superiors. Adept at sniffing changes in the winds of office politics, he had survived three administrations, wobbling from left to right at need, a humanoid chameleon intent upon survival and advancement. Leo didn't like the type, and in his fleeting contacts with DeVries, there had been nothing to incline him toward an individual exception.

"Leo, hey! Long time, no see."

Turrin pumped the boneless hand and let it go, suppressing a desire to wipe his palm against the nearest wall. "What's going on?"

DeVries was grinning at him like a cat about to belch canary feathers.

"Mean you haven't heard? Brognola's checking out. The guy's as good as gone." DeVries was on a roll, unable to contain himself. "He's history. Got one foot out the door, and one on a banana peel. I mean, he's out of here."

"Since when?"

"Since someone figured out the guy was doubling his bets. You feature that? The asshole was a sellout."

Turrin felt the angry color rising in his cheeks, and he suppressed a sudden urge to drive his fist through DeVries's face. Instead he slid an arm around the weasel's shoulders, lowering his voice to indicate a bond of confidentiality between them, drawing him away and to one side.

"Hey, this is news to me," he said. "I was supposed to see the guy this morning. What's the skinny?"

Favored with an audience, DeVries waxed professorial.

"I can't go into too much detail here, you understand, but someone tipped us that Brognola has been playing footsie with the Families in Baltimore, New York, some other places. We got phone logs, videos, you name it. Primo stuff."

"What's in the boxes?"

"Cases, this and that. You know the drill. Whatever's pending, plus a few selected oldies for comparison. And this."