Chapter 129: You Sympathise With Them So Much, Why Don't You Lower Your Commission?
Sunday morning arrived with the crisp bite of autumn air filtering through the high windows of FBI headquarters.
Theodore and Bernie found Agent Lombardi waiting for them in the bullpen, his pressed suit and polished shoes marking him as one of Hoover's old guard, the kind of agent who understood that appearances mattered as much as results in J. Edgar's Bureau.
Lombardi had caught wind of the difficulties they were encountering and made the trip specifically to offer assistance.
The gesture wasn't lost on either man, and they expressed their appreciation with the formality the moment required.
"I don't intend to step on your investigation," Lombardi clarified, straightening his narrow tie. "But I've coordinated plenty of operations at Union Station. The place has its quirks, blind spots, traffic patterns, and exit routes. Thought you might benefit from that experience."
Theodore studied the older agent's weathered face. Experience was currency in this business, and Lombardi's offer carried weight. He nodded his acceptance.
Before Lombardi departed, Bernie provided a comprehensive briefing on their progress, including the psychological profile of their confidence man. Lombardi's eyebrows rose at the speed of their advancement; cases like this typically took weeks, not days.
He didn't press Bernie about sources, but confirmed the reliability of their intelligence. Bernie assured him it was rock-solid, offering no elaboration. Some things were better left unexamined in Hoover's FBI.
The previous day had delivered their first real lead. The main branch of Riggs National Bank had proven remarkably cooperative, a refreshing change from the usual bureaucratic stonewalling. The branch manager had personally delivered a list, treating the matter with the gravity it deserved.
The list was disappointingly brief: five names total. One account opening had been denied, three loan applications contained falsified information, and one mortgage asset appraisal had failed to pass muster. The bank had also provided copies of all submitted documentation, complete with personal details and supporting materials.
All five individuals were government employees, but none worked for the General Services Administration, a fact that immediately caught Theodore's attention. More troubling still, the banking records showed these five people's only connection to communication technology was frequent telephone usage.
This profile diverged sharply from Theodore's assessment of their target.
Bernie had voiced the obvious question: "Wednesday saw dozens of people cycling through that branch. How could only five transactions fail?"
"That noon alone, I witnessed two rejections, one account freeze, one loan denial," he'd continued, his frustration evident. "And I was only there ten minutes."
The branch manager had spread his hands apologetically. "We can only provide records of customers who completed applications and were subsequently rejected. Many prospects are turned away during the initial consultation phase."
He'd paused, giving Bernie's rumpled appearance a pointed once-over before gesturing toward his immaculately dressed assistant.
"For instance, if this gentleman walked in requesting a ten-million-dollar loan dressed as he is now, our staff wouldn't escort him to the VIP suite. He'd be politely declined at the front desk."
Bernie had pressed for a list of these informal rejections, but the manager shook his head. "I'm afraid that's impossible. Unless they're known customers, these individuals rarely even provide their names."
The setback had forced them to recalibrate their strategy. Their original plan had been elegant in its simplicity: cross-reference the bank's rejection list with General Services Administration personnel, identify overlaps, then filter candidates using Theodore's psychological profile. Reality, as usual, proved messier than theory.
The branch manager, genuinely eager to assist, promised to have his Wednesday staff attempt to reconstruct a list from memory.
Theodore provided portions of the scammer's profile, emphasising they should focus on loan applicants, particularly those who'd become emotional or persistent after rejection.
After seeing off the bank manager, Bernie placed a call to the General Services Administration requesting a roster of communication technicians. The response delivered their second unpleasant surprise of the day.
The GSA had eliminated their entire communication technology department two years prior, outsourcing the function to AT&T. The current "Communication Technology Department" was merely a customer service liaison.
When government agencies required equipment installation or repair, they submitted requests to GSA, which then forwarded work orders directly to AT&T.
AT&T technicians would collect assignments from GSA offices and provide on-site service. The arrangement had slashed the federal budget while eliminating administrative headaches. GSA paid AT&T an annual fee and washed their hands of everything else.
Bernie's follow-up call to AT&T met with considerably less cooperation. While they expressed willingness to assist the investigation, they required a court order signed by a federal judge before releasing employee information.
After hanging up, Bernie turned to Theodore with mock desperation. "Does that magical notebook of yours contain the home number for AT&T's board chairman?"
Theodore considered the question seriously, even retrieving his leather-bound notebook to double-check. No dice, AT&T's senior management hadn't been present at the social gathering where he'd acquired most of his intelligence.
Bernie trudged upstairs to the Legal Counsel Office to navigate the proper channels. It wasn't until late afternoon that he emerged with the requisite court order.
AT&T grudgingly produced a list containing seven names.
Bernie's skepticism was immediate and vocal. "Seven technicians to handle all of Washington? What are you people running here, a comic book operation? Are your employees blessed with superhuman abilities?"
AT&T's representative denied employing superhumans but was unable to address Bernie's pointed questions.
Rather than continue the bureaucratic sparring match, Bernie privately contacted the technician who'd first informed them about the magnetized coins. The man confirmed AT&T's claim without hesitation.
"That's correct. Our department has exactly seven people."
Bernie's incredulity was palpable. "Seven people for all of Washington? The GSA Communication Technology Department, which only handled government work, employed more than that before the layoffs."
"Of course we can't handle it all directly," the technician admitted, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Most of our jobs get farmed out to subcontractors."
He explained that except for sensitive installations at agencies like the FBI and CIA, which the core seven handled personally, secondary departments and civilian communications work was entirely outsourced.
AT&T distributed completed work orders each morning and never inquired about implementation methods.
"The company doesn't care if it's people or ghosts solving the problems," he'd said with a sardonic smile, "as long as the problems get solved."
Bernie obtained basic information on all seven AT&T technicians. None matched their target profile.
His request for a list of subcontracting companies met with another refusal from AT&T, but the helpful technician quietly provided what they needed.
Theodore and Bernie selected a contractor located conveniently nearby. The moment they stepped through the office door, both men sensed something amiss.
The space bore no resemblance to a technical services company. No repair equipment, no technicians, no tools of any kind were visible. Instead, the cramped office was subdivided into tiny cubicles, each housing a dozen or more employees.
Telephones rang incessantly as workers fielded calls and scribbled information on standardized forms. The operation resembled a telemarketing boiler room more than anything related to communications technology.
They met with the company owner, a nervous man who raised both hands in surrender the moment Bernie displayed his credentials.
"I don't want any trouble," he declared immediately.
He explained his business model: after receiving work orders from AT&T, his company contacted registered independent contractors to fulfill assignments, extracting a commission for the referral service. They provided no direct technical services, essentially operating as a job placement agency for skilled tradesmen.
The owner readily produced his contractor roster. Theodore glanced at the substantial stack of papers and asked, "How many independent contractors do you have registered?"
"One hundred and seventy-four," came the immediate reply. The man clearly knew his numbers. "We're considered a major player in this industry."
He continued with evident pride, "Before registration, we assess each contractor's capabilities and assign jobs based on their evaluation scores. We've maintained a spotless record, with no single complaint. Our reputation in the field is sterling."
Bernie pressed for specifics. "How well do you know these people? Who among them possesses exceptional skills? Particularly those with supreme confidence in their abilities?"
The owner began circling names enthusiastically on the list. Had Bernie not intervened, the man would have highlighted every entry. Under repeated warnings, he eventually identified a dozen top-tier contractors.
"Anyone living near Union Station?" Bernie continued.
"Absolutely."
The dozen shrank to six.
Bernie and Theodore exchanged meaningful glances. "Is anyone experiencing urgent financial pressure recently?"
The owner spread his hands helplessly. "They all need money desperately."
Under Bernie's withering stare, he reluctantly pointed to one name. "This fellow's been scrambling for every available job lately." He indicated another entry. "Last week, these two actually came to blows over a single assignment."
Then he pointed to a third name. "And Marino."
Bernie studied the list more carefully. "Marino Jenkins? He's also competing aggressively for work?"
The owner shook his head quickly. "Marino doesn't need to compete for anything. He's legendary in their circle; when others encounter difficult problems, they consult him. If Marino wants a particular job, people step aside voluntarily."
He paused, as if realizing he was contradicting his earlier statements about universal financial desperation. "Marino has never taken work from anyone. He mentors the younger contractors, shares his knowledge freely. He's simply a decent human being."
Bernie and Theodore exchanged another glance. They were, indeed, seeking a decent human being, someone capable of inspiring trust, someone victims would believe.
Bernie quietly noted Marino Jenkins's name and continued his questioning. "Anyone else? What about the remaining contractors?"
"Henry Mitchell." The owner indicated a fourth name. "His wife is bedridden, with terminal cancer. Medical bills are crushing him."
The man clearly maintained detailed knowledge of his contractors' personal situations. As he'd claimed, financial desperation was universal among them. Many worked conventional jobs during the day, then rushed out for additional assignments each evening. They feared idleness more than exhaustion, understood that missed opportunities meant empty refrigerators.
The owner continued his introductions, and throughout his commentary, genuine sympathy colored his descriptions. These people were salt-of-the-earth types, he insisted, honest, hardworking, never caused problems, kept to themselves.
His evident compassion for their circumstances struck Theodore as noteworthy.
"You sympathize with them considerably," Theodore observed.
The owner sighed deeply and nodded. "Their struggles are real. I help whenever possible and take care of those I can. That reputation is precisely how this company grew from a dozen contractors to our current size so rapidly."
He gestured around the bustling office. "Their community is tight-knit. Word travels fast when someone treats them fairly."
Theodore studied the man's earnest expression, then asked quietly, "If you sympathize with them so much, why don't you lower your commission?"
The owner's face went rigid.
Bernie quickly intervened, pointing to the circled names. "Can you provide work records for these men covering Wednesday through Friday?"
The owner nodded stiffly, summoned an employee, and cooperated fully with the request.
The job records arrived within minutes. Theodore cross-referenced them against the timeline of fraudulent activity and identified two prime suspects.
Marino Jenkins, the contractor the owner had praised so effusively, headed the list. His schedule showed a suspicious gap Wednesday afternoon, coinciding with another period of inactivity when the flight attendant had received her deceptive call that evening.
The second suspect was Henry Mitchell, the man with the dying wife. His schedule revealed similar temporal gaps.
Outside the building, Bernie finally released the laughter he'd been suppressing throughout the encounter, doubling over against their sedan's door.
Theodore checked his watch and observed dryly, "If you keep this up, it'll be dark soon."
Bernie climbed into the passenger seat, still chuckling. "It's fine, companies like that operate around the clock."
After collecting themselves, they proceeded to the second contractor referral service.
This operation proved disappointingly small, having been barely a month old, staffed by only three people, and with just over twenty registered contractors. Applying their filtering criteria systematically, they eliminated every name within an hour.
They continued company by company throughout the afternoon, not finishing their rounds until eight o'clock that evening. By then, they'd identified fourteen suspects matching their psychological profile.
More importantly, they'd compiled a comprehensive directory of nearly every independent communications contractor operating in Washington, a resource that might prove invaluable as the investigation progressed.
The dissolution of GSA's communication technology department had created this shadow economy overnight. Former government employees with steady paychecks and federal benefits had been transformed into desperate freelancers, scrambling for subsistence wages in an unforgiving marketplace.
Returning to the Department of Justice Building, they encountered Agent Lombardi in the parking garage. He was just returning from Union Station, and they exchanged brief updates.
The surveillance of locker 103 had yielded nothing useful. No suspicious individuals matching their profile had approached the area; in fact, no one had approached those particular lockers at all, except for two obvious drug transactions involving the larger storage units.
Bernie reciprocated by detailing their day's progress and showing Lombardi the suspect list.
Lombardi studied the names briefly, returned the notebook, then hesitated before asking, "Are you planning to continue this investigation?"
Sensing potential misunderstanding, he quickly clarified.
"What I mean is, we've already prevented two victims from being defrauded, and the money has been recovered. No actual harm occurred. Even if we apprehend this individual, he'll likely face misdemeanor charges at most. Few months in minimum security, then he's back on the street."
Theodore nodded seriously. "If he's not caught, he'll eventually succeed. Someone will be harmed."
He paused, considering his words carefully.
"Apprehending him sends a message that his methods aren't foolproof, that he's been identified. Sometimes that's enough to end a criminal career."
Lombardi didn't fully grasp the reasoning but didn't press the issue. He nodded respectfully and bid them farewell. "Fair enough. See you tomorrow, then."
Theodore and Bernie gathered their accumulated paperwork and headed for their office. Building security intercepted them at the exit, handing over an envelope left by the Riggs National Bank branch manager.
The envelope contained another list.
The hunt was far from over.
[End of Chapter]
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