Page 113 of Dead Mountain

Watts merely grinned.

“No,” said Corrie. “No way.”

“‘When you have eliminated the impossible,’” Watts quoted, “‘whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.’ It was you who taught me that line.”

Corrie thought about it. Sharp? The more she pondered it, the more she realized he must have done it. Nothing else made sense. He had access to everything. He was in charge of the case. More to the point, she’d never seen him so disgusted and angry as when the case was suppressed. He’d been appalled and furious all over again when, less than twenty-four hours after the shootout at the lodge, the case was quashed again. The orders came down: Everything that had happened in the Manzanos—the bunker discovery, the journal, the camera, the murders of the caretakers, DeGregorio’s involvement, the exchange of gunfire—would be classified to the max, on direct orders from on high. Everything they’d done, all they had discovered, would be deep-sixed to protect the air force from embarrassment. When Corrie learned that, she thought Sharp might resign. But instead, after initially expressing anger, he’d gone as calm and lethargic as ever—and ordered her to take a two-week break.

Instead of resigning, she realized, Sharp must have played the role of Deep Throat. And come to think of it, wasn’t the original Deep Throat, the guy who’d exposed Watergate, also an FBI agent? She felt a sudden surge of pride in the FBI: despite everything, the working agents of the Bureau had displayed patriotism and integrity.

“Wow,” she said. “You’re right. It’s gotta be Sharp.”

“He’s a good man. Took real balls to do this.”

“But, you know, there’s going to be an investigation of who leaked this,” said Corrie. “I’ll be one of the suspects. So will you. So will Sharp. It could get ugly. They’ll figure out it was him.”

“No,” said Watts. “He’s got more guts than you could hang on a fence. Smart, too, despite that lizard-in-the-sun act. There’s no slack in his rope. If he did this, you can bet he did it with the utmost care. They might suspect him—but they won’t prove anything.”

He got off the divan, came over, and sat down on the bed. “But you know what, Corrie? I’m pretty sure things are going to go in a different direction altogether. There’ll be an investigation—just not of the FBI.”

“What do you mean?”

“Why take blame when you can take credit? That’s what the FBI will do: take credit. As they should. You’ll all get commendations, including Sharp, and if anybody gets investigated, it will be the air force. I mean, they messed up—although it’s probably old enough now that nobody will actually get punished. But the FBI—you all kicked ass. You in particular. They’re going to make you a hero.”

Corrie stared at him. “You really think so?”

He leaned over her and kissed her. “I do. You are a hero.”

“So are you. You saved my life.”

He kissed her again.

Corrie said, “Sheriff Watts?”

“Yes?”

“Are we on federal land?”

“Technically, yes.”

“That puts me in command.”

“Huh?” He grinned. “Are you gonna invoke the Hobbs Act on me, Agent Swanson?”

“Not exactly. Take off that shirt.”

He took off his shirt.

“And the pants. That’s an order, mister.”

He took off the pants.

“Now everything else.”

He obeyed.

“I’d tell you to present arms, but it appears that command won’t be necessary. Get in this bed, Sheriff—on the double.”

“Immediately, Agent Swanson.” And he slipped in beside her.