Scott remembered that he used the same argument with Doug only days before. He eased up. "Sure, ready and aimed, though."
"I'm quitting." Tyrone's face showed disappointment, resigna- tion.
The beer bottle at Scott's lips was abruptly laid on the table.
"Quitting? The FBI?" Tyrone nodded. "Why? What happened?"
For one moment Scott completely forgot how angry he was.
The din of the Oyster Bar made for excellent cover. They could speak freely with minimal worry of being overheard.
"It's a long story, but it began when they pulled your article.
God, I'm sorry, man," Tyrone said with empathy. The furrows on
his forehead deepened as he searched for a reaction from Scott.
Nothing.
Ty finished off his drink and started on the refill. "Unlike what you probably believe, or want to believe, when you called me that morning, I had no idea what you were talking about. It was several hours before I realized what had happened. If I had any idea . . ."
Scott stared blankly at Tyrone. You haven't convinced me of anything, Scott thought.
"As far as I knew, you were writing an article that had no par- ticular consequence . . ."
"Thanks a shitload," Scott quipped.
"No, I mean, I had no idea of the national security implica- tions, and besides, it was going to be in the paper the next day anyway." Tyrone shrugged with his hands in the air for added emphasis. "Tempest meant nothing to me. All I said was that you and I had been talking. I promise you, that's it. As a friend, that was the extent of it. They took it from there." Tyrone extended his hands in an open gesture of conciliation. "All I knew was that what you'd said about CMR shook some people up in D.C.. ECCO has been quite educational. Now I know why, and that's why I have to leave."