said Wally when I walked into FBI HQ on St. Clair the next afternoon sporting a lurid purple wraparound shiner that contrasted nicely with my yellow facial bruises and the grimy ocher bandage on my ear. “This Mona Lisa dame, I sure hope she’s worth it.” “Oh she is, Wally, she is” I said with a painful wink. How can a wink be painful? I followed him through the labyrinth of corridors to Chester Halladay’s office. Security. That was why the office of the Special Agent in Charge was buried at the end of this Babylonian maze. Any assailant would have to run a gauntlet of junior G-men to get to Halladay. Smart. If the assailant was dumb enough to mount a frontal attack. Not so smart if the assailant attacked from the rear. The Special Agent might find his escape route all bunged up. Safety bars aren’t much help if a fire breaks out inside your house. Wally and I arrived at our destination. I gathered myself before the great oaken door. Wally tugged at my sleeve and said, “Visiting hours are two to five.”
