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Nash thought of Maizie and the narcs again. In an undercover operation that ended too soon, the lingering suspicion always remained that the operator had been coerced into cooperation by the police. The taint of dishonesty was poisonous. The Justice Department can say I was working freely until they were blue, Nash thought. I might have to resign from the bench. Who’d appear in front of a judge with that kind of reputation? The only solution was for this sting to stay as secret as Roemer insisted. “Do I have to wear a wire?” Nash asked. Roemer laughed. Janice smiled, to Nash’s embarrassment. “Did you ever wear one when you were a DA?” “Never.” “We’ll try to avoid it. You probably had shitty equipment at the local level. Old Fargos? Lousy recorders.” Nash recalled the gurgling, faint, unintelligible tapes cops brought in from undercover buys and stakeouts. “You could go crazy trying to listen to that junk,” he said. Roemer came to the window. Janice sat a few feet away, as if the circle were now complete. The cops behind the door were holding their breaths, he thought. “What we’ll do”—Roemer shaped the air with his hands—“is manipulate the situation so that you and the target are in some place we’ve prepared already. Maybe a restaurant. Maybe a hotel room. Maybe a car. But in each instance, I’m going to be capable of putting your transaction on video and audio tape.” “I won’t push it,” Nash said. “If they won’t go for what I’m selling, I’ll walk away.” “Absolutely,” Roemer said with force. “Absolutely. I’m not here to make anyone do anything he didn’t want to do in the first place.” Nash had made his final commitment as Roemer spoke. He wouldn’t compromise friends or the reluctant ones. He would vigorously go after the others, the dirty ones Roemer said were on the bench. He was disgusted at the idea that a judge he saw at the weekly meeting, ran into in the courthouse corridors, or drank with at the endless judges’ colleges and conferences was selling his office. That’s the old prosecutor, Nash thought. The prospect of nailing a bad guy still gets my juices going. “What’s your opinion, Janice?" Nash asked. She paused in her writing. “You made the right decision. I never regretted making it.” He wondered what choices she had faced. He wanted to ask her. Roemer clenched his fist, aimed it toward Nash. “We will run one of the most successful undercover operations ever, Tim. Believe me.” “We’ve named it, too,” Janice said. “What is it?” “The whole thing’s running under the name Operation Broken Trust. I picked it,” Roemer said. Nash liked it. He felt a flood of goodwill.