by Tom Abrahams
Felicia considered the viability of this as she wiped the mascara from her face. She needed to blow her nose, but kept sniffling instead. She laughed at herself. The thought of an anchorman masturbating to a court filing really was funny.
Chapter 22
The air in the sauna stung Bill Davidson’s nostrils. The combination of simmering birch leaf and eucalyptus was almost overpowering, but the odor wasn’t the real cause of his discomfort.
“You may know, Bill,” Sir Spencer started amiably, “the Finnish have a saying about the sauna.”
“What is that?” Davidson said, not at all interested in the answer.
“They say,” he continued, “and this is loosely translated, ‘If drink, tar, or sauna cannot help you, then the illness is fatal.’” The knight laughed. Davidson smiled weakly.
The two men had the sauna to themselves. Sir Spencer had arranged it that way. They both sat on thick cotton towels, and Davidson also had a towel wrapped around his waist. Sir Spencer was nude, unclothed as much for the comfort of it as to disarm Davidson.
“Let’s talk plot,” the knight said, not wasting any more time. “I get the impression from you, Bill, you’re uneasy about our plans. Am I wrong about this?”
“No,” Davidson said honestly, “you’re not wrong. I am uncomfortable with violence.”
“Why is that?” The knight knew the answer but asked regardless.
“I don’t like the idea of killing fellow Americans.” Davidson’s jaw was clenched as if it were wired shut when he spoke.
“Bill”—the knight clapped his hands together mockingly—“I applaud your sanctimoniousness. Really, it is honorable. But you and I both know that what those in power choose to call terrorism is, in fact, the only effective weapon of the weak against the strong.”
“Didn’t Gaddafi say that?” Davidson asked. “Are you quoting Muammar Gaddafi?”
“Think of the reward, Bill,” Sir Spencer said. “You help me and I help you. Very rarely does somebody get two shots in the cabinet. James Baker, Caspar Weinberger, Elizabeth Dole…you’d be joining elite company.”
“Who are you working for, Spencer?”
“The American People, Bill. I am working on behalf of the American people.”
“Is it the Saudis?” Davidson paused. “The Iranians?”
“Bill, before you go and do anything rash, I ask you this: What did you think was going to happen? How did you think we would be able to effect change? You cannot be that naïve. I refuse to entertain that notion. We all knew from the beginning that violence could spring from the well.”
Davidson shifted his weight on the towel and placed his hands palm down on the cotton. His elbows were locked and his body language spoke volumes.
“Just think about it, Bill.” Sir Spencer stood and stretched languidly. “I just want you to take some time alone and think. No need to be so rash. We’ve spent years planning for this, and you seem ready to disregard all of that work over some misplaced morality.” The knight moved to the door and put his hand on the carved wooden handle. “You have until morning to decide. I need the information you can provide ahead of everyone else; otherwise it becomes too complicated. We don’t need any additional complications. You give to me the little bit of innocuous factual information I want, and I give back to you the power and prestige you covet.”
The knight lowered his voice. “We both know, William, that you are a self-loathing hypocrite. Anyone can see it if they choose to look. You never lived up to your father’s billing. You were essentially an impotent member of the cabinet. Despite the rank afforded your position and your public, radical grandstanding, your president never lent you his ear. He chose you because you were a pedigreed, biracial lawyer who satisfied the melting pot. No more cable appearances during which you offer meaningless opinions. I can take you from the chattering class to the ruling class. I know you haven’t lost your desire for power, Bill. You know you haven’t lost that taste.” He stepped over to Davidson and patted his knee. “But it is up to you. I’ll be in touch.”
Sir Spencer left his towel on the wooden bench and walked out of the sauna naked. The door slammed behind him. Davidson sat alone in the dry heat, knowing that everything the knight had said was true. Every last, painful word was on target.
He inhaled the sauna fumes and flinched, questioning how he had allowed himself to become entangled in a treasonous, violent plot. Was he making an even bigger mistake by trying to undo what was already done?
It was more than two hundred degrees in the sauna, but as Davidson thought about all of the eventualities he faced because of his shortsightedness, he shivered.
He shifted his weight to stand when the door suddenly opened again. He stopped his forward momentum and sat back, his attention squarely on the door.
“Bill, are you here?” It was a woman’s voice.
Davidson was momentarily confused. He recognized the voice, but he couldn’t process why she was there in the sauna.
“What are you doing here?” He stood up, holding his towel around his waist to ensure it didn’t fall.
“Well, hello to you to, sir!” She eased over to him, surprised at his modesty. “I’m a member here.” She dropped her own towel, revealing her thin, deliciously pale body. The diamond in her navel sparkled. Her auburn hair was pulled back in a ponytail.
“O-okay,” Davidson stammered and smacked his bridge. She leaned into him, wiggling her body between his knees. “But how did you know I was here?”
“I saw you walk in here with that big, heavy dude. I was getting ready to go for a swim, but I waited. When he left, I thought I’d pop in and surprise you.” She tickled both sides of his chest with her fingernails. The temperature in the room was dramatically hotter for Davidson.
“You surprised me.”
“So how was your meeting last night?”
“Long.”
“Did you enjoy catching up with your friends?” She moved from between his legs and sat on the bench next to him. “We didn’t get to talk much when you got back to the hotel.” She giggled. “After you showered, we were otherwise engaged.”
“Aren’t you worried someone will walk in and see you?”
“No. Are you?”
“A little,” he admitted. Davidson was not nearly as comfortable with his physique or his sexuality as she seemed to be. “You left before I woke up.”
“I had things to do. You know, Mr. Davidson, you’re not the only one with a busy agenda and clandestine meetings.” She rubbed her left hand across his head, dragging her nails on his scalp.
“So regular time tonight? At the Mayflower?” she asked, leaning on a towel with her palms flat against the bench.
“A little later.” He covered her right hand with his left. “I have a gallery opening to attend.”
“Oh, your artist friend, right? I forgot about that. You mentioned it before.”
They sat quietly for a moment, and then the door swung open. Davidson jumped and moved his hand into his lap. She was unaffected.
“Oh my,” said Sir Spencer. He had draped a new towel around his waist and seemed embarrassed at the scene in front of him. “My apologies, young lady. Bill, I am dreadfully sorry.”
“It’s okay.” She smiled at Sir Spencer.
“What do you want?” he asked, glaring at the knight.
“That’s my towel.” He pointed to the towel on which the woman was sitting. “But given your state of undress, perhaps I will find another.”
“You’re wearing one already,” Davidson pointed out. His companion giggled demurely.
“Oh, am I?” Sir Spencer looked down at his waist. “Yes. There I am, aren’t I? Wasn’t thinking. Just remembered leaving the towel in here and thought I’d retrieve it.”
“Goodbye,” Davidson said, decidedly more aggressive than he’d been just minutes before when the knight emasculated him.
“Goodbye.” The knight nodded at the woman, never turning his eyes to Davidson. “Aga
in, my apologies.” He backed out of the small room as though leaving the presence of royalty.
“That was odd.” She laughed.
“Yeah.”
“Who was that?” She turned toward Davidson on the bench.
“A dangerous man.”
“Why?”
“He wants to run the country and rule the world.”
“Doesn’t everybody?” She laughed again, as though she didn’t take him literally.
Davidson turned to look at her. At first he was stone faced and expressionless, but when he looked at her face, his tension eased. He smiled before talking about their third delicious tryst in twenty-four hours.
Chapter 23
Shopping for clothing was a duty for Matti Harrold. She was utilitarian and never had succumbed to the Madison Avenue-pushed trappings like so many women had.
Matti was undoubtedly feminine, but she was not a fashionista. If anything, she was the antithesis.
Most women, Matti had long ago observed, shopped like feeding sharks. They would enter a store and circle the perimeter. Then, as their taste narrowed, they would work inward. Brushing against fabrics and tugging on price tags or labels, they would eventually find the target. The entire event could take hours to play itself out.
The process repeated itself infinitely in each section of the store. Even when shopping for their men, most women would attack the racks with the same method. They overbought with the full intention of returning most of the goods. The process was complicated further by signs perched above the clothes. “SALE”, “BOGO”, “1/2 OFF!” was the equivalent of bloody chum in the water and only served to aggravate the huntresses.
Matti was certain she’d somehow missed the shopping gene, which she knew was the product of natural selection. Instead, she shopped like her father. Her technique was a reconnaissance mission. She was in and out of the store along the shortest line possible. Her bounty most often included cotton and/or denim. Rarely was anything shiny or smooth, strapped or strapless. She knew very little of labels or thread count. To her, satin and sateen were the same thing.
So when she entered the chic women’s clothing store at the Westfield Montgomery Mall in Bethesda, Maryland, she was a fish out of water. She needed a pretty dress or skirt, a pair of nonfunctional shoes, and some accessories. Matti spent the thirty-five-minute drive considering what colors would look best and decided that whatever she chose should be black or navy.
“May I help you?” asked the pixie-like blonde who greeted her at the store’s entrance.
“Yes, I need something for an art exhibit opening tonight, please.” Matti pulled her black leather purse strap a bit higher onto her shoulder.
“What size are you?”
“Six, I think.” Matti wasn’t entirely sure. “I usually buy something with an ‘S’ or an ‘M’ on it, but I think my jeans are usually a six.”
“Are you looking for a dress? Or would you like a skirt with a cute top?” The girl waved her into the store and to the left.
“I’m not sure. What do you think would be appropriate?” Matti had her own ideas of appropriate and assumed the girl’s definition would be starkly different.
She was pleasantly surprised when the pixie showed her a rack of clothing that included very simple black dresses. Matti looked at the pricing sign above the rack.
“This is good.” She was excited. She hadn’t betrayed her shopping sensibilities. One store, one salesperson, one dress, and bingo!
“I think we have this in a four and a six. I don’t see an eight.” The girl pulled two dresses from the eye-level bar. “Why don’t you try these first? If they’re no good, then I can look in the back for an eight. Okay?”
Matti nodded and followed her to the dressing stalls in the back of the store. They weren’t as private as she’d have liked. The girl slipped a key into one of the pink doors and opened it for Matti then hung both dresses on a hook inside the door.
“Let me know if you need the eight.”
Matti closed the door and began undressing. As she slipped out of her clothes and into the dress, she thought about the meeting she’d had with her supervisor only an hour earlier. While she was certainly thrilled that he’d agreed to her attending the art exhibit, she was beginning to question his motives. She knew better than to take anything at face value.
She was, after all, working for an agency that was never above suspicion for its actions and motivation. Most of what it did, and why it did it, was secret and confidential. Occasionally some of the subterfuge was known publicly.
Matti remembered a report in the Baltimore Sun when she was in college. It detailed how the NSA had conspired with a company called Crypto AG to alter encryption machines. Crypto AG sold the machines to as many as one hundred twenty different countries. For years, the article alleged, the NSA secretly rigged the machines so that US intelligence analysts could easily break their foreign codes. The NSA could, without much effort, detail the daily activities of government agents from all over the world.
Nobody knew when the rigging began or what specific encryption machines were involved. Crypto denied the allegations, shrugging them off as ludicrous claims by disgruntled former employees, but the newspaper reported that it had evidence of NSA employees meeting with Crypto to discuss machine design. It cited a litany of other examples that all pointed to an American-born conspiracy to perpetuate consumer fraud on a global scale.
Matti recalled being somewhat put off by it, but she chose to think of the Crypto affair as one that had ended long ago under a different administration. That was her naiveté at work. It was her long-held desire to create a clear separation between the good and the bad, the black and the white, that kept her from fully embracing the shadowy, ethically-blurred world of her employer.
Looking at herself in the mirror, she reached an epiphany of sorts. What the asset said to her about terrorists and patriots made sense. Everything was in the eye of the beholder.
Standing there in a simple, clean-cut dress that accentuated every feminine part of her body, she realized that playing by the rules was fruitless. The only way to get ahead was to inch one’s way outside the lines. It was evident to her, as she processed the previous thirty-six hours, that she was a tool. The asset told her she was a pawn and it was true.
Her supervisor was using her for something. He knew it, the asset knew it, and countless other agents and analysts who “needed to know” knew it. What that “something” was remained irrelevant to Matti. What mattered was finishing what she started.
Matti turned to the side and put her left hand on her stomach as she looked at her profile and her posterior. She needed a second opinion. She turned the handle on the door and stepped into the store. She was barefoot and didn’t want to go searching for the pixie, so she called for her. The girl heard her and rushed to get a look.
The girl’s jaw dropped when she saw her.
Matti looked down at herself and panicked. “What? Is something wrong?”
A huge grin spread across the pixie’s face, revealing impossibly white teeth. “Not at all. Where were you hiding that body? I am so jealous.”
Embarrassed now, Matti crossed her arms high across her chest. Maybe the dress was too much.
“Put your arms down and let me look!” The girl took Matti’s hand and extended her arm. “Perfect.” The girl kept looking at her, nodding her head.
Matti wondered if it was a sales job. She’d never known women to be complimentary of one another. “Are you just trying to sell me on this?”
“What?” The pixie looked at Matti as though she’d discovered a third eye. “No! Girl, if I was trying to sell you, I wouldn’t pick that dress. We have some more expensive numbers I’d be pushing on you if it was just a sales job. If you’d like, I could try.”
“No.” Matti shook her head. “That’s okay.
Growing up, Matti had taken longer than most girls to outgrow her baby fat. She was a cute but chunky tween who was more at
home on the sidelines of her dad’s football practices than shopping at the mall or talking on the phone. Boys never paid her much attention until the summer before her junior year. Matti grew an inch and lost ten pounds, and her physique caught up with her intellect.
The opposite sex started to notice Mattie, and she was completely oblivious. It was her lack of physical self-confidence that led the boys, and even other girls, to think of her as aloof and untouchable.
The pixie folded her arms and drew one hand up to her chin. “Now we need to get you some shoes, maybe a necklace. And yes, on those items, I am trying to sell you.”
The two laughed and Matti felt good about herself. She would use the advantages the good lord had so generously, if not belatedly, bestowed upon her to help with the evening’s work. She felt a little bit like Jamie Lee Curtis in the movie True Lies.
A half hour later she walked out of the store with a pair of shoes, a necklace, and the size four dress. She only had a few hours to get home, get ready, and make her way back into the District for the event.
Chapter 24
Jimmy Ings unlocked the walk-in cooler that held the cache of Semtex. He’d closed the store for the day and paid his two employees to go home. They didn’t know what their boss kept in the smaller of the shop’s two walk-ins. He’d instructed them upon being hired that they should not ask.
Ings mumbled as he puffed on the cigarette that hung from his lips. He didn’t enjoy paying people not to work, but he knew he had no choice in the matter. He slipped the ring of keys back in his pocket and wiped his hand on his flannel shirt.
He took a final long drag off his Camel and tossed the butt onto the cement floor of the shop. He was in the back of the building in an area behind the meat counter and through a door. He stepped on the still-smoking cigarette and rubbed it into the floor with the toe of his shoe. He knew better than to mix a lit cigarette with high-order explosives.
