by Stuart Woods
“Mr. Barrington?”
“Yes.”
“This is Fair Sutherlin.”
“Good morning. You’re up early.”
“It’s eight o‘clock. I’ve been in my office for an hour. Oh, that’s right, I forgot: you’re on vacation.”
Stone ignored the dig. “I’m an attorney. I keep banker’s hours.”
She laughed. “I’m sorry, I can’t resist getting at real people, who have a business life and a private life. When you work at the White House,~ey>iv>
“You make it sound like drudgery,” Stone said.
“Oh, no, it’s too exciting for drudgery. It’s more like combat.”
“I see.”
“I’m breaking out and giving a small dinner party on Saturday night,” she said. “Could you both come? I’ll get Mr. Bacchetti a dinner partner, if he needs one.”
“Hang on,” Stone said, and turned to Dino. “Fair Sutherlin wants us for dinner Saturday night. Do you want her to get you a date?”
“I already have a date,” Dino said. “I’ll bring her.”
Stone went back to the phone. “Is a female FBI agent okay?”
“Oh, that’s perfect,” Fair said. “Nobody there will ever have met a female FBI agent.”
“Where and what time?”
“Seven-thirty for eight.” She gave him the address. “Of course, everything will be off if the country suddenly goes to hell, as it so often does. You’ll be called, in that case.”
“I understand,” Stone said. “The country comes first.”
“But not necessarily in my heart,” she said. “See you then.” She hung up.
“That’s a surprise,” Stone said.
“You’re too easily surprised,” Dino said. “You always were. If I’d put my mind to it, I could have predicted the invitation. She was looking at you a little hungrily back when she was a murder suspect.”
“Good thing we cleared her,” Stone said. “It probably would have been unethical to go out with a suspect.”
“When did that ever stop you?”
“Is this the guy talking who was fucking a desk sergeant not so long ago?”
“Yeah, but she was a hot desk sergeant.”
“I can’t deny that. I always admired your guts, Dino. If that had come to light, you’d be walking a beat now, instead of moonlighting for the president.”
“Nah,” Dino said, “the commissioner and I are like that.” He held up crossed fingers. “The chief of detectives wouldn’t dare mess with me-at least not while he’s fucking a lieutenant in the Public Affairs office.”
“God, the department is a hotbed of illicit liaisons these days, isn’t it?”
“So what else is new?”
“It’s considerate of the chief to give you a get-out-of-jail-free card.”
“Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“You’d better watch your ass if his lieutenant dumps him.”
“Don’t worry, I know her, she’s not stupid. She knows which side of her badge gets polished.”
“I’m going to try and make sense of that metaphor while I do the crossword,” Stone said, picking up the Times.
“Good luck.”
“With the metaphor or the crossword?”
“Both.”
Stone folded the paper back and looked at one-across. Almost immediately, the phone rang. “Hello?”“It’s Holly.”
“Hey, there.”
“Did I wake you?”
“Wake me? I’m already on the crossword.”
“You want to take me to a fancy restaurant on Saturday night?”
“I’d love to, but I’ve accepted an invitation to a dinner party at Fair Sutherlin’s house.”
“I’m jealous already.”
“Oh, come on.”
“The woman’s a shark, you know.”
“And she seems so nice.”
“That’s because she knows you’re in with the president and the first lady.”
“You mean she’s not this nice to everybody?”
“Everybody thinks so, until they suddenly feel blood running down their necks from an open artery.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Are you forgetting what city you’re in?”
“Is it really all that different from New York?”
“In New York, everybody thinks only of business. Here, they think about politics, and believe me, that’s a whole different ball game. Every person you meet is not just out for himself, he’s out for the guy he works for and the guy he works for. That means everybody has at least three main causes to screw other people for, and that’s before you take into account the effect of partisan politics on relationships.”
“So you’re worried about me?”
“Listen, a simple, barefoot New York lawyer like yourself wouldn’t last a week in this town. Where Washington is concerned, you’re a rube, and a disposable one at that.”
“Suddenly I feel naked and alone,” Stone replied.
“That’s rather a nice thought,” she said.
“I hope to God we’re not on an Agency line.”
She laughed. “Give me credit for knowing when I can get away with talking dirty.”
“Listen, what if I take you to a fancy restaurant tonight instead of Saturday, and we can continue this conversation over a bird and a bottle.”
“Done,” she said.
“You pick the restaurant and book the table. The headwaiters here don’t know who I am.”
“If I’m doing my job properly, they don’t know who I am, either, but leave it to me.”
“You going to do something sneaky to get a good table?”
“I’m sneaky for a living,” she said.
“And good at it.”
“You said it, pal.”
“A drink here at, say, six-thirty?”
“I’m going to feel like martinis tonight,” she said.
“Then I will aid and abet.”
16
Teddy Fay turned the cessna toward Clinton Field, in the southeast quadrant of greater Washington.
“Tell me again why we’re landing at D.C.,” Lauren Cade said.
“Because it’s the last place Mr. Todd Bacon would think of looking for me. You can bet your sweet ass that right now he’s got a team canvassing every general aviation airport on the West Coast all the way to Canada.”
“I get that part,” Lauren said, “but there have to be, at the very least, dozens of people in D.C. that you used to work with at the Agency who would recognize you on sight.”
Teddy shook his head. “First of all, most of a generation of people I worked with have retired, and they don’t have the money to move into D.C. Those who are still active live out near McLean, as close to work as they can.”
“I guess that makes sense, but being here still makes me nervous.”
“Why? Nobody here knows you, do they? And remember, I wear disguises,” he said, pointing at the toupee that covered his pate.
“It’s true,” Lauren said, “that you do disguises better than anybody I ever saw. Sometimes even I find you unrecognizable.”
“That’s because I have a pretty much featureless face. A nose here, a mustache there, and I’m somebody else. So relax, baby, we’re going to be just fine.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Besides,” Teddy said, “I have a little hideaway at this airport that I kept for years as a backup to Manassas. I have a hangar here that you’ll like.”
“A hangar? What’s to like?”
“O ye of little faith,” Teddy said, stopping before a hangar. He shut down the engine, walked to the small door set into the hangar door, worked a combination lock, and stepped inside. A moment later the hangar door opened squeakily. He walked back to the Cessna, got out the tow bar, and backed the airplane into the hangar.
“We have a car,” he said, pointing to an oldish Toyota parked in a corner. He closed the hangar door and switched on a light. “Grab a couple of bags,” he
said, “and follow me.”
He grabbed some bags himself and led her up a flight of stairs, where he tapped a code into a keypad, opened a door, and switched on some lights.
Lauren looked inside. “It’s a living room,” she said.
“It’s an apartment,” he corrected. “There’s a bedroom, a kitchen, and an office, too.” He fiddled with the thermostat, and cool air began to flow. “We need to dust and vacuum and lay in some groceries,” he said, “but that can wait until tomorrow. Let’s shower and change, and I’ll buy you dinner.”
Stone answered the bell and let Holly into the suite, then gave her a kiss. “You look smashing,” he said, admiring the tight yellow dress. “I thought CIA people were purposely drab and were trained to fade into the background.”
“Once in a while I fox everybody by being noticeable,” she said.
“And noticeable you certainly are.” He went to the bar, opened the freezer, and removed a pitcher of martinis that he had premixed. He filled ed.o the a martini glass, dropped in three olives on a spear, and handed her the glass, then poured himself a Knob Creek on the rocks. “Here’s to knockout dresses on beautiful women,” he said, raising his glass.
Holly took a tentative sip, then a bigger one. “Wow,” she said.
“It’s colder than ice.”
“I noticed that.” She sucked an olive off the toothpick and chewed thoughtfully. “Wow again! What’s in these olives?”
“Anchovies,” Stone said. “I didn’t want to tell you before you tasted one. Lots of people blanch at the thought of anchovies.”
“A perfect combination,” she said. “It’s fairly cool tonight, let’s sit on your terrace.”
Stone opened the door and followed her outside. She leaned against the railing and looked toward the White House. “Much of what happens in the world starts there,” she said. “It never ceases to amaze me how well our government works.”
“Sometimes,” Stone said.
“A lot of the time, because the government is full of people like me who love the country and want it to do well.”
“Does the Agency work well?”
“Again, a lot of the time. We probably make more mistakes than a lot of government agencies, but then we’re working in a world that’s full of surprises.”
“Isn’t it the Agency’s job to figure out what the surprises are before they happen?”
“Then they wouldn’t be surprises,” she said. “Lance and I do the presidential intelligence briefings when Kate is away, and we’re always able to warn him about two or three things that are about to happen.”
“And then,” Stone pointed out, “the Soviet Union collapses and Egypt erupts, and the Agency didn’t predict those.”
“The big ones are harder to predict than you’d think. We get more than our fair share right.”
“I won’t argue the point,” Stone said.
“You’d better not, if you want hot sex tonight.”
“This is my mouth closing,” Stone said, making a zipping motion.
Holly tossed off her martini and popped the last olive into her mouth. “I’m hungry,” she said, “and you have to feed me more than olives.”
“Where are we dining?” Stone asked.
“At an old D.C. favorite,” she replied. “Maison Blanche, next door to the White House, where the old guard goes, and some of the new guard, too. You’ll see movers and shakers.”
Stone drained his glass. “One more of these and I’ll be unable to either move or shake. I hope you’re driving.”
“We’re being driven,” she said, “courtesy of the Agency. There’s a little flap on, and we’re battening a few hatches, just in case, and mine is one of the hatches.”
“I place myself entirely in your hands,” Stone said, “except that I’m still buying dinner.”
“You talked me into it,” she said, heading for the door.
They took the elevator to the lobby and walked out to the portico, where the usual black SUV awaited.
“I’m going to ham guarve to give you a leg up,” Stone said, “what with the tight dress.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, “and remember, don’t talk shop in front of the driver-not your shop or mine.”
“Didn’t I already shut up?” Stone asked, opening the door for her.
17
The restaurant was not small, but intimate nonetheless. They were seated at a banquette, back-to-back with another. “I’m surprised that the place is so full at this early hour,” Stone said.
“Washington, like L.A., is an early town, because everybody goes to work at the break of dawn,” Holly said.
Stone ordered a second drink for them, and they relaxed. He was vaguely aware of some people being seated behind them, but his attention was on Holly. “I like you with your hair up,” he said. “You have a lovely neck.” He leaned over and kissed it.
“Careful,” she said, “you’ll attract attention.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot we were being discreet. I guess that rules out what I was going to do with my hand.”
“Do it later,” she said. “Look across the room: see the man squeezed into the booth with that distinguished-looking couple? His name is Lyle ‘Scooter’ Hardin. He’s a social columnist, has a blog. He’ll work the room, then move on to Georgetown, and everyone will see their name online tomorrow morning.”
As Stone watched, the man left the booth and crossed the room, headed directly for them.
“Watch yourself,” Holly said, smiling at Stone.
Then the man was hovering over their table. “Good evening, folks,” he said.
“Good evenin’,” Holly replied, affecting an accent slightly more southern than her own.
“You’re at the Agency, aren’t you?” he asked Holly.
She looked blankly at him. “Which agency is that? There’s lots of them, aren’t there.”
“Oh, come on, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.”
“Have you spent much time in Atlanta lately?” Stone asked. “That’s where we’re from.”
“Yeah, sure,” Hardin said. “May I have your names for my column?”
“Column?” Stone asked. “You’re with the newspapers?”
“The newspapers are dead media,” Hardin replied. “The Internet is where everything’s at.”
“You shouldn’t end a sentence with at,” Holly said sternly.
“Huh?”
“We don’t want our names in the paper,” Stone said.
“Or on the Internet,” Holly chipped in.
“We don’t do facetube, and we don’t twit,” Stone said.
Scooter smirked at him. “Sir, I don’t think you’re the rube you’re pretending to be.”
“Who are you callin’ a rube?” Stone asked. “Good God, I hope everybody in Washington isn’t as rude as you are.”
“Please let me buy you a drink,” Hardin said, swiping a chair from a nearby table and pullm gu caing it up to theirs.
“We already have a drink,” Stone said, “and tonight, one’s our limit.”
“Now, really,” Hardin said, “that gorgeous dress didn’t come from Atlanta.”
“We have a Saks Fifth Avenue,” Holly said, indignantly. “At Phipps Plaza.”
Scooter pointed at Stone. “That suit didn’t come from off the rack at Saks,” he said.
“I’ve got a tailor in London,” Stone replied. “I’m there a lot on business.”
“And what business would that be?” Hardin asked.
“None of yours,” Stone said.
“Well,” Hardin said, “I know the lady’s at the Agency, and you’re, let’s see, at State?”
“Sir,” Stone said, “I’m a Republican, and I find your suggestion insultin’. The lady’s a Republican, too, and she has a very nice little art gallery at home.”
Holly put her hand on Stone’s arm. “Don’t tell him any more, sugar, we don’t need his kind of publicity.”
Stone took a deep br
eath and let it out, as if he were trying to control himself. “Sir,” he said to Hardin, “if you want to go on with this, you and I are goin’ to have to do it outside, if you get my meanin’.”
The maitre d’ materialized at their table. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Stone, “is this gentleman annoying you?”
“I guess you could say that,” Stone replied. “Except the ‘gentleman’ part.”
“Mr. Hardin,” the man said, “I’ve spoken with you about this before.”
Hardin threw up his hands. “All right, all right, I surrender.” He beat a rapid retreat.
“I want to apologize to you both,” the maitre d’ said.
“I’d be grateful if he didn’t get my name from the reservations list,” Stone said, slipping the man a fifty.
The maitre d’ declined the money. “Don’t worry, Mr. Barrington, we will see that your privacy is respected.” He bowed and left.
They ordered dinner and another drink, and suddenly, Stone picked up the words “two cops from New York” from the banquette at his back. Holly heard it, too. They stopped talking and listened to the woman’s voice.
“I think this proves that Will Lee is trying to pin that murder on somebody,” she said. “He’s got these out-of-towners in to write a report that he’s going to leak to the media, saying Brix Kendrick didn’t kill his wife. And after he’s already confessed!”
“It is odd,” her companion replied.
“What none of the investigations has turned up is Brix’s affairs,” she said.
“Brix was having affairs?” her companion asked. “I don’t believe it.”
“Well, one of his lovers is a friend of mine, and she lives in terror that she’s going to get pulled into the investigation and get her name in the paper and her husband will divorce her.”
Then another couple joined the two, and the subject of their conversation changed.
Holly kept her voice low. “I don’t know which is more interesting: that she knows you’r knrsae in town, or that Kendrick was having affairs.”
“Neither do I,” Stone said. “I thought our investigation was a closely held secret.”
“Well,” Holly said, “it may be a secret, but it’s apparently not closely held.”
