by Allan Topol
Allison realized she had gotten as much as she could from Susan. “Could you do me a favor? There are a couple of framed magazine covers and a diploma in Vanessa’s office. Could you ship them to me in Providence?”
“Sure.”
She gave Susan the address and her contact info.
“If you think of anything else, please give me a call.”
“Will do.”
Riding down in the elevator, Allison thought: Next stop is the bank vault.
Then her stomach growled, telling her to get something to eat. In Vanessa’s apartment all she had was yogurt and black coffee. From years of starving herself as a model, Vanessa wasn’t big on grocery shopping. Allison decided to make a quick stop before going to the bank.
It was a gorgeous fall day, warm with lots of sunshine. Allison walked along the streets of Capitol Hill, in a neighborhood recently gentrified, until she spotted a small restaurant, the Silver Eagle. Inside, it had a wooden floor, a dozen tables, and a coffee bar on one side. At the midmorning hour, only two of the tables were occupied. At one, a college-age student was working at a computer and sipping coffee. At another, a man and a woman in their mid-twenties were arguing loudly about a movie. Allison sat down at a table against the wall opposite the bar.
A waitress came over, a brunette with a bob wearing braces, with a tattoo on her arm. She handed Allison a menu. She glanced at it quickly. “A tomato and mushroom omelet and a cappuccino.”
While waiting for the food, she picked up a copy of the morning New York Times abandoned on a nearby table. When she looked at the first page, she immediately saw Andrew Martin’s picture. As she read Nelson’s article, she understood why Paul was headed to Martin’s office early today. If Nelson’s right, Martin’s selection as chief justice was in deep trouble.
She opened the paper to the continuation of the article. As she did, through the corner of her eyes, she saw two Chinese men enter the restaurant. She spotted the scar on the one’s left cheek. Uh-oh, she thought. Those were the two who had been in the churchyard last evening and threatened to kill her unless she broke off her investigation and left Washington.
Allison guessed they wouldn’t do anything to her in the restaurant. She looked around anxiously. The bathroom was in the back. Close by was a rear exit. She hoped it was unlocked.
Allison looked down at the newspaper, pretending not to see the two Chinese men.
The waitress brought over Allison’s omelet and cappuccino. Without making eye contact with the two, Allison handed her twenty dollars and began eating. When she was finishing the omelet, the waitress returned with her change. “Where’s the bathroom?” Allison asked.
The waitress pointed to the back.
“Okay. Don’t take my coffee,” she said loudly. “I’ll be right back.”
Carrying her briefcase, Allison headed toward the back of the restaurant, on a beeline for the bathroom. When she was opposite it, she made a sharp right, opened the back door, and charged through it.
She was in a tiny backyard, surrounded by a six foot wooden fence. Damn. She was boxed in. Looking around, she spotted a trash can that she moved next to the fence.
As she did, she heard the Chinese man with the scar shout from the doorway, “Give me your briefcase. Or I’ll shoot.” She had to take a chance that he wouldn’t shoot with so many witnesses in the restaurant. So she ignored him, tossed her briefcase over the fence, climbed onto the trash can and in an instant boosted herself up, while kicking out the garbage can, and she leaped over the fence.
She landed in an alley, rolling to break her fall, but she felt a shot of pain in her left leg, the one she had injured in the Olympics.
She knew she’d have trouble running, but she headed down the alley as fast as she could. She expected the Chinese man to come over the fence and follow. And he did.
He was damn fast.
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him gaining. Even with a good leg, she’d never outrun him.
Her leg ached. Her breath was coming in short spurts. She would never get away from him. She had to try something else.
She was approaching the intersection of the alley with a street. Allison knew what to do. Still ten yards ahead of her pursuer, she turned right at the corner. He could no longer see her. She dropped down to her hands and knees on the sidewalk, making sure to tuck down her head.
As she expected, he turned the corner at full speed and went flying over her body while smacking one foot against her back. He landed ten yards away in a clump of bushes. He wasn’t moving. Must be unconscious. She didn’t wait to find out. This was her chance to get away.
She raised her arm. A cab stopped. Trying to shrug off the pain in her back, Allison climbed in.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“I don’t know yet. Just drive.”
As he roared away, she was thinking. Vanessa’s bank vault might have the mysterious CD these men wanted, but they seemed to know every move she made in Washington. She had to assume they’d be waiting for her when she came out of the bank. She had to get out of Washington, to get away from them.
The bank vault would have to wait, she decided. It would be safer for her to go to Anguilla. She might find some answers there.
“Reagan National Airport,” she told the driver.
* * *
Xiang wasn’t unconscious. Merely dazed. His face scratched, he climbed out of the clump of bushes. He was furious at himself for letting her trick him like that.
He watched her get into a cab and pull away. His eyesight was too cloudy to get the cab’s ID or a license plate.
Angry and frustrated, Xiang trudged back to the restaurant where he had asked Chou to wait. He’d have to make up a story for Chou that didn’t make him seem like such an incompetent. He didn’t want Chou telling Hu what had happened, or Hu might call Liu and ask that Xiang be taken off the case. He’d tell Chou that when he was chasing Allison a police patrol car happened to come along, so he had to let her get away. He’d tell him that to hide from the police he drove into a clump of bushes, and that’s how he scratched his face.
He thought about it for a minute. That story would work. As for Allison, Xiang was confident he’d catch up with her again. He’d put two men in front of Vanessa’s apartment for surveillance around the clock.
And he had something else. From searching Vanessa’s papers in her apartment, Xiang knew where Vanessa banked. If she had a vault box, chances were that’s where it would be. He’d put surveillance in front of the bank to snatch Allison after she came out—hopefully with the CD.
When he had been in training, an instructor had lectured Xiang and the other trainees, “Never let your work become personal. You can’t be emotional about anyone you’re working with or tracking.”
Xiang felt himself violating that order. Allison had just humiliated him, and he was becoming emotional about her. Once she got the CD, he vowed to gain revenge.
Meantime, Xiang had another problem. Liu had told Xiang to keep Liu personally informed of what happened in Washington. Xiang, of course, had no intention of calling Liu to report what just occurred and to tell Liu that he had lost track of Allison—his one lead for the CD. But what if the spymaster called demanding a status report before Xiang caught up with Allison again? The spymaster would demand answers. Lying and evasion would never work. Xiang would be in deep trouble.
Alexandria, Virginia
Standing at the American Airlines ticket counter, Allison was dejected once she learned how long it would take her to get to Anguilla. “I’m sorry,” the agent said. “It’s hard enough getting there in season, but now, you’re out of season.”
Allison would have to fly to Miami this afternoon, then in the morning to San Juan and connect there for the flight to Anguilla.
With two hours until her flight to Miami, Allison called the Corinthian Hotel in Anguilla where Police Commissioner Har Stevens said Vanessa had stayed. She wasn’t expecting any information, but as sh
e learned in her archeological work, there was no harm in trying. Sometimes long shots pay off. She asked to speak to the manager.
A minute later, she heard a man in a British accent say in a quavering voice, “John Burt, here.”
“Hello Mr. Burt. My twin sister Vanessa was staying at your hotel when she drowned Sunday evening.”
“That’s right. I’m very sorry for your loss. She was a very attractive woman and a good guest.”
“I want to know with whom she was staying.”
There were a couple seconds of hesitation before he said, “Oh, she was staying by herself.”
“Are you certain?”
“Absolutely. I keep careful tabs on my guests.”
Unlike Stevens, whom Allison thought sounded convincing, Burt was tentative. He’s lying, Allison was convinced.
“I’m flying down to Anguilla, Mr. Burt. I’ll be there late tomorrow. I want to stay in the same room my sister had.”
“Can I ask why?”
“Because we were twins. I have to experience what she did before she died. That’s the only way I can get closure.”
“Do you really think that’s wise? It could be upsetting for you.”
“How nice of you to be concerned about me.” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. “But I’m coming.”
Her next call was to Paul.
“Are you okay?” he said as soon as he answered.
She considered, but rejected the idea of telling Paul about the Chinese men chasing her. She didn’t want him leaning on her to break off her investigation, which she had no intention of doing.
“Completely safe. I’m at Reagan National Airport. On my way to Anguilla. I decided Washington was too dangerous. I’m hoping to get some answers there.”
“Makes sense. Call me from Anguilla if I can do anything to help. When you return, immediately come to my house. You have the address and the key will be under the mat.”
“Thanks, Paul. I really appreciate it.”
“And be careful.”
With more time to kill, she went shopping in the airport. She bought a duffel, some clothes, and toiletries.
Before boarding, she had time for another call. It was to Zahava, on the dig in Israel. “I was concerned about you,” Zahava said. “But I didn’t want to bother you. How are you doing?”
“As well as possible under the circumstances.”
“Everyone here said to express their condolences.”
“Please tell them I said thanks and that I’ll get back when I can, probably in a week.”
“We’ll be waiting for you.”
“How’s the work going?”
“We’ve done a lot more digging, but so far without any result. After what appeared to be our initial success, people are starting to feel frustrated. I’m trying to reassure them that this is the nature of our work.”
Allison understood exactly how they felt. She was digging, too, and so far not getting anywhere.
Washington
Martin, in a discussion with Paul, was having difficulty concentrating. So much was happening regarding the chief justice appointment. Arthur had called to say that Martin would soon have a meeting with President Braddock. Martin had always been able to brush aside extraneous matters and deal with the issue at hand. But not now.
Paul cleared his throat.
“Okay,” Martin said. “Let’s talk about the television decency case.”
Paul gave Martin a PowerPoint presentation, outlining the brief, pointing out the difficult issues, and describing the most relevant judicial precedents. Martin felt as if he was grasping only about half of what Paul was saying.
At the end, Martin told Paul, “What this means is that in the next week you have a shit load of work to do. Get on top of every aspect of this case. And I’ll need binders with all the important precedents. Also your synopsis for each.”
Paul was scribbling. “When do you need them?”
“As soon as possible. Now let’s turn to the fact issues. What’s the strongest evidence for our argument on the lack of objective standards?”
Paul glanced at one of his pads. “We can point to testimony at the hearing from …”
The cell phone on Martin’s desk rang. He picked it up and checked caller ID. Gorton in Anguilla. He flipped up the lid, “I’ll be with you in a minute.” Martin looked pointedly at Paul. “Sorry, I have to take this.”
“I’ll look through my papers.”
“Do it outside the office.”
When Paul was gone and the door closed, Martin turned back to Gorton. “What happened?”
“Allison Boyd, Vanessa’s twin sister, is coming down here. She’s arriving tomorrow and staying at the Corinthian, where the body was moved to Sunday night.”
“What’s she planning to do?”
“Nobody knows. I heard about it from John Burt, the manager of the Corinthian. He got a call from the sister, who questioned him aggressively. John stuck with the story.”
“How’d she respond?”
“She said she was doing it because Vanessa was her twin. And she wants to stay in the same room her sister had. Weird, isn’t it?”
“I don’t want her to learn anything.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’ve got this sealed tight as a drum. John Burt, the policemen involved, and the medical examiner are all old friends of mine. Fortunately, Har Stevens, the police commissioner, was off island when this happened. I wouldn’t have been able to control him. I’ll have a couple of my guys keeping tabs on Allison from the time she arrives.”
Martin recalled that some of those island people played rough. Alarmed he said, “Listen, no violence. We don’t want to harm Allison.”
“I’ll pass the word.”
“You better drive it home.”
“Don’t worry, Mr. Martin. I’ll do it.”
Martin was worried that Gorton wouldn’t be able to control his men.
“If you have any expenses, I want to reimburse you.”
“Oh, don’t worry, Mr. Martin, my friends all love you.”
Martin’s mind flashed on his relationship with Gorton over the last two decades—his investing in Gorton’s steel band that played at hotels and the man’s charter fishing boat service. Then at Gorton’s urging, his contributing to a tennis center for Anguilla kids. He’d never imagined any returns from those. But now …
“Well, please keep me informed.”
Putting down the phone, Martin felt moisture forming under his arms. He recalled what Paul had said in the car about Allison. Damn it, this is getting worse. Who could figure this?
He felt flustered and didn’t know what to do. Leave it? Take some initiative? Find some way of heading off this woman? Then, he decided. He picked up his cell phone and called Jasper’s office.
“Delores, I have to speak with the senator.”
“He’s in a hearing now, Mr. Martin. If it’s important, I’ll send in a note.”
“I think you better.”
What a miserable fucking complication. Allison must be planning to play private eye. “Always expect the unexpected,” Martin recalled Chief Justice Hall telling him when he clerked for the chief. Well, here it was. But he wouldn’t just sit back. He was an activist. He’d damn well determine his own fate.
“What’s up?” Jasper asked.
“We have to talk in person and ASAP.”
“I’m in a hearing now.”
“When’s it over?”
“Four o’clock.”
“I’ll come to your office then.”
Jasper gave a loud sigh. “Meet me at Camelot at five.”
* * *
Sitting next to the secretary’s desk while she typed, Paul wondered what the hell was happening with Martin. He’d never before asked Paul to leave when he took a call. Even when Arthur Larkin phoned from the White House. It had to be something big. Was the chief justice selection at a critical point?
While waiting to be summoned back into Martin
’s office, Paul checked his iPad. He had an e-mail from Diane, the associate he asked to help on Jenson’s brief. “I’m making good progress,” she said. “I will positively have a draft by close of business next Wednesday…Perhaps earlier.”
That was good news, Paul thought. It would give him two days to revise it and make Jenson’s Friday deadline.
The intercom rang. The secretary turned to Paul. “He’s ready for you now.”
“Thanks,” Paul felt anxious.
Martin, he saw, looked markedly different than the man he’d just been conversing with. Now he seemed tense. His expression was grim, his mouth drawn shut. Beads of perspiration dotted his forehead.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Martin snapped back. “Now tell me about the evidence linking violence on television with criminal acts in the real world.”
Before, Paul remembered, they were on a different issue. Martin must have forgotten. No big deal. He was ready to respond.
“In the hearing, the committee for a Safer America brought in Willie Jones, a prisoner in Maryland. He testified that he’d spent an evening watching violent television shows. And that gave him the idea of robbing somebody at an ATM machine.”
“Did his testimony have any credibility?”
“Unfortunately, yes. They fed Jones some good lines. For example—”
Martin interrupted. “Okay. Move on.”
Paul was taken aback by this curtness from Martin. Jesus, he’s now wound tighter than piano wire.
“There was also testimony from a psychiatrist at the Harvard Medical School. He said that—”
Martin interrupted again. “We better break this off now. I’ve got something else I have to do. Summarize the evidence on each of the three factual issues. Send it to me by e-mail. I’ll study it. Then we’ll talk.”
Paul hustled out, relieved to away from Martin.
On the way to his office, he thought of how different his life would be if Martin left to be chief justice. Despite the bravado he had shown with Allison at dinner, he was worried his chances of becoming partner would be diminished if Martin left.
Somehow, it would work out, he hoped.
