Dangerous Games

by Danielle Steel

  Alix and Ben talked intermittently through lunch, and then Ben watched a movie on his iPad with his headphones on, and Alix put her seat back, covered herself with a blanket, and went to sleep.

  Ben woke her as they approached JFK. He always said that she could sleep in a ditch, standing on her head, and she woke up and put her seat back up just as they landed on the runway. She looked surprisingly rested and refreshed.

  “Are you going to your place?” Ben asked as they gathered up their things. She was still wearing army surplus fatigues and combat boots and an old camouflage jacket that was frayed and had seen better days. She had an entire wardrobe of combat clothes she wore for work, unlike any of the other women Ben knew.

  “No, I think I’ll go into the office and see what’s on my desk,” she said vaguely. He always told her she was a workaholic, and she could no longer deny it. The evidence to support his theory was overwhelming, and she looked lively and full of energy as they stepped off the plane, and headed toward baggage claim. She was tireless, which drove him crazy at times, when he was tired himself. She never was, or at least it never showed. They knew the airport well, and had spent far too many hours there, waiting for delayed planes to take off. Ben had expected her to say she was going to work. He knew that she’d sit at her desk for several hours, eventually take a shower at the office and put on more of the same clothes, and in the end not bother to go home, and stay till all hours. She hated going home to her empty apartment. He couldn’t wait to get back to his own apartment in Brooklyn and sleep on clean sheets in his comfortable bed that night. The thought of it was sheer heaven to him, after four days of bad motels and catnaps in the back of a car. Alix didn’t care where she slept, or if she did, and didn’t need much sleep, which was an advantage she had over him and most people.

  Women glanced at Ben as they walked through the airport. He was a powerfully built, tall, handsome man, but in spite of that, Alix had always been indifferent to his charm. She loved working with him, but had never been interested in him as a man, and they knew each other too well. They had seen each other in lots of unpleasant, terrifying, awkward, and embarrassing situations. And Alix knew instinctively that it would have spoiled everything if they’d ever gotten involved. And he had expressed no interest in romance with her either. They both liked their relationship just the way it was, uncomplicated and entirely based on work. They were well matched to work together in every way. Many teams the producers put together were a lot less compatible than the two of them, and some fought all the time and hated each other offscreen. Some of the battles behind the scenes at the network were legendary, but not between the two of them. They’d become fast friends right from the beginning and still were.

  They each picked up their suitcase off the moving belt. Alix managed her own with ease. Ben no longer offered to help her, he knew she wouldn’t have let him anyway. Alix prized her independence above all, and took pride in taking care of herself. They took separate cabs into the city and she headed for work, curious about what she’d find. And when she got there, she discovered, as she always did, a mountain that had sprung up on her desk while she was gone. Notices, memos, copy they wanted from her to go with her stories, fact checking, edicts from management that had been circulated around the office while they were away. By late that night, she had gotten through most of it. She was too tired to go home by then and stretched out on the couch in her office and fell asleep. She woke up before the others came in the next morning, took a shower, put on jeans and a sweater from her suitcase, poured herself a stiff cup of coffee, and was back at her desk when Felix Winters, her senior producer, walked in.

  “Did you sleep here?” Felix asked her wryly, knowing the answer before she nodded with a grin.

  “Of course.”

  It didn’t surprise him. He was pleased with their coverage of the riots, she could see it on his face. He rarely said it, but he liked almost everything she did. He wasn’t lavish with praise but had deep respect for her.

  “Bring your coffee to my office and let’s catch up,” he said, and she nodded and promised to be there in a minute, as an assistant producer stuck his head into her office. They had a breaking story to put on the morning news ahead of everything else, and he wanted to let her know. An earthquake in Afghanistan had killed thousands of people. She wondered if she and Ben would get sent out on the story, and headed to Felix’s office.

  Alix and Felix both kept a close eye on the monitor on his desk while they chatted. The videos and live coverage from Afghanistan were awful, with bodies piling up in the streets and people crying, and buildings turned to rubble, with people trapped inside them.

  “It looked nasty in Alabama. I was worried about you,” he said with obvious concern.

  “We were fine, but it was ugly. They sent the troops in too late. It was out of control by then.” The senior producer was distracted as she said it, and he nodded, looking pensive. “What’s up?” She knew that expression on his face.

  He hesitated for a minute before answering with a sheepish grin. “One of my crazy hunches. Don’t ask me why, but I saw a photograph of the Vice President yesterday. It’s bothering me.”

  “You’ve never liked him,” Alix reminded him with a smile.

  “True. He just seems phony to me. And for a guy who plays holier than thou and claims to be Mr. Clean, I don’t like the company he keeps. And where did he get all that money so fast?”

  “He married it,” she said with an ironic expression. “That’s one way to make easy money.”

  “Sometimes not so easy,” Felix quipped, and she laughed. “I don’t know. Something about him always seems wrong to me.” She had heard it before.

  “Who was he with in the photo you saw?” she asked with interest. Felix had good instincts, but he had his share of pet peeves too, and the Vice President had always been one of them, although he’d had a dignified career, and the right connections, the late senator Bill Foster being his closest friend. Foster was considered a political icon, and they were planning a presidential campaign together when Foster died. But Felix didn’t like Tony Clark anyway.

  “He was with a state gaming commissioner. And every time I play golf in D.C., I see him with some lobbyist or other, and none of the ones people respect.”

  “That’s not against the law,” Alix teased him.

  “I know. Wishful thinking. I always hope we’ll catch him doing something illegal one of these days. But he’s too smart for that.”

  “Or too honest,” Alix said cautiously. She had no strong feelings about the Vice President one way or the other. Tony Clark was smart, rich, and successful, and impressively connected socially and politically. He played the game well. Too much so to risk it by doing anything foolish, in her opinion. But Felix never agreed. He thought him overconfident and arrogant.

  “Do me a favor, sniff around your Washington contacts and see if anything turns up. You never know.”

  “Hope springs eternal.” She laughed at him as she left his office and then turned to ask him, “Are you sending us to Afghanistan?”

  “I’ll let you know,” he said, watching the monitor intently as she left, and she thought about his dogged search for malfeasance by the Vice President. She never agreed with him on that, but she’d check her sources anyway, to humor him. He was her boss after all, and sometimes he was right. Not this time, though. She was sure. Felix just had an issue with him. It was visceral, he couldn’t stand the guy.

  She was watching the morning news from a monitor on her desk, when Ben walked in an hour later. He looked fresh and rested, but so did she, after a few hours’ sleep on her office couch. Work always invigorated her, and Ben guessed correctly that she hadn’t bothered to go home.

  “Are we heading for Afghanistan?” he asked her, as he lowered himself into a chair across from her and glanced at the monitor on her desk.

  “Felix hasn’t told me yet. He’s on a witch hunt for the Vice President again.” She smiled at Ben. “H
e wants me to check it out.”

  “Clark’s a busy guy,” Ben said of the Vice President, looking unimpressed. “And I’ve never liked him either. Something about him always rubs me the wrong way. But I think he’s clean. He’s too smart and ambitious not to be.” He agreed with Alix about that.

  Vice President Tony Clark was in his early forties, had previously been divorced from a wealthy socialite, had married a much younger woman in his second marriage four years before, and had two very young children. They were the picture-perfect vice presidential family. They even had a golden retriever named Lucky. His young wife was the heiress to one of the biggest fortunes in the country, and her father had been the largest donor to the last presidential campaign. Tony Clark always seemed to have it easy, and even when things went wrong for him, he always landed on his feet shortly after.

  Clark had been on the fast track to run for the vice presidency with Senator Bill Foster, a childhood friend. It had been an obvious pairing due to their lengthy connection. Foster had all the charm, wit, political expertise, charisma, connections, and intelligence to run a fantastic campaign to win a presidential election in a few years and take Clark with him, until Foster was murdered during his second senatorial campaign. Bill Foster’s father was one of the most famous kingmakers in Washington, and they were an important political family. His widow’s brother was a senator from Connecticut. Foster knew the right people, but Clark had the money. Not his own, but he had access to big campaign donors. Together they would have been an unbeatable team. Instead, after Foster’s death, Clark took a year to reinvent himself, and emerged as one of the hottest tickets of the hour with another senator who had the inside track to the White House. Tony Clark married his current wife two years after Foster was assassinated.

  Clark was an important presence in the lives of Foster’s widow and two children. He and Olympia Foster were occasionally seen together in public, and he had been a strong emotional support system for the last six years. Since her husband’s death, she had been reclusive and had almost disappeared. She had been the perfect mate for Foster, and his staunch supporters were as much in love with her as they had been with him. As she thought about it, Alix wondered what had happened to Olympia. It had been months since her name had even been mentioned, although it was known that she and the Vice President had remained close friends. Faye had once sent her a fan letter and gotten a warm response. Olympia Foster was a lovely person, and like others, Alix had always thought there was something Kennedyesque about her. She had the same kind of dignified elegance and shy grace as Jackie. And like Jackie, she had survived her husband’s tragic death, shot by a random assassin while she was with him, which made the public sympathize with Olympia even more.

  “How do you two feel about curry?” Felix stuck his head back in the door and asked them both. Alix looked disinterested but Ben said he liked it.

  “Are you ordering lunch?” Ben asked him.

  “No, there’s a scandal in the high-tech world in India. I’m sending you both to New Delhi tonight. You’re on a nine P.M. flight,” he said matter-of-factly. “International check-in at seven,” he reminded them.

  “I’d better get home and repack my bags,” Alix commented, forgetting their conversation about the Vice President. There were no clean clothes left in the bag she’d brought back from Alabama. And she wouldn’t need combat gear in New Delhi. She needed summer dresses and sandals.

  “He doesn’t waste a minute, does he?” Ben said after Felix left, looking hesitant about flying to India that night.

  “It sounds like a good story,” Alix commented, trying to be positive about it. She loved her work, sometimes more than he did. And he was tired after Alabama. She wasn’t.

  “They’re all good stories when you’re doing them,” Ben Chapman said honestly.

  “I’d better get going,” Alix said as she stood up. She had a thousand things to do to prepare for another trip on such short notice. And they both knew that they would have to attend a long briefing about the Indian story that afternoon, if they were leaving that night.

  She hailed a cab outside the network building a few minutes later. She thought about the assignment in India as they sped downtown, and made some notes to herself of things she wanted to research for the story. She thought of her daughter and was going to call her before they left.

  Alix got out of the cab in front of her battered building in the East Village, and went inside to do her laundry and pack her suitcase. Despite Ben’s momentary fatigue and apparent lack of enthusiasm, she was excited to be going to India that night. What she did so well was in her blood, and still made her heart race after all these years. And anyone who knew her knew that was never going to change.

  —

  Alix was back at the office three hours later, with her packed bag. She had brought summer clothes for the climate in India, and some respectable-looking dresses in case she had to meet with government officials or interview important people in connection with the story. One of India’s most influential, richest men was at risk of going to prison, and the story was hot. Felix briefed her and Ben on all the information they had, and asked her to stay back to talk to him alone for a few minutes. He had been a reporter years before, and had risen through the ranks at the network, so he understood the job she did. He had aged visibly from the constant pressure he was under, and he relied on Alix and a handful of others to keep their ratings high. He kept a tight rein on them to make sure nothing slipped. His strength was ferreting out stories and having his investigative reporters cover them before anyone else knew about them, and he still had a sharp nose for sensing a story in the making. And Alix was at the top of his list of those who did that best. She never let him down.

  He handed her a thick manila envelope across his desk. “I’d like you to take a look at that on the flight, and do a little research on it from Delhi if you have time. I know you think I’m nuts, but it’s on the subject of the VP. He may be clean but I smell a rat somewhere, or some money changing hands. Let’s check it out.”

  Alix raised an eyebrow with interest. She loved doing research projects for him, and even if she didn’t agree with him, a lot of the time he was right. He had a sixth sense for the news like no one else. She glanced into the envelope and saw assorted photos of Tony Clark.

  “Just take a look,” he said to her, “and see if anything rings a bell. I still have this crazy gut feeling that he could be taking bribes from lobbyists or even someone else. Maybe I’m wrong, but humor me and sniff around. He’s turning up with some of the less trustworthy lobbyists in Washington with a fair amount of regularity. Not officially, but informally, as ‘friends.’ His people claim it’s coincidental when they’re questioned about it. I don’t buy that. He’s always where the money is, and he doesn’t do anything unless there’s something in it for him.”

  Clark was adept at staying below the radar and leading an exemplary life, but occasionally there was something about him, even to Alix, that seemed too good to be true. And she had to admit that he was a lucky guy, had made a fortune, and married well twice. In Felix’s opinion, it couldn’t all be fortuitous, smart investments in the stock market and his wives’ money. He was a very rich man in his own right, and hadn’t been at the beginning of his career. So where did it come from? That question had gnawed at Felix for a long time. No one had ever accused the Vice President of improprieties, but Felix always wondered how he had gotten what he had. Experience and the instincts of a once-great reporter himself told Felix that there was something there. He just didn’t know what. But it was more than just the Midas touch or blind good fortune. And Felix just couldn’t seem to let it go. He had provided Alix with a number of recent photographs of the VP in various places, with assorted people, for her to study.

  “I’ll take a look,” Alix promised. She was more interested in Clark’s political ties than his fortune. He had powerful connections, and high aspirations. Clark’s relationship with Bill Foster didn’t seem
like an accident to her either. Foster would have been the perfect ride for him, straight into the White House, even in a secondary position, which Clark didn’t seem to mind. He had become close to the current President only after Foster died. There always seemed to be an agenda with him. And now he was the Vice President. “I don’t like him much myself,” Alix admitted to Felix. “But he doesn’t strike me as a guy who’d do something stupid or dishonest, like take payoffs from a lobbyist. He’s always got an eye to the future, and I think he’s got big plans for the long term, like running for President himself in four years, after the President’s second term ends.” He had just been reelected. Everyone was waiting for Clark to throw his hat into the ring of presidential hopefuls, but he hadn’t so far. It was early days yet, for another couple of years. And Felix wanted to keep a close eye on him to see just how far he went.

  “You’re probably right. But he’s been seen with three of the shadiest lobbyists in D.C. recently, having dinner, playing golf, supposedly they’re all just pals. I just want you to explore quietly, use your connections, and see some people about it when you get back. You can check out the pictures now, while you’re away.”

  “Any idea who you want me to see?” she asked him. “Off the top of my head, I don’t know anyone close to him.” And as soon as she said the words she thought of Olympia Foster, but decided instantly it was a ridiculous idea. She had been out of the loop for six years, but she and Clark were still close friends. Alix thought she might learn something if Olympia Foster would talk to her. In the first year after Foster’s death, Clark had been constantly seen with Olympia and her kids, after supporting her through the funeral. Photographs had shown her brother, the senator from Connecticut, on one side of her, and Clark on the other. Alix suspected that Olympia was likely to know more about what Clark was up to than anyone else, although Alix didn’t expect her to divulge any secrets, if there were any. But people talked to Alix easily. She was disarming, and good at what she did. She had a warm, informal style which made everyone open up to her, and was why Felix had chosen her for the assignment, unofficially so far. He knew that if anyone was capable of it, Alix would come back with the story, if there was one.