“Fat chance,” George mumbled, turning to face front again. “Yo! Yo!” he cried out. “You’re losing ’em, Cap. Hell, man, you need me to drive?”
“I didn’t even want you to come.”
“Yeah, sure. You know you can’t separate me from my car.”
“That’s right,” Notso chimed in, “or me from my Glock.”
He pulled his handgun from a shoulder holster beneath his black Windbreaker and set it on his lap.
Lou’s heart stopped. Then, with utterly unpleasant slowness, it began pumping again. Two decades in the ER had featured far too many gunshot wounds, and far too many deaths of all ages. He could count the number of times he had held a gun on the fingers of one hand, and could not even stand being this close to one.
Handguns and beets, he had said on more than one occasion, enumerating the two things in the universe he hated most.
“Jesus, Notso, put that thing away!” he snapped.
“Easy, Lou,” Cap said. “The muscle we’re tailing are almost certainly packing. Notso just wants to be prepared. Stow it, big fella.”
Notso looked at Lou queerly and slipped the Glock back into its holster.
“Who the hell are these guys, anyway?” George asked.
“I have no idea. Did you get a look at them?”
“A couple of white guys with thick necks and bulges in their jackets. One of them has a cheesy mustache.”
“Meet any thick-necked white guys lately who’d want to tail you?” Cap asked, making another turn.
“What are they driving?”
“See that Caddy a few cars up ahead?” Cap said.
“Yeah.”
“Well, that’s them.”
Lou leaned forward to get a better look. “Don’t know the car,” he said. “Thanks for putting your piece away, Notso. I work in an ER and I’ve seen too many holes in too many people.”
“Don’t worry about my cousin,” George said. “My aunt got it right about him. The only thing we’re going to be shooting with on this trip is my digital camera.”
“What’s the camera for?” Lou asked.
“Information, my friend,” George answered as he snapped a couple of pics of Lou without triggering the flash. “We don’t know what we’re going to find, so this way we can capture the memories.”
“Where’d you get that camera from anyway?” Notso asked. “Yo mama’s so poor, she can’t even pay attention.”
“Funny,” George said, feigning a laugh. “I got it from school, blubber belly. It’s for a project I’m doing.”
“You’re in school?” Lou asked with more incredulity than he had intended.
“Yeah, college,” George said.
“Community college,” Notso corrected.
“Oh, shut the fuck up, you bucket of lard. Last time you picked up a book you freaked out because it had already been colored in.” He turned back to Lou. “I’m a sophomore—well, a junior with four more credits.”
“That’s terrific,” Lou said. “What are you majoring in?”
“Biology.”
“He’s learning how to grow weed,” Notso said.
“You wish. Believe me, if I ever start growing weed, you’ll be the last to know.”
Cap groaned his displeasure. “George, will you shut your mouth and keep your eyes locked on that car ahead. This ain’t a joke.”
“Why do you think I called you about them? I know bad when I see it.”
For a short while, the four fell silent. Cap managed to stay four or five cars behind the Caddy without losing sight of it. After a mile or so, it turned onto the highway headed west. Another mile, and Lou had it figured out.
“Cap,” he said. “I believe I know exactly where these guys are headed.”
“Yeah? And where’s that?”
“Kings Ridge, Virginia,” Lou said.
Notso smiled. In the flash of approaching headlights, his teeth shone. “That’s way cool,” he said. “I ain’t never been to Virginia before.”
CHAPTER 25
Darlene knew what she was about to do might end her marriage—if not in fact, then at least to all intents. Martin had learned about her meeting with Russ Evans almost as soon as it happened. Should he learn of this one, he would never understand—especially if she turned out to be wrong about Evans.
But she wasn’t wrong.
An anxious young woman’s voice on a high-tech recording told her so. And hopefully, very soon, she would have proof. Of course, it was always possible that the tape was a fabrication, but to what end? Even if someone put together a fake, even if the young woman was an actress, Russ Evans was finished politically.
The three cars escorting Darlene and Kim to the movies—a town car and two nondescript sedans—pulled to a stop a block past the iconic Regent Street Theater. Dusk was settling over the district. During the intentionally circuitous ride from 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, Darlene gazed out at the streets teeming with people, moving through their lives, making connections only when they wanted to. She had willingly given up that privilege when she and Martin entered the campaign. Now, she felt wistful that Russ Evans could no longer walk comfortably among people without attracting unwanted attention.
With half an hour to go before the movie, the advance team of agents completed its assignment with trademark efficiency and radioed to Victor Ochoa that it was safe for Buttercup and Wildcat to enter the theater. Darlene had forgotten the name of the film they were going to see until she read it posted out front on the illuminated marquee. Double M had chosen a PG-13 chick flick.
Darlene’s mouth was dry with tension. She was defying the man she had married, and about to deceive the people who had been sworn to protect her at any and all cost. But her friend since childhood and more recently her professional soul mate had been destroyed—framed. And now, the man she and Kim called Double M wanted her help at least to clear Russ Evans’s name.
Why? With nothing tangible, what does he expect I can do?
Darlene pushed the questions to the back of her mind. It was imperative that she remain sharp—aware of everything and everyone around her. Slipping free of Ochoa and his crew was not going to be easy, even though only he and a female agent named Bonnie would actually be in the theater, seated in the back.
Darlene wore a pair of tinted glasses with thick white frames, and an auburn, shoulder-length wig beneath a gold print satin scarf. The outfit was one of several—the most effective, in fact—that she used when she wanted to keep gawkers and disrupters to a minimum. In addition, she had on a pair of faded blue jeans and a brown leather jacket with the Hard Rock Cafe emblem sewn onto the back.
Ochoa handed Kim and Darlene their tickets. “Bonnie and I will be in the back,” he said. “Just make sure you take the seats we’ve designated for you.”
“Sorry it’s not your type of movie, Victor,” Kim said. “My girlfriend told me that there are no car chases, and no one gets shot.”
“Hey, I like sweet, endearing romantic comedies as much as the next guy who gets paid to carry a gun.”
Darlene hooked her chief of staff’s arm and, eyes down, escorted her into the theater and down to two seats on the side aisle. There were fifteen or so other patrons scattered throughout the remaining seats, but none anywhere near the two of them. The film, nearing the end of its run before DVD, seemed to have been carefully chosen by Double M, and to this point, at least, no one appeared to be paying any attention to them.
“How are you holding up?” Kim whispered without turning.
“I don’t have butterflies flying around in my stomach,” Darlene said, “if that’s what you mean.”
“Well, that’s good.”
“I have buzzards.”
“Oh.”
“What if this is a bad idea? A trap of some sort. Terrorists.”
“Double M is incredibly resourceful and inventive. I think if he wanted to get to you, he could have done it already. No, he wants your help, and if you want to help Russ, yo
u’re going to have to trust him—at least this once.”
The on-screen ads had given way to the previews. Subtly, Darlene glanced down at her wristwatch. “One hour to go,” she whispered.
“Keep your eyes on the screen,” Kim said, giving Darlene’s hand a squeeze.
The sixty minutes seemed interminable. Finally, Darlene tapped a fist on Kim’s knee, rose from her seat, and headed to the back of the theater.
“I’m going to use the bathroom,” she whispered to Bonnie.
“Stay here for half a minute.”
“You can check out the room, but please be sort of quick about it.”
“Are you okay?”
“I will be once I get in there.”
By agreement, she stood resting her elbows on the back wall and waited.
Darlene knew Bonnie was startled by her uncharacteristic abruptness, but it served its purpose. The woman checked the bathroom in thirty seconds or so and pronounced it empty. Moments later, Darlene was inside.
Grateful for the many hours she had spent with her yoga instructor, personal trainer, and in the White House gym, she crossed over to the pair of sinks and nimbly pushed herself up onto the one farthest from the door. It was no problem to slide the curtain aside on a small transom window that was now level with her waist, and to undo the latch.
As soon as she pushed open the window, a well-manicured hand featuring a shade of nail polish identical to her own gripped the sill from the other side. Then a woman’s head popped into view. Wearing the same wig, glasses, and satin scarf as Darlene, she climbed through the window, then stepped on the edge of the sink and dropped to the floor with a cat’s grace. The jeans and Hard Rock jacket completed a striking match.
“Madam First Lady,” the woman said as Darlene helped her down, “I’m Nicole Keane, Kim’s friend. It’s a pleasure to meet you. The stepladder is right outside. You won’t have any trouble.”
It was difficult for Darlene to keep from staring at the lawyer, whom Kim had described as the perfect body double.
“A ten-finger boost and you’re out of here,” Nicole said.
“Kim’s by herself ten rows down the second aisle. Just keep your head down and avoid any eye contact with the two agents in the last row. They think I’m in a hurry to get back to the movie, and won’t expect any chitchat. In fifteen minutes, Kim is going to tell them I have an upset stomach, and ask them to check the bathroom again. Then she’s going to come get you at your seat, and we’ll switch back.”
“I’ve got the plan memorized like it was one of my court briefs.”
“Perfect.”
“Ten-finger boost,” Nicole said, interlocking her fingers. “The ladder’s right under the window.”
“Is he there?” Darlene asked.
“I didn’t see him. Just the ladder.”
Darlene set her foot onto Nicole’s makeshift hoist, slipped easily through the window, located the ladder with her foot, and climbed down into the dimly lit alley behind the theater.
CHAPTER 26
The alley appeared deserted. There was a Dumpster nearby that reeked of popcorn oil, and several cars parked against old brick buildings beneath a latticework of fire escapes. Darlene stepped out into the glow of a single hooded bulb at the end of a metal pole protruding from the theater. There were several similar lights spaced along the alley.
“Hello?” she called out in a strained whisper. “Are you here?”
Silence, and then, “I’m here.”
It took several unsettling seconds to locate the source of the voice. A tall man, six-foot-one or so, with broad, powerful shoulders, approached her from behind a parked car. He wore a baseball cap and glasses with a thick black frame, and had a neatly trimmed full beard. He was probably good-looking, but in the gloom, with the glasses and the beard, it was hard to tell. Darlene guessed him to be about forty. He was wearing a patterned blazer, blue oxford shirt, and crisply pressed pants.
A man of the outdoors, she decided.
He remained a couple of yards away, his eyes never leaving hers.
“Kim and I call you Double M for ‘Mystery Man,’” she said.
He held an electrolarynx against his throat, making his speech eerily robotic—and not identifiable. “Good nickname,” he said.
“You can come closer. I’m not afraid of you.”
Double M closed the gap between them by half, but declined taking Darlene’s extended hand.
“My name is Alex,” he said.
“That’s not your real name, is it?” Darlene said.
“No, but that doesn’t matter.”
His electronic voice was creepy, especially given the setting, but Darlene was determined not to react. “Okay, then, Double M Alex,” she said, “you want this to be our level of trust, that’s up to you.”
“I would be in great danger if my identity became known.”
“Well, we don’t have much time. What are we doing here?”
“Trying to save lives.” He studied Darlene as though she were an equation to be solved.
A professor or a scientist, she guessed. “Go on,” she said.
“First of all, you need to know that the recording you heard was real.”
“I believed it was. Otherwise I would not have risked so much for this meeting.”
“You may have to risk even more.”
“Who was on that recording?” asked Darlene. “Who was the girl? The other man speaking? What happened to her?”
Behind his lenses, Double M’s eyes narrowed. “At this point, I can’t reveal who is involved in that tape.”
Darlene was beginning to feel exasperated with the man’s paranoia. “What is it you want from me … Alex?”
Double M sucked in a nervous breath. “You must use your influence to get your husband to reinstate Secretary Evans.”
Darlene tensed. “Is Evans behind this?” she asked.
“I don’t even know the man.”
“Well, I’m sorry, but that can’t be done,” Darlene said. “Politics simply doesn’t work that way. Russ Evans has resigned, and he’s embarrassed the president.”
“There’s nothing in the Constitution to prevent reinstating him,” Double M countered.
Darlene stifled a laugh. “One thing I’ve learned from my years as a politician’s wife is that the Constitution may be a marvelous framework, but it isn’t politics.”
Double M appeared agitated. “We can’t let the president’s nominee get appointed. Russell Evans must be returned as Secretary of Agriculture, and soon.”
“And lives depend on it.”
“They might.”
“Might? Well, from what I can tell, Gretchen Rose has impeccable credentials and widespread support. Her approval by Congress is all but assured. Are you suggesting that she is somehow involved with what I heard on that recording?”
“Indirectly,” he said.
Darlene felt herself emotionally pulling away from the man. Assuming Russ had been framed, she wanted to do anything she could to help him, but it didn’t feel as if this skittish man was the answer.
“By indirectly, you mean—?”
“It’s about her policies,” Double M said.
“So did Secretary Evans’s policies get him framed?”
“Yes.”
“You need to tell me more. Our time together is running out. You need to come clean with me, and you need to do it right now.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t do that.”
“Can’t, or won’t?” Darlene replied, folding her arms tightly across her chest.
“I have my reasons for being oblique.”
“I sincerely want to help my friend Russ,” Darlene said.
“Then you’re going to have to trust me without getting all the facts. That’s the deal.”
“At least tell me what’s at stake here. Tell me why it’s so imperative that Gretchen Rose not be appointed.”
“It’s impossible to say precisely what’s at stake. But it coul
d be a great deal.”
Darlene frowned. “Okay, we’re done. I’ve put a lot on the line to meet with you this way, and I’m very disappointed that I took the risk. I don’t appreciate circuitous conversation. You won’t get my help this way. There’s just too much at stake for me.”
Shoulders sagging, Double M turned and appeared ready to depart. After one unsteady step, he whirled back around. “Her name is Margo.”
“The girl on the recording?”
“Yes.”
“So, in order to get my husband to reinstate Russell Evans, you want me to find this girl named Margo.”
Double M reached into his jacket pocket, and Darlene had a flash of panic that he was going for a weapon. Before she could react or even process the thought, his hand came out holding a handkerchief.
“I have something for you,” he said, reaching into his jacket with the handkerchief to withdraw a letter-sized white envelope. “As you heard on the recording, she’s a prostitute. I’m sure of that. Besides her name, that’s all I know. Inside this envelope are several photographs of her that I took. Her face is partially obscured, and I never got a clean a shot, because I was trying to be discreet. But I’ve also included a flash drive with an MP3 voice sample that could be used for matching purposes, as well as the girl’s fingerprint, which I lifted using a piece of Scotch tape off the chair she was sitting on. Do you know people who could help?” ”
“I might.”
“I heard her mention she was living in D.C.”
“Well, that might be useful.”
Double M handed over the envelope. Darlene’s heart sank as she flipped through four grainy color photographs of a titian-haired, blindfolded girl with a willowy frame, both seated upon and standing beside a wooden chair. Not much. Not much at all.
“I’m not making any promises,” Darlene said. “I assume from the precautions not to leave your fingerprints that I can keep these.”
Double M adjusted the electrolarynx against the side of his trachea. “I was hoping you would. If I learn any more, I’ll get the information to you.”
“Come on, Alex. You can at least be honest enough to tell me you’re holding stuff back.”
Oath of Office Page 15
