by Henry Porter
It was not yet 7 a.m. For a moment, holding her coffee just below her lips, she watched the joggers in a park. Then Tulliver was beside her, now dressed in a navy jacket, dark grey trousers and button-down blue shirt and looking much more himself. ‘Congressman Speight is on his way up. You want me to sit in on this one, too?’
‘Absolutely. You have all that thanking to do.’
Speight arrived with a staffer and suggested that they might take breakfast in the main cafeteria. When they got there, the staffer was sent off to get the congressman juice, berries and scrambled eggs, while Tulliver organised coffee. Speight, a lean man with a high parting and a polished, friendly face, waited for Anastasia to take a chair before sitting down himself. Earnestly, he asked how Denis was.
‘I hear he’s doing fine, and I hope that’s the truth, Mrs Hisami,’ he said, pouring water into her glass. Her husband’s nemesis certainly had manners, but that only served to put her on her guard.
‘They’re pleased with his progress, but it’s a long road,’ she said. ‘I cannot hide from you that he may suffer permanent impairment.’
‘I’m sorry to learn that. We were all very fortunate.’
‘You acted quickly, Congressman. You kind of saved the day by shouting at Jim here. How come you knew what was happening?’
Jim added, ‘It goes without saying that I’m immensely grateful, Congressman.’
He nodded to Tulliver. ‘I was in the military, Mrs Hisami. We underwent basic chemical-weapons training before Desert Storm. People forget that Saddam had deployed nerve agents and mustard gas against his own people at Halabja way before he invaded Kuwait.’
‘Actually, it was against Denis’s people. Halabja was Kurdish and the people who were killed were all Kurds.’
‘I stand corrected, Mrs Hisami.’ Speight smiled. ‘I know what you were saying when I asked you about your husband – you don’t want the committee to recall your husband anytime soon. And I hear you.’ He looked around expectantly for the staffer. ‘One of my father’s rules for life was – if you have to work before breakfast, make sure to eat breakfast first.’ He smiled again. ‘Shall we wait to do our business until we got some nourishment inside us?’
‘Do we have business, Congressman?’
‘Maybe we do; maybe we don’t.’ Tulliver returned with coffee and sat down. Then the staffer appeared with the food.
Speight stirred sweetener into his coffee and chuckled to himself. ‘Mark Twain also said something humorous about breakfast – eat a live frog first thing in the morning and nothing worse will happen to you all day.’
‘Are you the equivalent of the live frog, Congressman?’ she asked, without smiling.
‘I sincerely hope not, Mrs Hisami.’
‘Why are you here?’
‘To express my concern for what happened. Without our inquiries, Denis would not have been there, and Mr Steen would not have been killed.’
‘You presumably have your reasons,’ said Anastasia.
‘I do, and I will not resile from my conviction that your husband supplied military aid to those who wish our country and our allies harm.’
‘No, Congressman!’ she said, just about controlling herself. ‘What I meant was that you must have your reasons for persecuting a man who’s trying to bring relief to those who’ve suffered in his country since way before Halabja. That’s politics today, right? The culture wars that say destroying someone on the other side is a win, irrespective of what good they do.’
‘Maybe we can park that issue for the moment.’ He gestured to the staffer with a fork loaded with egg. ‘Matthew here came across an interesting story, which I’m going to share with you in the hope and expectation that you may be able to shed light on it.’ Speight popped the egg into his mouth. He liked to take his time. He ate slow and he spoke slow. ‘He heard that Mr Steen was carrying evidence in his briefcase that your husband planned to use in the hearing this week, or in a month’s time, when he was scheduled to appear in front of the Foreign Affairs Committee again. This evidence was to be used in extremis. In other words, it was a strategy of last resort because it was only half cooked. It was inchoate.’
She began shaking her head several seconds before he landed with such pleasure on the word ‘inchoate’.
‘Men come here from the FBI, the CIA, business partners of my husband – and they spout theories at me and it means nothing. Mr Steen died and my husband is very sick. Those are the facts. I have no knowledge of what was in Mr Steen’s briefcase, still less do I care.’
Speight kept chewing methodically. ‘What if the target was the briefcase?’ he asked eventually. ‘And by that I mean the knowledge held in that briefcase and in the brains of your husband and his lawyer?’
‘Look in the briefcase,’ she said, exasperated.
With a nod from his boss, Matthew, a tall black man with horn-rimmed spectacles and collar-pin shirt, said, ‘It was destroyed because of the high degree of contamination. The film from the hearing at one point shows Mr Steen putting those papers in the case. It had to be incinerated, along with all his clothing.’
‘So we shall never know what was inside,’ she said.
‘Not necessarily,’ said Speight. He sucked his cheek to dislodge something from his teeth then wiped his mouth. ‘Maybe you have some idea of what was in those papers.’
‘I do not,’ she said. ‘Maybe you should ask Steen’s law firm, Lanyado Christie?’
‘We already did,’ said Matthew. ‘But they had no knowledge of any papers other than the regular documents concerning your husband’s appearance this week, which the committee also possessed.’
She looked at Tulliver. ‘Jim?’
‘Nothing like that came my way,’ he replied.
Her eyes returned to Speight. ‘How do you know there was anything of this nature in the case if the law firm and Denis’s chief aide were unaware of it?’
Speight nodded at the logic of this. ‘We were all very shocked by the events of two days ago. It was a moment when representatives and their staffs come together. Anyone could have been killed. A nerve agent doesn’t distinguish between Democrats and Republicans, and that’s made my colleagues recognise how much we have in common. We’re in Congress for the American people. We sometimes forget that.’
‘You’re saying you had help from the Democrats. Who?’
Speight shook his head.
‘What was the nature of the question he or she was going to ask?’ asked Anastasia.
‘Why, the evidence of a conspiracy in the heart of the establishment related to your husband’s previous troubles: nothing less! This is standard DC scuttlebutt, but people believe it.’
‘Okay, so now you have your story, what do you want with me?’
‘There’s one other thing. I want us to appear together in front of the news cameras.’ Anastasia looked at Tulliver, who scratched his nose and pursed his lips.
‘That’s for your benefit,’ she said, ‘because it certainly wouldn’t be for mine.’
‘I never have any need of publicity, but I want certain individuals to see us together.’
‘Who?’
‘People. I want them to know that we’ve been talking,’ said Speight.
She thought for a few seconds. ‘Okay, I agree. But can I ask you a favour in return? I need to get to the airport because I’m going to the West Coast on business. Can your driver take me? It would save time.’
‘Yes, of course, when he’s dropped me at the Rayburn. That’ll be fine.’
They arranged to meet in the lobby fifteen minutes later. She returned to her room to complete her packing. Tulliver joined her.
‘What do you think – friend or foe?’ she asked.
He beckoned her into the corridor. ‘Foe,’ he replied when she was through the door. ‘Most definitely foe.’
‘D
enis says you should never go into an important meeting without a pistol in your back pocket. Even though you aren’t going to use it, you know that you can, and that makes all the difference to you and your opponent.’
‘Actually, it’s a hand grenade. That’s the way he usually tells it.’
‘So he had his hand grenade in Steen’s briefcase – who do you think is most concerned about the hand grenade?’
‘Warren Speight.’
‘Exactly! Should I appear with him, or is he playing me?’
‘He’s playing you, but you should go along with it. You’ve already got a ride to the airport out of him.’ Tulliver’s eyes danced. ‘That was smart of you, Anastasia. The FBI will think you’re going to Congress. Have you got your ticket?’
She nodded. ‘I hate to ask you, Jim, but could you get my bag into the Congressman’s car? I don’t want the media reporting that I’m deserting Denis.’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘By the way, those emails have been sent. I arranged a meeting tomorrow between you and the West Coast staff, which I’ll cancel by phone later.’
Before leaving she went to see Denis. His bed had been elevated and she could see much more of him. His colour was better and an expression of contentment had replaced the agonised rictus that froze his features after the attack. A fan in the corner of the bedroom ruffled his hair when it swung round to face him. ‘Good luck, dear husband,’ she murmured. ‘I’ll see you in a few days.’
She had to admit Speight was an accomplished media performer. Half a dozen TV crews had gathered at the hospital’s main entrance after being tipped off by Matthew, yet he managed to feign surprise that a private visit would attract so much attention. Asked by CNN why he had dropped in on the wife of the man he was in the process of trying to destroy, he replied that his thoughts now were only with the victims and their families. He sent a particular message of condolence to Mr Steen’s loved ones and co-workers. Then, gesturing to Anastasia, who stood a little distance from him, he said he’d been pleased to be able to deliver a message to Mrs Hisami in person and was, he confessed with a warm smile in her direction, honoured that she had received him during her painful vigil. On the larger scale, he said, this shocking attack was an outrage against American democracy and intended to thwart all those who were engaged in the sacred conduct thereof. ‘An act like this reminds us that we must answer hatred, division and violence by reigniting the spirit of common purpose. And that’s what I am doing here, expressing solidarity with Mr and Mrs Hisami.’
Anastasia briefly answered questions about Denis’s condition and her own experience of watching Stewart Steen and her husband collapse. She thanked the hospital for saving her husband’s life and those in Congress who had acted so promptly to contain the effects of the attack and to help her husband. She glanced at Speight and added that everyone in Congress had reason to be grateful to the Ranking Member, whose chemical warfare training had allowed him to correctly identify the symptoms as being those caused by a nerve agent. This had undoubtedly saved her and her husband’s colleagues from contamination, as well as many others. Warren Speight was, she said, the true hero of the hour.
‘That was gracious of you, Mrs Hisami, and I thank you for it,’ he said to her as they moved to his car.
Reporters shouted out, ‘Where are you going now?’ Speight waved and smiled and said that he and Mrs Hisami had busy schedules and he hoped they’d forgive the brevity of the interview.
The congressman’s driver dropped her at the entrance of the Signature Flight Support Center, the reception for those using private aircraft, about ten minutes’ walk from the main terminal building of Dulles International. The Ford hybrid SUV that had followed them from the hospital to the Capitol then the airport, and made no bones about it, pulled up just after Speight’s Lexus. The driver and her male companion, both wearing sunglasses, watched her take her bag from Speight’s driver and go inside. Then they parked just twenty metres from the door. At the very most, she had half an hour to reach the main terminal, check in and pass through security before the flight closed, but there was only one door and she couldn’t leave the private-jet terminal without being seen. She went to the reception to say that she had arrived then passed through to the lounge and at the snack bar poured herself a coffee, which she had no intention of drinking, then mimed forgetfulness and returned to the lobby to see if the car had gone. It had not. One of the agents was standing beside it on his cellphone, looking in the direction of the building. She glanced at the time on her cellphone. Unless she went now, she would miss the plane.
But then a voice called the name she never ever used. ‘Ana! My, what a surprise!’ She hadn’t noticed Marty Reid come through the door, accompanied by a man carrying his bags.
‘Marty! What a pleasure!’
‘Well, I’ve already seen you once today.’
‘That was yesterday.’
‘No. I saw you on Fox with Speight. You’re keeping some strange company if you mean to protect your husband. Warren Speight is not – most definitely not – a good man. He’s the guy who wants to cut Denis into pieces and feed him to the dogs.’
‘He came to see how Denis was and say how sorry he was.’
‘What else did he want? Speight never does anything without a reason. I hear he’s running around with a theory that Denis had something he was going to reveal to the committee.’
‘Really,’ said Anastasia. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘I keep my ear close to the ground. Always have done.’
‘And according to your source, what was he about to reveal?’
‘I don’t know, but maybe it has something to do with the money I was talking about. No one ever got to the bottom of where it came from. Maybe he was going to name names to demonstrate that people were conspiring against him and the allegations made by Speight and his associates were all false.’
‘Maybe,’ she said, wondering why the old buzzard was still banging on about the money, and now reconciled to missing her flight. ‘Yet I was in a meeting before the hearing with my husband and Mr Steen, and nothing of that nature was discussed.’
‘That was with Congresswoman Ricard, right?’
‘Yes.’ How did Reid know about that meeting? ‘I thought you were helping us, Marty, not investigating us.’
‘It would just be helpful to know what your husband was going to reveal, if indeed he was planning to reveal something. Has the FBI asked any questions along these lines?’
‘No, Marty, they haven’t. The Bureau is interested in finding the people who organised and paid for the attack. What Denis might or might not have said in the hearing now seems beside the point, does it not?’
‘Where are you going?’ he asked abruptly.
‘California.’
‘Then why are you out here? Why aren’t you with your plane?’
‘Marty, I’m waiting for someone! Why are you asking these questions? Where the fuck are you going?’
Reid wasn’t used to people talking like that to him. Anger flashed in his eyes, but he controlled himself. ‘Jackson Hole. It’s the nearest airport to my place.’
‘Last time we really talked – before all this – we were at an environmental fundraiser, and yet here we are, taking private planes. Strike you as hypocritical?’
He shrugged.
‘What do you want?’ she asked. ‘Why does this mean so much to you?’
‘I told you. I believe that some evil forces are at work and I’m one of the few people who can help you and Denis. Good to see you, Ana. I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, I strongly advise you to stay away from Warren Speight. I believe he’s at the very heart of this affair. Have a good flight.’
The FBI vehicle had gone. She left the flight centre and walked a short distance along a road called Wind Sock Drive, turned right at the end towards the main Dulles terminal and to
ok a path leading to a grassy bank, which she climbed, relishing the air and the tiny amount of exercise she was getting after being cooped up in the hospital. Resigned to a long wait in one of the lounges, she went to the airline desk to book the next flight to Vienna, where she would transfer to Athens. Overnight, she had arranged to meet in the Greek capital with key members of the Ayshel Hisami Foundation who were working with newly arrived refugees in the Aegean and along Turkey’s land borders with Greece and Bulgaria, where people were being gassed, stripped of their clothing, and sometimes shot. As she reminded Tulliver, there was more than one crisis in her life. The teams were in need of money and support, and she could give them both.
She missed her original flight and bought a ticket for the next, which meant a two-hour wait in the airport. At length, she presented her Greek passport in the name of Anastasia Niklaou Christakos to the automatic reader, retrieved a boarding card and headed for Security, all the time dreading that she would be stopped. But she reached the gate and boarded the flight without a hitch. A text message came from Tulliver as she settled into her seat. ‘Call me soonest.’ She dialled his number.
‘I have to tell you that Paul Samson was attacked in his apartment,’ he said. ‘His friend was also hurt. Samson had to kill the man. He was very, very lucky.’
‘Jesus. Are they going to be okay?’
‘Macy says yes. But the main point is that you have to be very careful, Anastasia. These people aren’t going to give up, and if they think you know what Denis was going to reveal at the hearing, they will try to kill you, too.’
Chapter 16
