by Steve Richer
Chapter 10
They got to a steakhouse in Georgetown right in time for happy hour and Rogan discovered he needed a drink more than food. He gulped down a pint of beer before they’d even received their salads and he quickly ordered another one.
“Better go easy with that,” Cass said, herself sipping a glass of wine.
“I’ve taken it easy all day. I’m done taking it easy.”
She snorted. “I would’ve loved to see you not take it easy then. Between how you spoke to the President, to my SAC, geez…”
“That should serve as a lesson: don’t make a guy fly for 10 hours across the continent, tell him he’s the lead investigator, and then neuter him.”
There was bitterness in his voice and he knew it. He drained half his new beer.
“For what it’s worth, I think you did a good job today, Rogan.”
“I tried anyway.”
He shrugged and finished eating his salad. In a way, this investigation had been much less glamorous than he would’ve expected. Interviews, statements, routine background checks, it was pretty standard stuff.
The only thing that sets this apart, aside from the President of the United States being at the center of it all, was the conspiracy aspect. And even then, there was a chance he was seeing things that weren’t even there.
What if Hyperion Foxtrot Protocol was nothing more than the raving of a madman? Chances were that the psych evaluation would reveal Christopher Rudd was in fact schizophrenic.
“I’m not hungry anymore,” he said, pushing his plate away.
“I never saw you back down from a T-bone.”
Just thinking about his main course made him nauseated. It was bound to arrive any minute now and he knew it had been a mistake. Fatigue, too much beer, too many worries. His body was breaking down.
“Blame the jet lag, okay?”
“Sure you don’t want to blame your age?”
“My age is fine, I’ll have you know. I’m still under 40. As long as I’m younger than the Rolling Stones everything is hunky-dory.”
“Nobody is younger than the Rolling Stones, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s right, you’re a groupie.”
“Hey! That was one show when I was in college and I never actually made it backstage.”
He grinned. “Funny how your story becomes more believable as time goes by. Next time you tell me the story, it’ll turn out you watched the concert live on TV.”
They laughed and it made him forget about the weird day for once. She also pushed away her salad and then reached up to unpin her hair. Rogan held his breath as he watched her thick mane cascade down on her shoulders. She teased it in place absentmindedly but he was taking everything in.
She was stunning and he hated himself for thinking this. She had been his partner, his friend. It had to be another consequence of his exhaustion.
“You’re truly not hungry anymore?” she asked.
“No.”
“You wanna get outta here?”
“I would appreciate a ride back to my hotel, yes.”
He waved the waitress over and asked for the check.
~ ~ ~ ~
Rogan was nervous as they walked down the long corridor of the hotel. There was always something exciting about this. He had fond memories of partying all night, whether it was in Paris or Berlin or Hong Kong, and then coming back to his room with a woman he’d met only an hour before.
The prospect of having sex with a stranger never ceased to make his body tingle all over. It wasn’t so much about the sex itself but about the prospect of it. It was in a sense like waiting for Christmas. The opening of presents lasted only a few minutes but the anticipation built more and more over an entire month.
Kissing a girl for the first time was invigorating. You caressed her cheek, brushed back her hair. You were essentially discovering uncharted territory and anything was possible. That’s how he’d felt as a young man with money to burn and no responsibilities. That’s how he felt with Cass by his side now.
And yet something wasn’t right.
He peeped sideways at her and found that she was staring back. They both nervously looked away and he even giggled like a teenager. It was stupid, uncharacteristic. She was gorgeous, there was no denying this. He had thought so five years ago but at the time he’d been married and had never even thought about Cass in a sexual way.
Now it was different and it scared him.
The fact that she was coming with him all the way to his room told him everything he needed to know about her intentions. He had his hands in his pockets, firmly clutching his keycard. At last, they reached room 238 and stopped.
“Thank you for the ride.”
She nodded and turned to face him, stepping closer. Her hands went to his wrists and he couldn’t resist her, letting her pull his hands out of his coat pockets. Before he knew it, they were holding hands.
“There’s nothing wrong with this, is there?” she asked.
He swallowed dryly and she pressed her body against his. Her head tilted back, the invitation clear. He feared her reaction if he turned her down but mostly he was scared to discover he enjoyed it.
He closed his eyes and gave in. He leaned down and pressed his mouth against hers, tasting the remnants of her Chardonnay, but mostly tasting her. Her lips were moist and opened ever so slightly.
“Hmmm…” she sighed.
She moved against him, gently probing his mouth with her tongue while not being too eager. By now he felt her chest against his, her heat enveloping him. He cradled her face in his hands, stroking her smooth skin with his fingers.
“Let’s go inside,” she whispered when they broke for air.
As if in a trance, he produced his keycard and opened the door. They went in, turned on the light which bathed the room in a faint yellow glow, and she was in his arms again.
This time her mouth was hungrier. Not being in the open anymore, her inhibitions were gone. She made him shrug out of his coat and she did the same. Without missing a beat, she threw herself in his arms and they were making out against the door.
What hit Rogan like a sledgehammer was the image shining bright in his head. Cass was breathtaking but it wasn’t her he was thinking about. No, the person he saw was Victoria.
His wife.
He had met her exactly 17 months before his tour in Salt Lake City was over. He knew because he’d been counting the days until his transfer. For someone who had partied around the world, Salt Lake City and its subhuman liquor laws had been pure hell. But meeting Victoria had turned the city into paradise overnight.
They had run into each other at a dry cleaning place and like characters in a bad romantic comedy their clothes had been switched by mistake. When Rogan had returned to the shop Victoria had been there too. His anger had vanished instantly upon laying eyes on her. She was as tall as he was, her dark hair and skin tone somewhat dark which made him think of native ancestry. She was the most striking woman he had ever seen.
Not wanting to miss his chance, he had invited her for a drink and within a week they were dating exclusively. He had waited until they’d been together a month before he told her he was wealthy, afraid that it was his money she was in love with. It had happened before quite a few times. But no, Victoria was like no other and she’d loved him for him.
He’d thought about requesting to stay in Salt Lake City just so he could be with her, especially after they’d moved in together, but what they had was pure. She was happy to follow him anywhere, she’d said. They’d gotten married in Lake Tahoe a year before his transfer took effect.
Their life together had been utterly perfect. She worked for a nonprofit environmental firm and he went through his day-to-day FBI duties which, all things considered, was the most boring career he’d ever had. Everything seemed boring after the Marine Corps. And it was fine by him. Being with Victoria made it worth it.
She had been excited for him when he was transferred to Washington
and she was the one who told him it was okay to be ambitious, to want a more exciting career. He wasn’t sure about that, bureaucracy had never been his bag, but he was happy nevertheless.
They had ultimately settled into a nice home in Prince George’s County when six months later he was informed that Victoria had been in a car accident. Nothing had been the same after that. What little ambition he had was thrown out the window. He had just stopped caring about everything.
To this day, Rogan was still in pain. Maybe it was being back in Washington, perhaps it was having another woman in his arms. Either way, he couldn’t bear it.
“Wait,” he said, pushing Cass away.
“What is it?”
“I can’t do this. Not tonight.”
She nodded and took a step back. “Not tonight or not ever?”
“This is hard for me, Cass.”
“It’s been five years, you sound like you haven’t been with another woman since then.”
“I haven’t.”
Her eyebrows shot up. “You’re kidding.”
“No. Look, I’m sorry. Maybe it’s the fatigue or the stress, I don’t know. My head’s not right at the moment.”
“I understand, don’t worry about it.”
He wasn’t sure if she was telling the truth. “You’re gorgeous, Cass. It has nothing to do with you.”
“I know, the old it’s not you it’s me.”
“I can’t help it, I’m not over Victoria. Don’t know if I’ll ever be.”
“It’s okay, Rogan, really.”
This time she sounded sincere. “Thanks for understanding, Cass.”
She nodded and picked up her jacket, getting ready to leave.
“There’s been no one in five years? For real?”
“I don’t know how I do it either.”
They both chuckled and she opened the door.
“Good night.”
Chapter 11
Rogan was stirred awake by the hotel’s automated phone system and even then it took more than a dozen loud rings to bring him back to life. He looked at the alarm clock, checked his watch to make sure it was accurate, and then decided that 7 a.m. was still too early.
In any case, he got up and brewed coffee before heading to the bathroom. He swallowed his first cup in record time and already knew he would need several more until he could feel human again.
He took a long shower and when he was drying off he sensed he was returning to normal. Not quite bubbling with energy, he was awake enough to regret having turned down Cass. It wasn’t normal for a guy to be celibate for five years, he knew that, but that’s how strong his relationship with Victoria had been.
There was a knock at the door.
He hastily put on the pinstriped pants he had laid out the night before, slipped into a clean shirt, and answered the door while fumbling with the tiny buttons.
“Special Agent Bricks.”
It was the man who had driven Cass to the airport yesterday. What was his name, Albert? He didn’t look like the type of person who had a sense of humor. Seeing him standing there, towering over him, he looked like a thug in a cheap suit.
“Hey,” Rogan said. “You part of the breakfast detail?”
“Sir, Director Hephner is downstairs. He’d like to speak with you.”
“Oh, okay. Give me a second.”
He let go of the door and thankfully Albert remained in the hallway. Rogan finished getting dressed, clipped on his weapon and magazines, and put on his jacket.
He left the room and found Albert was still there, his head shaped like a linebacker’s, his face impassive.
“This way, sir.”
He stretched his arm toward the elevator and Rogan almost thanked him for pointing it out. He rolled his eyes and started walking, conscious that the man was following. He got into the elevator but this time Albert wasn’t with him.
“Hey, aren’t you coming?”
The doors closed before the goon responded and Rogan let it go. Maybe he was part of the Director’s security team and had to remain upstairs.
He got out in the lobby, which was swarming with travelers moving about with their suitcases and free breakfast items, and another tall man with broad shoulders was waiting for him.
“Right this way, Special Agent Bricks.”
He followed the new man and was surprised that he was leading him outside. He was about to head back in to get his coat but he saw his destination, a black SUV. It was parked right at the entrance and he figured he could tolerate the cold a few seconds.
It was indeed freezing outside and he slipped into the comfy backseat. The short leader of the FBI was sitting next to him.
“Good morning, Special Agent Bricks.”
“Director. I wish you would’ve called, we could’ve had breakfast.”
This was of course ridiculous – a lowly special agent from Alaska didn’t invite the Director of the FBI out to meals – but it seemed like the right thing to say.
“I’ll go right to the point, Bricks. Your conduct these past 24 hours has been, shall we say, not quite exemplary.”
Rogan snorted. “I see. Vanstedum’s finally had enough of having his incompetence being underlined and highlighted.”
“It’s of no concern to you who came to me or why. For starters, your interrogation of President Rudd was over the line. Not having his attorney present? What were you thinking?”
“Sir, I have reason to believe all is not as it seems.”
“Bricks, I brought you in because I thought you could be kept on a leash.”
“You want a leash, you buy a dog. Sir.”
Hephner’s eyes narrowed as he stared at him. “They were right, you’re not a team player.”
“Depends which team. I’m looking for the truth, nothing else. You agreed with me yesterday about this.”
“Fine, let’s put it this way. You’ve done a good job so far and now your services are no longer needed.”
Rogan smirked. “So if my supposedly irregular interrogation is ever an issue I’ll be hung out to dry? What if I don’t go down quietly?”
“Then that numbered bank account you have at Credit Suisse could be quite the little embarrassment for you. What do you think? Should I call the IRS right away or will you disappear gently?”
The Swiss bank account made Rogan simultaneously smile and groan. It was the first offshore account he’d ever opened and it only held a few million dollars. He had practically forgotten about it.
“Bravo, sir. You really are the son of a bitch everybody says you are.”
“Albert will drive you to the airport and I hope our paths never cross again.”
Hephner waved through the window and Albert came into the SUV. He was carrying Rogan’s luggage and trench coat. He took position behind the wheel.
“That’s right, you never gave me back the spare keycard.” He spun toward the FBI Director. “What about my partner, Gary Nero?”
“I’m told he’s already at work on 4th Street. We’ll keep him here on the case, it’s better for the Bureau if he learns from agents who can follow orders.”
Hephner left the SUV and promptly headed to a Cadillac waiting behind. Rogan decided he could go right ahead and fuck himself. Flying back to Alaska was probably best anyway. Even though he was curious about solving this puzzle, he simply didn’t need this crap.
~ ~ ~ ~
The trip to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport wasn’t long but there was ample time for Rogan to call Gary to let him know he was going back home. His partner offered token dejection but he seemed happy to continue working on this case here in DC. Frankly, he couldn’t blame the kid.
Cass was a more delicate situation. He didn’t want to disappear without saying goodbye, especially after what had happened – what hadn’t happened – last night. Yet, he couldn’t find the right words. He was afraid to be accused of running away because he didn’t want to be with her. In the end, he texted her, saying he would call her later
.
They got to the airport, went through security, drove to the general aviation area, and they had to go through security once again where they insisted he secured his firearm inside his suitcase. He’d done it so many times that he didn’t grumble.
The place was teeming with executive jets and for a moment Rogan was sure he’d spotted a former British prime minister in the distance. Washington was like Hollywood for political junkies, celebrities everywhere.
At last, they came to a halt in front of a sleek white Learjet.
“You’re hitching a ride with another agent,” Albert said before stepping out of the SUV. Rogan followed him. “He’s going to Denver. From there, you’re booked on a flight to Anchorage, with a two-hour layover in Seattle.”
“Awesome,” Rogan said, distinctly aware he had to carry his own suitcase now.
His decision was clear, as soon as they were in the air to Denver he would get on the phone and secure a private jet directly to Anchorage. Hell, he might request a few days off and go to Cabo instead. What was the worst that could happen, getting yelled at by the FBI Director?
“Good luck, Special Agent Bricks.”
“Yeah, you too.”
Albert got back into the car and drove away while Rogan climbed aboard the plane. Two middle-aged pilots were waiting for him with broad smiles.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Bricks,” the Captain said in a French accent. “Please make yourself comfortable and we will take off shortly.”
The copilot took his luggage from him and went outside to stow it into the cargo bay. The cabin had eight seats and sure enough a man was sitting in the back. He was in his mid-30s, clean-cut in a dark suit. He was busy with his iPad.
Rogan nodded to him. “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
The reply was curt, obviously the guy wasn’t in a talkative mood. At least he was sitting two rows back, he thought. Rogan removed his coat, buckled up, and closed his eyes.
As the aircraft taxied and eventually took off, he thought about Victoria and how afraid of flying she had been. When they had moved to Washington, she had insisted they drove all the way from Salt Lake City. It had pissed him off at the time but now he’d make that trip every week just to be with her one more time.
