Jeff offered his hand to Blake’s cool, practiced shake. “I’ve been following your work, Mr. Secretary. It’s impressive.”
Blake thanked him, and for several minutes the two men talked of relatively general, harmless matters dealing with life in Washington and the Claveling presidency. When Thomas Fenton excused himself and moved away, Jeffrey began to close in. He was hoping to learn whatever he could about the decision-making hierarchy of a corporation such as the one Blake had headed before his appointment. “I understand you had experience as an administrator back in Boston.”
“That’s right. My firm grew to be larger than I had originally expected. It took a lot of watching over.”
Jeffrey gave him a quizzical smile. “I’ve always been fascinated by bureaucratic hierarchies. I assume you had underlings to help.”
“I had to. There were four different divisions, each with a chief. I held regular briefings with them, though they handled the details of day-to-day production themselves.”
“You set policy, of course.”
Blake shrugged with one brow, nearly imperceptibly, duly modest. “It was my company.”
“Were you the contact for sales, or did you have a special sales force?”
“There was a sales force, but the contacts were mine.”
Jeffrey sighed in appreciation. “Not bad. Plenty of responsibility on your shoulders, though. You must have had the final word on what of your products went where.”
Blake only had time to nod before two other couples joined them, and Jeffrey knew his chance was gone. He had wanted to ask if there was ever occasion when something happened that Blake didn’t know about, such as one of his division chiefs channeling a sale on his own. Jeffrey would have been interested in knowing whether, in his own investigation, he had to look further into the bureaucracy than simply the top. But it was lost for now. He was bemoaning his fate when his ear perked up. One of the women was asking about Blake’s wife.
“I haven’t seen Mrs. Lindsay here. Couldn’t she make it?”
Blake smiled with just the right amount of regret and shook his head. “She’s back in Boston. She does a radio show there now.”
“How exciting!”
“Yes. It’s a current affairs talk show. Unfortunately, she has to spend hours each week preparing for it, so she can’t spend as much time here as she’d like.”
“You must miss her,” the second woman observed.
“I do. But she’s a modern woman doing her thing. I’m proud of her.”
One of the men slapped him on the back. “You should be. She’s a feather in any man’s cap. Speaking of feathers in one’s cap, you must be very pleased with the import restrictions the White House announced this week…”
When the conversation took off along more political lines, Jeffrey stood by, observing Blake. After several minutes, when others approached, he excused himself from the group as unobtrusively as possible. He mingled, talking with whoever happened to be close, scanning the crowd to keep track of Cilla, all the while trying to crystallize in his mind the impression he’d gotten of Blake Lindsay based on those few short minutes with him. Much later, on the way home, he discussed his feelings.
“It’s strange, Cilla. He eludes me. You were right in that he’s straight and proper. He says all the right things, makes all the right gestures. When he was asked about his wife, he gave a perfectly plausible explanation for her absence, even set the scene for her continuing absence. He claimed to miss her, but he seemed happiest when he was talking shop.”
“Did you pick up anything on that score?”
“Not as much as I’d hoped. But look, maybe it was a half-assed idea anyway. I’d probably do better consulting with some less conspicuous corporate head. I had to be careful with Lindsay; I didn’t want to sound too inquisitive.”
“You can do that, Mr. Winston.”
“Mmmm, but I have been better on that score, haven’t I?”
“You have.” She snuggled closer to his side. “I think we both have.”
“I have a proposition, Dani.”
“Uh-oh. Another one.”
“This one’s really exciting.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
It was early June. Danica was spending several days in Maine before returning to Boston to wrap things up before the summer. She no longer talked with Blake every week, but only on those occasions when he called to say that he wanted her with him on a particular date. She had refused him several times, yielding only when he pointedly mentioned that her father would be at a particular affair.
It wasn’t that her father still intimidated her; she meant what she’d told Michael, that she had reached a point where she was beyond that. Rather, her deference was well planned, her mind set. The matter of divorce was between her and Blake. When they came to an arrangement—and she was sure it would eventually happen, because she didn’t believe that Blake would take her animosity forever—she would simply inform William of their decision. She didn’t want to give him cause for involvement any earlier, and at that late point his arguments would be moot.
“It’s about a treasure hunt,” Michael said.
“Sounds interesting.”
“There’s this fellow I know—actually, he’s an army buddy—who’s into salvaging.”
“Treasure hunting sounds better.”
Michael grinned. “You are a romantic, d’ you know that?”
“I guess I am. Funny, when I was first married, I thought the most romantic things were the cards and flowers and gifts Blake would give me.”
“And now?”
“They seem drab. Programmed. He never forgets a formal occasion, but the gifts are a travesty, given the ill will between us. I don’t know why he even bothers. The feeling isn’t there. Actually, I think his secretary does the dirty work. She must have all the proper occasions marked on her calendar.”
“So what does turn you on?”
“Romantically? The quiet times we have together, like now. The talking and sharing.” She leaned forward and gave him a gentle kiss. “Now that’s a treasure.”
“Speaking of which, let me finish with my proposal.”
“Your proposal. Right. I’m listening.”
“My friend—his name’s Joe Camarillo—is convinced that he’s located the wreckage of a small liner that sank in 1906 off the coast of Nantucket. He believes there could be up to a million in gold coins aboard.”
“You’re kidding!”
Michael shook his head. “He spent months studying government reports and underwater surveys in the National Archives, and he’s convinced that he’s found the SS Domini buried in twenty feet of sand. He and a crew will be diving this summer. We’re welcome to join them if we want.”
“Join them? What would we do?”
“Observe, more than anything. I think I can get an interesting piece out of it. We’ll be following the everyday activity of the crew, interviewing them and, of course, reading anything and everything we can find on the Domini.”
“‘We’?”
“You can be my assistant. If you’re interested.”
“You know I’m interested, Michael! I’ve never done anything like that!”
“Then you’ll come?”
“I’d love to! But what about my show? I suppose we could tape it beforehand, but it has to be current. I don’t think I can hibernate on a boat all summer.”
“No sweat. We’ll be free every weekend. I can drive you back to Boston. You can tape your show. If we’re late getting back, we can take a small cruiser out to rendezvous with Joe’s boat.”
Danica grew more and more excited. “It might work. I’ll have a legitimate reason for avoiding Washington. Not that Blake expects I’ll come during the summer. But my father might ask questions. If I’m working, he can’t raise too much of a fuss.”
At Danica’s mention of her father, Michael, who had been fully pleased with the prospect of both working and living with Danica, grew sober. “Ha
s he been making things difficult for you?” All too well Michael recalled the visit he’d had from William Marshall. It had been months ago, and even after he returned from abroad and resumed seeing Danica, he had heard nothing. He often wondered what the senator had up his sleeve and had more than once opened his door expecting to find a pair of thugs waiting to break his legs. It was possible that the senator had backed off and thrown in the towel. Somehow, he doubted it, and that made him nervous—precisely as William Marshall had intended.
“He hasn’t been overly warm,” Danica said, “but then, he and I were never on the closest of terms. He abides my presence. I’m sure in his eyes, I’m a great disappointment.”
Michael knew that William hadn’t dragged out his photographs for Danica’s benefit, and that was some relief. Still, perhaps more subtly, William was making his point. “How do you feel about that?”
“About disappointing him? Not the way I once did, that’s for sure. You were right. I don’t think I can please him. He and I function on totally different levels. I like to think that mine reaches higher, to things like personal satisfaction and happiness and love, but who knows. His is just so different.”
“It always has been. What do you think he’ll say when you finally do leave Blake?”
“I already have left Blake, at least for all practical purposes. When the formal break comes, I’m sure my father will be livid. That’s why I’m waiting. When Blake comes to his senses…”
Her words trailed off as, simultaneously, she and Michael thought about the word if. But neither of them wanted to consider that possibility, which was one of the reasons a summer working with a salvage crew sounded so good. For Danica, it would be another step away from Blake. For Michael, it would be another tie with Danica.
“Should I tell Joe we’re on?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
“Very.”
Michael hugged her then, appreciating both the commitment she had made and the risk involved. He wouldn’t have thought it possible, but his love for her was still growing.
fifteen
“hE CALLS HIMSELF RED ROBIN AND WE HAVE a meeting set for tomorrow!” Cilla exclaimed, beside herself with glee as she opened the door to Jeff. Any reservations she might have had about so freely blurting her news were swept away by her excitement.
Jeffrey stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “Red Robin?”
“As in power-and-lust?”
“Ahhhh, Red Robin. Very dramatic. Sees himself as another Deep Throat, does he?”
“I don’t know, but I’m sure not going to dismiss that possibility. I keep thinking of what he has to say, and my mind starts to whirl. Can you imagine my getting an exclusive on something really big?”
“You’ve done it before. Maybe that’s why he chose you.”
She frowned. “I’ve wondered about that. From the start he asked for me directly. There must be some specific reason.”
“You’re responsible, like he said. Where are you meeting him?” When Cilla hesitated, he scowled. “I’m not looking for a piece of the action, Cilla. It’s just that I have images of Deep Throat and a shadowy garage late at night, and the idea doesn’t thrill me too much. Give me a little credit for feeling protective, and don’t tell me I’m being chauvinistic.”
“All right,” she said quietly, realizing that one part of her, the softer, feminine part, liked feeling protected. “I’m meeting him at nine o’clock in a parking lot in Bethesda.”
Jeff easily recognized the address she gave him. “It’s open enough, but it’ll probably be deserted at that hour.”
“I’ll be okay. He couldn’t possibly want to hurt me.”
“What if he’s a sex maniac who’s been leading you on all this time?”
“Oh, Jeff, I doubt it. And anyway, I can’t not go. I can’t risk losing an opportunity like this.”
“You could if it meant you’d be hurt. No story is worth that.”
“I won’t be hurt. If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll bring along a can of mace.”
Jeffrey snorted. “That’ll do a lot of good. He could grab it out of your hand and turn it on you, then rape you and do any number of other ugly things.”
“He won’t. Damn it, Jeff. I thought you’d be excited for me. Maybe I shouldn’t have told you after all.”
“No, no, hon. I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m worried. Maybe I should go along with you.”
“Yeah. One look at you and he’ll run off without a word. You’re big, Jeff, and you can be intimidating.”
“That’s the point.”
“No, the point is that I want this story.”
“What if I hide in the back seat of the car. You could leave the windows open and yell if there’s trouble.”
She folded her arms over her breasts. “I think you do want in. This is my case, Jeff. You have plenty of your own.”
He sensed they were reaching an impasse and didn’t want that. He liked to think they’d come further. Pushing his fingers through his hair, he sighed. “I do, which is precisely why I don’t ‘want in,’ as you so bluntly put it. I simply want to make sure you’re safe.”
“I will be. Trust me.”
“I trust you,” he snarled. “It’s the other guy I’m not so sure about.”
On the one hand, Cilla was determined to go. On the other, she respected Jeffrey’s fears because, indeed, the same ones lurked in a distant corner of her mind. She also—contrary to what she had said—respected Jeffrey’s motives. She wanted to meet him halfway. “What if you were to follow me and park several blocks away. If I had a beeper in my pocket, I could press it if there’s any real danger.”
Jeffrey didn’t have to think about it. “That would make me feel better.”
“Can you get the beepers?”
“Easily.…Cilla? Thanks.”
She suddenly felt totally comfortable with her decision. They had reached a compromise. It was another step in the right direction. Smiling, she nodded. “You’re welcome.”
The parking lot was dark when Cilla pulled into it at eight-fifty-five the following evening. Seeing no other car, she parked, then sat and waited. And waited. Nine o’clock came and went, then nine-fifteen and nine-thirty. By ten o’clock she had the distinct impression she’d been stood up. She waited until ten-thirty, then started her car and sat with it idling for another five minutes before finally leaving.
Jeffrey was sympathetic, though not surprised. He knew better than to remind her of the crackpot theory, and suggested that as a consolation prize she lead him back to her place and take her frustrations out on his body. She liked the idea, and not only because of the guilt she felt in having dragged him along on what had proved to be a washout. He was a wonderful diversion, for a time at least. The following morning, though, she was back at her desk in the city room, staring broodingly at her word processing screen. When Red Robin called her shortly before noon, she had to work at sounding pleasant.
“I waited for you last night,” she said.
“I couldn’t make it.”
“You said your story was urgent.”
“It is. I just couldn’t make it.”
He sounded very nervous. She wasn’t sure how much of it related to his having to call her after he had stood her up. “It’s okay,” she lied. “I spent the time thinking through other stories. Listen, if you got cold feet, you shouldn’t have. I respect my sources. I don’t reveal their names. I don’t even know yours.”
“Red Robin is enough, and my story is better than your others.”
“I want to believe you. That’s why I was there last night.”
His voice grew muffled. “Tonight. Same time. Same place.”
“How do I know you’ll—”
The line clicked and went dead. She quickly called Jeffrey and arranged to meet him at her apartment at seven. But four hours after that, they were back.
“Damn it! That man is incredible!” She savagely t
hrew her purse on the sofa. “Twice in a row—who does he think he is?”
“He thinks he’s a man who has a story no one else has and that you’ll come running when he calls.”
“Well, he’s right. But maybe you were, too. Maybe he doesn’t have anything after all. I was so sure. My instincts haven’t failed me like this since…since…since I agreed to divorce you.”
Jeffrey put a comforting arm around her shoulder. “We both blew it that time. It was an emotional issue. This, on the other hand, is an intellectual one. I wouldn’t do any different than you’ve done.”
“You wouldn’t?”
He shook his head. “There’s a chance that it’s a hoax. But if it isn’t, if the guy really does have something big to tell you, he may just be very nervous.”
“He’s a coward, is what he is. Why is he coming to me, anyway? He could go to the authorities.”
“He may feel they won’t believe him, that they’re corrupt themselves. He may be afraid that if he goes to the cops he’ll lose his anonymity. He may believe that the people he’s out to expose have enough power to have him silenced.”
“He may just want headlines,” she sneered.
“Don’t you? I mean, isn’t it your byline you want on this thing?”
“Low blow, Jeff. You know I want the byline, but there’s the story, too. Give me credit for a little civic responsibility.”
“I do, hon. I do.” He took her shoulders gently. “Look, let’s just relax. If he calls back, you can put him on the spot. Tell him that you think he’s full of crap and that if he makes another date and stands you up, you won’t accept his calls. Call his bluff. That might scare him more than anything.”
“It might just drive him to a rival paper.”
“No. He wants you. He specifically asked for you. If he’s got something to tell, you’re the one he’ll tell it to. So cheer up. He’ll call back. And if he doesn’t, well, then you won’t have to spend any more nights sitting in a dark parking lot.”
As it happened, there was another night, early the following week, though she didn’t have to sit for long. She barely had time to park her car, turn out the lights and grit her teeth when a dark form materialized on the pavement. Not a car, but a man. She stared, refusing to believe at first that he had actually come. Disbelief quickly changed to excitement when he headed right for her, then was promptly quelled when the professional in her took over. She realized that he was clever to have come on foot, thereby preventing her from catching his license plate, which of course she’d had every intention of doing.
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