The Camel Club (14 page)

For all his hatred of the man Gray had to admit, from the concerned expression on Brennan’s face, Decker had played it perfectly.

After Decker had left, Brennan sat back and took off his reading glasses. “Before we start the briefing, I want to run something by you, Carter. I’m heading up to New York on September 11 to give a speech at the memorial site.” Gray knew where this was going but stayed silent. “I wanted to know if you’d like to accompany me. After all, you’ve done more than almost anyone to ensure something like that never happens again.”

It was unheard-of to decline an invitation by a United States president to travel to an event. However, Gray really didn’t care about protocol or tradition with this particular subject.

“That is a kind offer, sir, but I’ll be attending a private service here.”

“I know it’s painful for you, Carter, but I just thought I’d ask. You’re sure?”

“Very sure, Mr. President. Thank you.”

“All right.” Brennan paused. “You know about my hometown renaming itself after me?”

“Yes, sir. Congratulations.”

Brennan smiled. “It’s one of those things that come along that’s both flattering and embarrassing at the same time. My ego’s not so large that I can’t see that the town’s hope in profiting by the change is at least equal to their wanting to pay homage to a local boy made good. I’m going up to give a speech at the dedication and shake some hands. Why don’t you join me?”

If the most important rule was you never declined a president’s invitation, the second most important rule was you never turned the man down twice.

“Thank you, I’d like that very much.”

The president tapped his glasses against his briefing book. “It’s likely that I’ll be here for another four years.”

“I’d say it’s more than likely, sir.”

“I want you to speak frankly, Carter. This will stay between you and me.” Gray nodded. “Despite your successes in protecting this country, do you believe that the world is safer today than it was when I took office?”

Gray carefully considered this question, trying to ascertain the answer his chief wanted. However, Brennan remained inscrutable, so Gray decided to tell him the truth. “No, it’s not. In fact, it’s far more volatile.”

“My people tell me that at its present consumption the planet could run out of fossil fuel in fifty years. No more plane travel, a few electric cars, cities shutting down for lack of energy. How we communicate, work, travel, get our food, all radically transformed.
And
this country won’t have the means to adequately maintain its nuclear weapons and other military resources.”

“That’s all certainly possible.”

“Yes, but without our military, how do we remain safe, Carter?”

Gray hesitated and then said, “I’m afraid I don’t have the answer for you, sir.”

Brennan said quietly, “I believe the difference between a mediocre president and a great one is
opportunity
.”

“You’ve done a good job, Mr. President. You should be proud.” Actually, in Gray’s opinion, the man hadn’t done anything special, yet he was not about to tell his boss
that
.

As Gray walked out of the West Wing an hour later, his mind, for once, wasn’t on stopping America’s enemies or pleasing his commander in chief. As he climbed aboard the chopper, Gray was thinking about purple. That was his daughter’s favorite color until she was six. And then orange became her favorite. When he asked her why the change, she informed him with hands on little hips and her stubborn chin angled up that orange was a more grown-up color. Even to this day that memory never failed to make him smile.

Warren Peters finally found the boat where the Camel Club had hidden it. He immediately called Tyler Reinke and the man joined him quickly.

“You’re sure this is it?” Reinke asked as he gazed at the boat.

Peters nodded. “There’s blood on the gunwale. So I was right. I hit one of them.”

“If they took the boat and brought it back, someone might have seen them.”

Peters nodded and then stared out at the water. “But there might be an easier way to track them down. Johnson had ID in his pocket.”

“Right, so?”

“So what if our witnesses saw where he lived, and get curious?”

“It might save us a lot of legwork,” Reinke agreed. “We’ll go there tonight.”

CHAPTER
23

C
HOOSING HIS WORDS WITH CARE
and hedging as much as he possibly could without drawing the ire of his superiors, Alex wrote up his report and e-mailed it to Jerry Sykes. He finished up some other paperwork and decided to call it a day before someone grabbed him for post duty. Alex had no desire to spend another evening watching a king or prime minister stuff his face with crab dip.

He passed an agent who was stashing his pistol in a wall locker before going in to interrogate a suspect.

“Hey, Alex, bust any more ATM bandits?” the agent asked. The story had made its way through WFO with the swiftness only a water cooler broadcast network could inspire.

“Nope. Couldn’t find anybody else that stupid.”

“Hear you and Simpson make a nice team,” the man commented, barely suppressing a grin.

“We have our moments.”

“Heard of J-Lo?”

“Who hasn’t?” Alex replied.

“Well, Simpson is J-
Glo
. Didn’t you know you were partnering with a celeb?”

“J-Glo? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Alex, she’s got a halo over her. The light is shining from heaven above on that little southern pistol. They say it’s blinding from at least five hundred yards. I’m surprised you can still see.”

The agent walked off, laughing.

As luck would have it, Alex ran into his partner on the way out of the building.

“Going home?” he asked.

“No, I’m going to see if I can find any friends. I can’t seem to dig up any here. ”

She started to walk off, but Alex put a hand on her shoulder. “Look, what I said was meant as constructive criticism, nothing else. I would’ve paid good money for tips like that when I was just starting out and didn’t know squat.”

For an instant Simpson actually looked like she wanted to take a swing at him, but with what seemed immense self-control she regained her composure.

“I appreciate your interest but it’s different for a woman. The Service is still very much a man’s world.”

“I’m not denying that, Jackie. But the fact is you’re not doing your career any favors by letting yourself be treated differently from everybody else.”

Simpson’s face flushed. “I can’t help it if people are treating me with kid gloves.”

Alex shook his head. “Wrong answer. You
can
help it. In fact, you better make damn sure it stops.” He paused and then asked, “Who
is
your guardian angel?” Simpson didn’t appear to want to answer. “Look, just spill it. It’s not like I can’t find out.”

She snapped, “Fine! My father is Senator Roger Simpson.”

Alex nodded, impressed. “Chairman of the Intelligence Oversight Committee. That’s a pretty big angel.”

In a flash Simpson was right in Alex’s face, almost stepping on his size 13 loafers as she attacked. “My father would
never
use his influence to help me. And for your information, being his only child didn’t make my life easier. I had to fight for every damn thing I got. I’ve got the bruises and thick skin to show for it.”

Alex backed up a step and put out a hand to keep her at bay. “This town isn’t built on fact, it’s based on perception. And the perception is that you get out of the crap work more than you should. And that’s not all. ”

“Oh, really?”

He pointed at her jacket. “You usually wear a blazing red handkerchief in your breast pocket.”

“So what?”

“So, to a Secret Service agent, that’s a no-no. It not only draws attention to you in a profession that prides itself on keeping a low profile
except
on protection detail. It also makes a damn fine target for somebody looking to take a shot at you. So not only does it label you as a maverick, it labels you as a
stupid
maverick.”

Simpson’s jaw clenched as she stared down at this crimson mark, as though it were a scarlet letter.

Alex continued. “And your gun. It’s a custom piece. Another sign that you think you’re different—translate, better—than everybody else. That doesn’t sit well with agents here, men or women.”

“My daddy gave me this gun when I became a police officer.” Alex noted that the angrier Simpson became, the more pronounced her Alabama drawl.

“So put it in a shadow box on your wall and carry the Service’s standard issue!”

“And what, then all my problems just go away?” This shot out of the woman’s mouth with such an attitude that now Alex felt like decking her.

“No, then you just have all the problems everybody else has. Why don’t you just file that one away under ‘Life’s a Bitch’?”
And so are you.

Alex turned and walked off. He’d had enough of the rookie for one day. The LEAP Bar was seriously calling his name.

Kate Adams had just come on duty after a full day at Justice when Alex walked in. It was relatively early yet, so the place was mostly empty. Alex marched up to the bar, a man on a mission. She’d seen him coming and had the martini with three fat olives waiting for him by the time Alex’s rear hit the stool.

“My imagination, or are you a little upset about something?” she said in a teasing manner that immediately eased the tension from him.

The mingled scents of coconut and honeysuckle drifted across the width of the mahogany bar and settled in his nostrils. He wondered if she’d washed her hair before coming to work, or if it was her perfume, or both. Regardless, it was doing a number on him.

“Just work. It’ll pass.” He took a sip of his drink, popped one of the olives into his mouth and chased it down with a handful of peanuts he grabbed from a bowl next to him. “How goes it with you? Your superspy friend Tommy come calling?”

She raised her eyebrows at this comment. “Hemingway? I wouldn’t exactly call him a friend.” He gave her such a skeptical look that she put down the glass she was drying off and leaned across the bar.

“You have another opinion you’d like to express, Agent Ford?”

He shrugged. “None of my business really.”

“A girl can flirt and not mean anything by it.”

Alex took another hit of his martini. “That’s good to know.”

“You have to admit, he’s very cute, well traveled, intelligent. The man’s the whole package really.”

Alex started to launch a blistering rejoinder but then realized she was just pulling his chain, and enjoying herself immensely. “Yeah, he is. Hell, I was thinking about asking the guy out myself.”

She leaned across the bar again and grabbed his tie so hard Alex was jerked toward her, spilling part of his drink.

She said, “Well, since you can’t seem to get around to it, I will. Do you want to go out?”

Alex felt his mouth hanging open but had the good sense to shut it a second later. “You’re asking me out?”

“No, I’m asking the guy behind you.
Yes,
I’m asking you out.”

Alex couldn’t help but glance around him on the outside chance that he was being set up with a hidden studio audience that was just waiting to erupt into belly laughs.

“You’re really serious?”

She tightened her grip on his tie. “When I flirt, I flirt. When I ask, it’s a whole other ball game.”

“Yes. I want to go out with you.”

“See, that wasn’t all that hard, was it? Now, since we’ve finally gotten that settled, why don’t we negotiate a date? Because you seem a little slow on the social uptake, I’ll go first. I’m assuming you enjoy eating as well as drinking. How about dinner?”

“You just threw me a curve. I thought for sure you’d be safe and propose lunch.”

“I’m not into safe these days,” she said. Then Kate let go of his tie very, very slowly, sliding her hand down the fabric until the tie fell free.

Alex eased himself back, not seeming to mind at all that half his martini was now on his jacket sleeve.

“Dinner sounds fine with me,” he managed to say without mangling the words too badly.

“Okay, let’s set a date and time. I’m into instant gratification; are you free tomorrow night?”

Even if he’d been assigned to guard the president on his deathbed, Alex would’ve found a way to be available. “Sounds good.”

“Say around six-thirty. I’ll make dinner reservations unless you’d care to.”

“No, go ahead.”

“Do you want to meet at the restaurant or pick me up at my place?”

“Your place is fine.”

“My, you’re so agreeable, Agent Ford. I can’t tell you how refreshing that is for me after being around lawyers all day. Lawyers don’t agree on anything.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that.”

“Why don’t you come by around six?”

She wrote her phone number and address down and slid it across to him. He handed her one of his cards with his home address and phone number penciled in on the back.

“You like it out in Manassas?” she asked, eyeing his card.

“My wallet likes it a lot.” He glanced at her address and got a funny look. “R Street? Georgetown!”

“Don’t get your hopes up, mister. I’m not an heiress masquerading as a DOJ do-gooder. I live in the carriage house behind the mansion. The woman who owns the place is a widow and likes having someone around. She’s really nice. Quite the pistol actually.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you don’t want one.” She poured him a fresh drink. “On the house, since you seemed to have spilled yours.” She handed him a rag.

“While you’re in a cooperative mood, where does the ‘total package’ work and what project are you two involved in?”

Kate put a finger to her lips. “Lawyer confidentiality thing, you understand. But without breaking any state secrets I can tell you I’m working with his agency on its request to reuse an old building. But I don’t think we’re going to reach such an agreement. So what’s going on at work that has you ticked off?”

“You don’t hear enough sob stories as it is?”

“We’re officially going out. So, in for a dime, in for a dollar.”

Alex smiled. “Okay. There’s this rookie at work I’m partnering with on an investigation. She’s got a bigwig daddy who’s pulling strings for her upstairs. I’m trying to explain to her that that’s not how you make friends at the Service.”

“And she’s not getting the concept?”

“If she doesn’t soon, it’ll come down on her like a ton of bricks.”

“So what’s the case you’re working on with her?”

“Now it’s my turn to plead confidentiality.” Suddenly, Alex’s gaze was riveted on the plasma screen TV on the wall behind the bar.

A camera shot of Roosevelt Island was in the foreground of the screen as the big-toothed news anchor teleprompted her way through the story of a mysterious suicide. There was no report on the Secret Service’s involvement, Alex noted. However, the heroin find at Patrick Johnson’s house was prominently mentioned.

“Is that your case?” Kate asked.

He glanced back at her. “What?”

“I was hoping that’d be the only reason you were so totally ignoring me.”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” he said sheepishly. “Yeah, that’s it. But no more details.”

They both turned to the TV when they heard a familiar voice.

The man was articulating NIC’s official response to the tragedy. And it wasn’t Carter Gray, who probably didn’t want to make this an ongoing national story by lending his considerable presence to it. However, Tom Hemingway was polished and efficient, the total package, as he presented NIC’s spin to the country.

Alex looked back at Kate, who for the first time seemed at a loss for words. He smiled triumphantly. “Busted.”