Stone answered the bell and let Holly into the suite, then gave her a kiss. “You look smashing,” he said, admiring the tight yellow dress. “I thought CIA people were purposely drab and were trained to fade into the background.”
“Once in a while I fox everybody by being noticeable,” she said.
“And noticeable you certainly are.” He went to the bar, opened the freezer, and removed a pitcher of martinis that he had premixed. He filled ed.o the a martini glass, dropped in three olives on a spear, and handed her the glass, then poured himself a Knob Creek on the rocks. “Here’s to knockout dresses on beautiful women,” he said, raising his glass.
Holly took a tentative sip, then a bigger one. “Wow,” she said.
“It’s colder than ice.”
“I noticed that.” She sucked an olive off the toothpick and chewed thoughtfully. “Wow again! What’s in these olives?”
“Anchovies,” Stone said. “I didn’t want to tell you before you tasted one. Lots of people blanch at the thought of anchovies.”
“A perfect combination,” she said. “It’s fairly cool tonight, let’s sit on your terrace.”
Stone opened the door and followed her outside. She leaned against the railing and looked toward the White House. “Much of what happens in the world starts there,” she said. “It never ceases to amaze me how well our government works.”
“Sometimes,” Stone said.
“A lot of the time, because the government is full of people like me who love the country and want it to do well.”
“Does the Agency work well?”
“Again, a lot of the time. We probably make more mistakes than a lot of government agencies, but then we’re working in a world that’s full of surprises.”
“Isn’t it the Agency’s job to figure out what the surprises are before they happen?”
“Then they wouldn’t be surprises,” she said. “Lance and I do the presidential intelligence briefings when Kate is away, and we’re always able to warn him about two or three things that are about to happen.”
“And then,” Stone pointed out, “the Soviet Union collapses and Egypt erupts, and the Agency didn’t predict those.”
“The big ones are harder to predict than you’d think. We get more than our fair share right.”
“I won’t argue the point,” Stone said.
“You’d better not, if you want hot sex tonight.”
“This is my mouth closing,” Stone said, making a zipping motion.
Holly tossed off her martini and popped the last olive into her mouth. “I’m hungry,” she said, “and you have to feed me more than olives.”
“Where are we dining?” Stone asked.
“At an old D.C. favorite,” she replied. “Maison Blanche, next door to the White House, where the old guard goes, and some of the new guard, too. You’ll see movers and shakers.”
Stone drained his glass. “One more of these and I’ll be unable to either move or shake. I hope you’re driving.”
“We’re being driven,” she said, “courtesy of the Agency. There’s a little flap on, and we’re battening a few hatches, just in case, and mine is one of the hatches.”
“I place myself entirely in your hands,” Stone said, “except that I’m still buying dinner.”
“You talked me into it,” she said, heading for the door.
They took the elevator to the lobby and walked out to the portico, where the usual black SUV awaited.
“I’m going to ham guarve to give you a leg up,” Stone said, “what with the tight dress.”
“I’ll manage,” she said, “and remember, don’t talk shop in front of the driver-not your shop or mine.”
“Didn’t I already shut up?” Stone asked, opening the door for her.
17
The restaurant was not small, but intimate nonetheless. They were seated at a banquette, back-to-back with another. “I’m surprised that the place is so full at this early hour,” Stone said.
“Washington, like L.A., is an early town, because everybody goes to work at the break of dawn,” Holly said.
Stone ordered a second drink for them, and they relaxed. He was vaguely aware of some people being seated behind them, but his attention was on Holly. “I like you with your hair up,” he said. “You have a lovely neck.” He leaned over and kissed it.
“Careful,” she said, “you’ll attract attention.”
“I’m sorry, I forgot we were being discreet. I guess that rules out what I was going to do with my hand.”
“Do it later,” she said. “Look across the room: see the man squeezed into the booth with that distinguished-looking couple? His name is Lyle ‘Scooter’ Hardin. He’s a social columnist, has a blog. He’ll work the room, then move on to Georgetown, and everyone will see their name online tomorrow morning.”
As Stone watched, the man left the booth and crossed the room, headed directly for them.
“Watch yourself,” Holly said, smiling at Stone.
Then the man was hovering over their table. “Good evening, folks,” he said.
“Good evenin’,” Holly replied, affecting an accent slightly more southern than her own.
“You’re at the Agency, aren’t you?” he asked Holly.
She looked blankly at him. “Which agency is that? There’s lots of them, aren’t there.”
“Oh, come on, ma’am,” he said. “I’ve seen you around.”
“Have you spent much time in Atlanta lately?” Stone asked. “That’s where we’re from.”
“Yeah, sure,” Hardin said. “May I have your names for my column?”
“Column?” Stone asked. “You’re with the newspapers?”
“The newspapers are dead media,” Hardin replied. “The Internet is where everything’s at.”
“You shouldn’t end a sentence with at,” Holly said sternly.
“Huh?”
“We don’t want our names in the paper,” Stone said.
“Or on the Internet,” Holly chipped in.
“We don’t do facetube, and we don’t twit,” Stone said.
Scooter smirked at him. “Sir, I don’t think you’re the rube you’re pretending to be.”
“Who are you callin’ a rube?” Stone asked. “Good God, I hope everybody in Washington isn’t as rude as you are.”
“Please let me buy you a drink,” Hardin said, swiping a chair from a nearby table and pullm gu caing it up to theirs.
“We already have a drink,” Stone said, “and tonight, one’s our limit.”
“Now, really,” Hardin said, “that gorgeous dress didn’t come from Atlanta.”
“We have a Saks Fifth Avenue,” Holly said, indignantly. “At Phipps Plaza.”
Scooter pointed at Stone. “That suit didn’t come from off the rack at Saks,” he said.
“I’ve got a tailor in London,” Stone replied. “I’m there a lot on business.”
“And what business would that be?” Hardin asked.
“None of yours,” Stone said.
“Well,” Hardin said, “I know the lady’s at the Agency, and you’re, let’s see, at State?”
“Sir,” Stone said, “I’m a Republican, and I find your suggestion insultin’. The lady’s a Republican, too, and she has a very nice little art gallery at home.”
Holly put her hand on Stone’s arm. “Don’t tell him any more, sugar, we don’t need his kind of publicity.”
Stone took a deep breath and let it out, as if he were trying to control himself. “Sir,” he said to Hardin, “if you want to go on with this, you and I are goin’ to have to do it outside, if you get my meanin’.”
The maitre d’ materialized at their table. “Excuse me, sir,” he said to Stone, “is this gentleman annoying you?”
“I guess you could say that,” Stone replied. “Except the ‘gentleman’ part.”
“Mr. Hardin,” the man said, “I’ve spoken with you about this before.”
Hardin threw up his hands. “All right, all right, I surrender.” He beat a rapid retreat.
“I want to apologize to you both,” the maitre d’ said.
“I’d be grateful if he didn’t get my name from the reservations list,” Stone said, slipping the man a fifty.