After 8:00 p.m., Alex opened her laptop. She had a soft drink on ice after changing out of her meeting clothes into a T-shirt and jeans. Might as well be comfortable. Tonight, the Madison was the crown jewel of the American protective-custody system. Five floors below, along 15th Street, traffic rumbled along. As her computer booted, Alex walked to the window and pushed back the curtain.
Was she still in danger? she wondered. Was another sniper preparing to pick her off? Maybe the same sniper? But she felt like a fugitive. She used to live in Washington and, by and large, enjoyed her time here. She used to move around freely as a younger woman. Restaurants, clubs, the gym.
She had a man in her life back then, someone she loved. She enjoyed her various promotions, the career excitement. Then abruptly the disaster and tragedy in Kiev struck. Now, more recently, there was the promotion to her job in New York. Yet fate and emotions kept pushing her back down. Tonight she felt overwhelmed and lonely. She thought about the two million sitting in a bank account for her in New York. She drew a long breath. Why did God allow her to get that money?
But as long as that sniper was out there, she couldn’t lead a normal life. Most other women her age had families, husbands, or steady relationships. What, she asked herself, did she have to show? She had the burden of a job in which she could get her head blown off. So why did she keep doing it? What if God intended for her to use that money to get away from it all?
She continued to gaze out the window, making herself a target as she stood. She watched couples, presumably happy, going to movies, bars, and restaurants. Right at this moment, Alex would have traded places with any of them.
Then her thoughts tripped a mental landmine, one of sadness and longing, one of still painfully missing her late fiance. The memories set off a worse wave of loneliness within her, one she fought almost every day for at least a few moments. Intellectually she had accepted what had happened in Kiev, but emotionally she hadn’t.
She let the curtain close. She didn’t feel like working. She didn’t feel like praying more. So, dragging herself back to the laptop, she accessed the flash drives the CIA had given her and poured through the files that Maurice Fajardie had provided. It was tedious stuff, poorly organized and repetitive. It added nothing to what he had presented to her in person. But she plodded through it.
Roland Violette came off as the loosest of cannons. She read copies of his most recent correspondence to the CIA, frequently struggling with Violette’s drifting handwriting – and his reasoning, which drifted even more obliquely.The cold war ended in 1986, but the true struggle lies before us …The socio-economic exploitation of the population of Central and South America has exceeded anything Karl Marx could have imagined …I love America and its ideals very deeply …
And, almost inexplicably,Even if greedy America were knocked out of the game by heroic Islamic fundamentalism, the price of fish in Lima, Peru, would hardly be altered.
The latter was the opening salvo in a wandering five-thousand-word essay that tortured Alex’s ability to read.
After more than an hour, she had read enough and seen enough to understand the assignment. She went to her cell phone and called her friend Ben, who lived just a few blocks away.
The phone rang once, twice -
“Well, I can leave him a message,” she thought to herself. “He’s probably at the gym playing basketball. Or maybe he’s with his girlfriend.”
Three rings. A fourth.
“Maybe we could chat later when – “
Then Ben picked up.
“Hey,” she said, almost in surprise.
A pause, then, “Alex?”
“Really,” she said. “Your favorite head case. The one and only.”
“What the – ! What a nice surprise!” He paused a little awkwardly. “How are things?”
“Oh, they’re okay,” she said. “Hey, listen …”
“Yeah?”
“I’m in Washington.”
“You’re what? Now?”
“I’m in town,” she said, rallying. “Passing through. One overnight and – “
“And you didn’t tell me in advance? I’m hurt.”
“It happened suddenly. Part of a case I’m on,” she said. She hesitated. “But I’ve got a little time later. Want to talk?”
“Where are you?”
“At the Madison Hotel.”
He laughed. “Slumming, huh?”
“Right. At the taxpayers’ expense. Listen, I only called to talk and – “
“So let’s talk in person,” he said.
She turned and glanced at her door and pictured her guards beyond it. “Oh, I don’t think that would be possible,” she said, “but – “
“Come on, Alex,” he said. “You’re here in town. Let’s get together.”
“Ben, it’s complicated,” she said. “I’m on an assignment. I’m dealing with some bad people, okay? That’s why I’m passing through quickly and – “
Her voice wavered for a moment as memories came flooding back. She remembered the night Ben had convinced her not to commit suicide and saved her life. She remained quiet as she regained her composure.
“You there?” he asked.
“I’m here. Hey. Wait for a second, okay?”
“Of course.”
She thought for a moment, rose, and went to the door. She opened it. MacPhail and Ramirez were sitting outside, playing cards.
“Hey …,” she said, putting a hand over her phone.
MacPhail looked up. “Problem?” he asked.
“Listen, guys. I know I’m under some form of high-rent house arrest,” she said, “but do you mind if I have a friend come over?”
The Feds looked at each other. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in the room with you unless we’re there, Alex,” MacPhail said. “Those are the instructions. Isn’t that going to cramp your style?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Oh, it’s a ‘friend’ friend?” MacPhail asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to get across. So how about the restaurant downstairs? Can I meet a guy for a drink?”
“You buying for the four of us?”
“No. You are, Walter,” she said.
The Feds looked at each other again, back and forth. “We got to go with you and watch the door,” MacPhail said. “You know that. Unless you’re in that room by yourself we can’t take our eyes off you.”
“That’s fine. In fact, I appreciate it. So how about the bar?”
Ramirez shrugged. “Sure,” he said.
“Good,” Alex said. “We’ll do it.”
“Go for it,” Ramirez said.
She gave her bodyguards a thumbs-up and went back into her hotel room. She closed the door. “So?” Ben asked.
“Be at the Madison Hotel in ninety minutes. Fifteenth and M Street.”
“I know where it is,” Ben said.
THIRTY-TWO
Alex settled in at the far end of the bar and waited. The room was sleekly modern, an offshoot of Palette, the adjacent restaurant. The counter was light wood, and the cylindrical hanging lamps echoed the shape of liquor bottles. Tall, comfortable stools flanked the bar.
MacPhail and Ramirez took up positions near the door that led to the lobby. Alex scanned the room. It was moderately busy. She saw at least one congressman and a gaggle of lobbyists. She waited.
Alex saw Ben before he saw her. She lifted an arm and gave a subdued wave. He spotted her. He was in jeans and a polo shirt and looked fit and happy, with only a slight limp. He came directly to her and didn’t even notice when she gave a nod to her FBI babysitters to indicate that this was her friend and he was okay.
“Hey,” he said in greeting.
“Hey,” she answered.
She slid off the stool into his embrace. It was longer than it needed to be, but she went with it. She felt his lips linger on her cheek. Then he released her, and she installed herself back on the barstool.