“He did.”
“Well, damn.”
“Look, it’s all over now but the logistics. Somebody’s got to give him the diamonds. It could be anyone. It just happens to be me. By tomorrow evening, or the next day at the latest, this thing will be done. After that, the tapes will be released or they won’t be released, but that particular problem is above our pay grade.”
She didn’t answer.
“Okay? Paula, this isn’t up to me.”
Still no response.
“Look, if anything changes, I’ll let you know.”
“How?”
“Well, you live in D.C., right?”
“Fairfax. Why?”
“It’s just, I don’t have a place to stay tonight-”
She laughed.
“-and I’m always looking for ways to improve those interagency relations.”
“Yes, you’ve been diligent about that.”
“I try.”
“You know, last night was nice-”
“This morning, too.”
“And this morning, too. But having you stay at my apartment… right now, that’s too much for me.”
“More of the ‘you wanted to be fucked, not made love to’ thing.”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I could just fuck you, then. I’m pretty flexible that way.”
She laughed again.
“Seriously,” he said. “Was this just a one-off? Because, when you weren’t trying to punch me in the face and bite my ear off, I thought it was pretty good.”
She nodded. “It was good. A little… crazy. But good.”
“So?”
“So I think I need a little time to digest everything that just happened, okay? Not just with you. With everything.”
– -
They barely spoke on the flight back. Paula’s eyes were closed for hours but Ben sensed she wasn’t sleeping-that she was instead simply withdrawing into herself. Withdrawing from him. He watched her and noticed for the first time how long her lashes were. He noticed not for the first time how good she looked in the sundress. But neither of these observations felt relevant. It was as though she’d pulled down a steel curtain between them. She seemed as distant and unreachable as though the night before hadn’t ever happened.
They went through customs and then through the terminal. Standing outside arrivals, diesel buses and honking taxis lurching past, the midday Washington sun superheating the humidity around them, Ben tried to think of the right thing to say. And couldn’t.
“Are you… sorry?” he asked.
“Not exactly.”
He chuckled. “Well, that’s a ringing endorsement if ever I heard one.”
She shook her head. “I’m just… confused.”
“I tried to tell you it was a bad idea.”
“I don’t remember you trying all that hard.”
“Believe me, I did.”
“Well, maybe I should have listened.”
“Yeah, maybe you should have.” It came out harsher than he’d intended, but still.
She nodded slowly, then said, “I need to go.” She turned and started to move away.
“Paula.”
She turned back to him.
“I know you need to write some kind of report. You should… be careful what you put in it.”
She took a step closer. “Are you threatening me?”
He felt irritation rising and pushed it away. “First of all, I don’t threaten. And second, no, all I’m doing is giving you some well-intentioned advice. As a friend. Those Ground Branch guys in Los Yoses knew your name. There’s still a lot we don’t know about this whole thing, and what we don’t know is making certain people extremely twitchy.”
She didn’t answer.
“But hey, write whatever the hell you want.” He turned to go.
“Ben. Wait.”
He turned. For a moment, she looked like she was genuinely struggling with something. Her mouth opened, then closed. She pursed her lips, and it was as though her expression were somehow… dissolving. For a second, he thought she might cry.
“What?” he said.
Then her face solidified again and she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said, and walked away.
He watched her heading toward the Metro. He was having trouble believing she could just walk away to write a report while he delivered the diamonds to Larison. Well, she didn’t have much choice. Still, if the shoe had been on the other foot, he would have been humiliated, furious. Maybe that’s what was bugging her.
His phone buzzed. Hort.
“Yeah.”
“Are you still at National?”
“Yeah, we just landed.”
“Lanier?”
He watched. “She’s gone.”
“Good. Larison just called in. He’s moved up the delivery. Told us to have a jet ready to leave from National at 1800.”
“Where did the call come from?”
“We can’t pinpoint these satellite phone calls because from geosynchronous orbit, the footprint is too big. It could have come from Costa Rica. Or the southeastern United States. Or anywhere in between.”
“You think he’d have the diamonds delivered in Costa Rica?”
“I don’t know. Before, I would have said not a chance, but now that Nico’s known, maybe he thinks it doesn’t make a difference.”
“So what’s the plan?”
“Larison has the number of the phone I gave you. He’s going to call you at 1800 with instructions on where you’ll be flying. We’re refueling and servicing the jet you just came in on and it’ll be ready.”
“What does he know about me?”
“Not a single thing outside you’re a guy delivering a package. From his standpoint, you might as well be a pizza delivery man.”
“Hell of a pizza.”
“Yeah. I’ll meet you on the Crystal City Metro platform in one hour with the diamonds. Yellow Line, in the direction of Huntington.”
Ben wondered if Hort was choosing such a public location to reassure him again. It wasn’t really necessary. If Hort had wanted to set him up, there had been plenty of opportunities already. Or he could have just left him in the Manila city jail.
“I’ll be there,” Ben said.
An hour later, on the Crystal City platform, amid bored, oblivious commuters walking and waiting beneath the science fiction hush of the vaulted cement ceilings, Ben spotted Hort coming toward him in civilian clothes, a backpack over his shoulders. He saw Ben and walked over.
They shook hands. Ben eyed the backpack. “Is there really a hundred million dollars in there?” he said.
“There is. Twenty-three pounds, in case you’re curious. Don’t lose it.” He slipped the pack off and handed it to Ben.
“Don’t I have to sign for this?”
“Are you kidding? We give out bricks of hundred-dollar bills in Iraq and Afghanistan like we’re handing out lollipops and solicit work through no-bid contracts and there’s that three-trillion-dollar stimulus… at this point, a hundred million in the black ops budget is nothing but a damn rounding error. The only thing unusual is that we’re using diamonds instead of cash.”
A train pulled in with a hiss of pneumatic brakes and a recorded announcement of its arrival at the station. Ben watched commuters flowing on and off like zombies in a horror movie.
“The Fed had a hundred million worth of diamonds just lying around?”
“No, what you have in that bag is another triumph of government-private sector cooperation. Someone at the CIA had the admittedly excellent idea of engaging Ronald Winston.”
“Winston?”
“Son of the late Harry Winston. World’s premier diamond expert. We needed someone with deep contacts in the markets in Africa, Amsterdam, Tel Aviv, New York, someone who could cajole a few Saudi princes. And also someone monumentally discreet. Apparently there’s only one man who fit the bill, and that’s Winston. He personally certified every stone in this bag and I took possession directly from him.”
“What was Winston’s cut?”
“I’m sure he was well compensated. Being indispensable, and discreet on top of it, puts a man in a position to charge a premium.”
“I guess that’s true.”
“Now, listen. It’s just you on this. There’s no one else. So if anyone tries to interfere with you, you stop him. Any way you have to. Remember, you’re carrying a hundred million in there in untraceable, easily convertible stones. Plenty of people would like to get their hands on that, never mind the tapes.”