I was struck by the low level of the buildings. The Lincoln was only seven or eight storeys and I couldn’t see many higher ones around. I did see a pale gleam that could’ve been water.
‘What’s that, the mighty Mississip?’
‘Idiot. It’s the Georgetown Channel. How d’you like the decor?’
‘It reminds me of Aunt Maude’s parlour in Punchbowl. What’s on Peter’s plate for today?’
‘First, he has a nap, then he’s got two short meetings before dinner and a long meeting afterwards.’
‘Christ. I suppose I have to stand at the door with my hand inside my jacket throughout.’
‘I don’t think so. From what I’ve heard, everywhere he’s going’ll be bristling with security men. You’ll just have to sort of get him there and check him in and out.’
‘Like a hat and coat. Can I go and get laid then?’
‘You can do what you like. I’m the one who needs the sympathy. I have to sit in on the meetings. They’ll be 90 per cent bullshit.’
I put my arm around her. She’d taken off her shoes and, barefoot, she wasn’t much above my shoulder. The afternoon sun shone strongly through the window and it was nice standing there with a warm woman who smelled good. She rested there and put her arm around my back. I could feel her bicep roll under her skin, bunch up and stretch out.
The knock at the door was hard and urgent. ‘Trudi,’ Gary Wilcox yelled. ‘Peter wants you.’
She pulled away but I held her arm. ‘Don’t let him run you ragged. He’s not Jesus Christ even if the television people here think he is.’
‘No, but he could save the world, or our bit of it.’
I said. ‘I doubt it,’ but I was talking to myself. I unpacked, tested the bed and rang room service for a sandwich and a bottle of beer. I was almost asleep when it arrived. I had no American money to tip the waiter with; he accepted Australian but he wasn’t happy about it. The sandwich was thick and good; the beer was Budweiser. I drank half the bottle and fell asleep.
‘Five minutes, Mr Hardy!’ It was Trudi trilling and banging on the door. I cursed, rolled off the bed and threw myself under a cold shower which would guarantee I wouldn’t take long. I was dry and dressed close to five minutes later when January knocked and walked in.
‘You need a shave,’ he said.
‘My razor won’t fit in the plug.’
He picked up the phone. ‘Use mine while I phone. Make it quick, Cliff.’
I went out, down the passage and into January’s suite. Trudi was flicking through papers at a desk set by the window with the Presidential view.
‘Shaving,’ I said. ‘Where’s the bathroom?’
She pointed. ‘What’s he doing?’
‘Phoning.’
‘I wonder who.’
January’s cordless razor was almost silent. I came out shaving and talking over the sound. ‘Did he hear from Karen?’
Trudi shrugged. She’d changed into a conservative-looking suit and blouse with dark stockings and medium heels. Her hair was shiny and her face was rested and composed. It was an impressive transformation in 45 minutes but then, she didn’t have to shave. ‘If he did, he hasn’t told me. Now, you’re off to the Senate Chairman’s chief aide and then…to Commodore Brewster, he’s some sort of Pacific naval attache.’
‘I hope he’s quick.’
She looked up, puzzled, as I switched the razor off. ‘What?’
‘I hope the attache makes a brief case-get it?’
‘Shit,’ she said.
‘You’re the first to hear it. I was hoping to take Washington by storm with my wit.’
January walked in patting his pockets and frowning. ‘You ready, Cliff? Right, let’s go.’
We collected Bolton and rode down in the lift in silence. Trudi and Bolton carried folders and notebooks; January and I were unencumbered, ready to catch bullets in our teeth. We reached the lobby and I let Trudi and Bolton out of the lift first.
‘Have you heard from Mrs Weiner?’ I asked Peter quietly.
‘No. And you’re not doing your job. You should get out of lifts first.’
‘Elevators,’ I said. ‘I’ll do better next time.’
‘Just don’t clown. All this is serious.’
His face was set in a worried frown and the aggressive, bouncy Peter of the press lounge had disappeared. He wasn’t going to impress the bigwigs like this.
‘What’s wrong?’ I said. ‘Bad news…?’
‘Tell you in the car. Trudi and what’s-his-name can get a cab.’
‘Bolton.’
‘Bolton.’
The Minister wasn’t happy. He snapped at Trudi as we got into the waiting car and could barely contain his impatience as we waited for a taxi to collect her and Bolton. When we were moving he leaned back and sighed. ‘It’s having too many things to worry about that does it.’
‘You have heard from Karen.’
‘No, not a fucking word. That’s one thing. And I got a phone call.’
‘Yes?’
‘Man’s voice, educated, told me to ring a certain number in five minutes. I did that from your room-didn’t want to worry Trude.’
‘And?’
‘Different voice-rougher, older. It was a public phone. I could hear the noise in the background.’
‘What did he say, Peter?’
January shivered although the air conditioning in the car made for a comfortable temperature. ‘He got to me. I’ve seen a lot of things, in Vietnam, you know? Not much human mess you didn’t see there at one time or another, but he got to me.’
‘How?’
‘He talked about how embalming fluid works. How it fills the cells of the body and the way it…preserves.’
There was a clinical sound to the words and I was beginning to feel some of the chill myself. I looked out at the long rows of government buildings-the kind that would survive the neutron bomb when all the people in them would die.
January ran his hand exploratively over his smoothly shaven face as if he was feeling a death mask. ‘He said we’d be dead within 48 hours.’
‘We?’
‘His exact words were, “You and the hard-on with the broken nose and the gun.” ‘
15
I’d never seen so many three-piece suits in all my life. Almost every man around the government building we entered was wearing one. I had on a leather jacket over an open-necked shirt. The jacket was missing a button but in one respect I was right in style-like quite a few of the other men, I had a bulge under my left armpit where my gun was hanging. I comforted myself with the thought that my bulge looked more natural, blended in with my casual style. I’ll swear some of them had two bulges.
Trudi looked suspiciously at January and me as we waited at a desk which looked like a jumbo jet’s control panel. Lights flashed as buttons were pressed.
‘What’s up?’ she said.
I glanced around the steely eyes and blank faces. I would’ve told her but Bolton was within earshot. ‘Trouble,’ I said. ‘I’m glad I had that 30 minute sleep. Now I’m ready for anything.’
‘Ready for what?’ she hissed.
‘Go up to the fifth stage, please,’ the desk attendant said. He was pale as if he never went out in the sun. The way his fingers flashed over the panel suggested he never left the desk. He handed each of us a different coloured plastic tag. ‘You’ll have to check your weapon if you’re going into the conference room, sir.’
‘He isn’t,’ Trudi said. We marched across to the elevators. I flattened myself against the wall like a man on a window ledge 10 storeys up, reached out slowly and pressed the call button.
‘I told you not to clown, Hardy,’ January snapped.
Trudi laughed. She opened her handbag, pulled out two envelopes, and gave them to Bolton and me. ‘Greenbacks,’ she said.
I bowed. ‘Thank you, ma’am.’
We went up to the fifth stage along with a selection of the non-security people. These wore trench coats or carried them and they were mostly pale, as if they worked inside all day, seven days a week. Maybe they did. Discreetly lit, heavily carpeted, the fifth stage featured a lot of polished wood veneer. Trudi checked her plastic tag and pointed to the far door which had a red light burning over it.