“First things first,” she said softly. She kissed his lips, then his nipples, the tips of her fingers tracing patterns along the stretch marks on his distended belly.
He used to be embarrassed when she played with him like that, ashamed of his gross body next to the sleekness of hers. But after the first few times when he couldn’t see the slightest hint of distaste in her eyes, he lay back and went with her.
She spread his legs, then pushing her hair back, took his flaccid penis in her mouth, and he almost came, his entire body twitching as if he’d received an electric shock.
Pulling away, she turned around and straddled his chest, presenting her bottom to him, took him in her mouth again and lowered her vagina to his mouth.
She was sweet-smelling and sweet-tasting, and Croft reveled in her body, her moisture, the tastes and sensations, and finally he could feel himself stiffening in her mouth, the distraction of ministering to her needs taking his mind off his own body long enough so that he wouldn’t prematurely ejaculate as he’d done all of his life. A little diversion, she called it.
A minute later he felt and tasted her climax the same moment as he came, and just like he did every time, he thanked God for a friend who’d told him about the service Judith worked for.
“There now, all better?” Judith said sweetly. She gave his penis a playful nip, then climbed off him and got out of bed.
“Don’t go,” Croft said.
She came around to his side of the bed, pulled the sheet over him and kissed him lightly on the lips. “I told you I couldn’t stay long. But if you’re going to be in town Friday I’ll see you.”
“I’ll call,” he said softly.
She gave him another kiss, then gathered her clothes, went into the bathroom and closed the door. It was funny because she always undressed in front of him, but she never let him watch her get dressed.
He let his thoughts drift, except for a light aftermath of guilt as usual, back to the impossible situation at the White House. He’d screwed up, and there was no way out of it for him. That had been made painfully clear to him last night. The forces of darkness were closing in, he thought melodramatically. He had tried to put out the fires, he had tried to divert their attention to the real problems at hand, but it had somehow gotten away from him.
If he’d only been told the entire story, if they’d only confided in him, he thought bitterly, perhaps he could have done a better job.
Judith came out of the bathroom, and he feigned sleep. Through half-closed eyes he watched her looking at him. Then she put on her jacket, checked her hair once again in the dresser mirror and without a backward glance got her purse and key and left.
It occurred to Croft that he would never see her again, and in a way he was almost relieved. She’d been one of the attractions on the one-way merry-go-round. A Beltway perk, every bit as dangerous and expensive as all the other perks that came with power. Be careful you don’t get burned down there, his friends at Yale had cautioned.
A half hour later Croft got out of bed, and in the bathroom, avoiding his own reflection in the mirror, closed the tub drain and started the water running.
Back in the room he sat down by the desk at the window, took a piece of hotel stationery from the drawer and wrote a brief note apologizing to his wife and children and to the President for letting them down.
What else to tell them, he wondered as he idly stared out the window at the beautiful summer day. About the things he’d learned in college or about the contradictions he’d found in the last six years working at the White House? About his principles or about the lack of principles of the sharks around him? About his vision for the future and his devotion to a few basic ideals or about the distortions and cynicisms he saw all around him?
He looked again at the letter, hesitated a moment longer, then signed it. Let the facts speak for themselves, he assured himself.
Unlocking his briefcase he took the thick manila envelope out, laid it on the desk, placed the note on top of it, then took the toiletries kit into the bathroom.
Beth Ann had pleaded with him not to take the White House job when President-elect Lindsay had offered it to him. They were settled in at Yale for the long haul. They had a beautiful old home, they took summer vacations, and besides teaching political history he had plans for at least six major books, two of them textbooks. He had a lot to say and the time in which to say it.
He shut off the water and took the .38 Smith & Wesson snub-nosed pistol from the kit, loaded it and climbed in the tub. He didn’t want to make a mess.
God forgive me, he thought, because he didn’t believe his colleagues would. He wrapped a towel around the gun, placed the barrel against his right temple and without hesitation pulled the trigger.
Croft had done a number on himself. Bruce Kondo stood in the doorway to the bathroom studying the lifeless remains of the foreign affairs adviser to the President of the United States, the room utterly silent. He’d waited a full ten minutes to make sure that no one had heard the gunshot and was coming to investigate. Lee had predicted Croft’s instability. Sane men did not take their own lives because of nothing more than a warning from their spymasters. But then, Kondo supposed, traitors were by definition unbalanced individuals.
Donning a pair of latex gloves, Kondo methodically searched the bathroom and bedroom, including Croft’s clothing, before turning his attention to the desk, where he retrieved the bug he’d placed yesterday.
The suicide note was straightforward and revealed nothing of any importance, which was a break. It could be left as is. But the thick manila envelope contained about what Kondo expected it would. He took only a minute to look through the files, which outlined the details of Croft’s work for Joseph Lee, the Far East Trade Association and the Japanese Ministry of International Trade and Industry, through his contacts inside not only the White House, but the FBI, CIA and State Department. Croft had been convinced that a war in the Far East would of necessity expand to include the United States. And it was a war that in his estimation the U.S. could not possibly win. He viewed himself as an American patriot.
As an intelligence resource he would be missed. But the countdown clock had begun, and with or without Croft, Morning Sun was a fait accompli. Nobody could stop it now, Kondo thought, letting himself out of the room, not even Kirk McGarvey.
“Okay, the President’s taking your advice; he’s moving the Seventh Fleet into the middle of it,” Murphy said.
McGarvey looked up from the NRO photographs and the analysis that Tommy Doyle’s shop had come up with. “I hope he’s doing some serious talking with Japan and China, because this is getting out of hand a lot sooner than we thought it would.”
“Secretary of State Carter is in Tokyo now, and he’ll be flying to Beijing later today. It’s nighttime over there right now, and he wants to wait until morning to have one more shot with Enchi.”
“That’ll take too much time. How about their ambassadors?”
Murphy nodded. “You don’t miss a trick, do you? Lindsay is meeting with them later today or tonight, as soon as it can be set up. They’re probably going to be reluctant to see him, let alone make any commitments.”
“At least they’ll be talking, and if Lindsay is straight with them, they’ll know what we know and what we intend doing about it. No bullshit. No misunderstandings.”