Choppy Water

38

Tom Blake was at his desk when his secretary buzzed. “Yes?”

“Peg Parsons, on one.”

Tom pressed the button. “Hi, Peg.”

“You sound wary,” she said.

“No, I don’t. I may sound sleepy. I’ve been reading a very boring report.”

“You don’t have to be wary of me, Tom,” she said. “I don’t mind being an occasional piece of ass, but I’m not a home-wrecker.”

“Not intentionally,” he said, “but you have no idea how suspicious Amanda is when your name comes up.”

“Then don’t bring it up,” she said.

“I make a point of not doing that.”

“All right, all right. I have a tip for you. By the way, did your plan work when I published my piece?”

“It seemed to. I can’t really go beyond that.”

“Well, I have something new for you.”

“Shoot.”

“I can’t shoot on the phone. Buy me lunch.”

“That’s dangerous, Peg, for both my case and my ass.”

“Then cover them both, please, but we’ve had word that some of our lines at the paper are tapped, and we’ve been told to be careful what we say.”

“Okay, lunch. But somewhere we won’t be talked about if we’re seen together.”

“All right, we’ll meet in my car at the same spot at Rock Creek Park — at the far end of the parking lot, away from the buildings. One o’clock?”

“Okay, at one.”

“I’ll bring lunch.”

“See you then.” He hung up and buzzed his secretary.

“Yes, sir?”

“I’m supposed to have lunch with Assistant Director Taylor today. Reschedule, will you? Tell him I have to see a source.”

“Is Peg Parsons a source?”

“Don’t you ever mention that name to anyone, understand?”

“Understood. I’ll reschedule with Taylor.” She hung up.

Tom arrived at Rock Creek Park first and parked where he had been told. She was right; that part of the lot was empty.

He switched off the ignition and waited. Two minutes later her little Mercedes parked alongside him, and she got out, carrying a wicker picnic basket. She didn’t approach his car, she just walked into the woods, and he scurried after her.

There was no path, but the forest floor was covered in pine needles, so it was easy going. He began to hear the sound of flowing water, then he found her on a flat rock near the creek, and she was spreading a blanket.

“Hi, there,” she said, opening the hamper and producing sandwiches, coleslaw, and a bottle of chardonnay. She handed him a corkscrew. “The wine is your job.” She waved a hand: “Is this private enough?”

“It would seem so.” He got the bottle open and filled the waxed paper cups she had brought.

She raised her cup. “Bon appétit. This is delicious, if I do say so.”

He took a bite of his sandwich and drank some wine. “So, Peg, what have you got to tell me?”

“You know the group down in Virginia, the white-supremacy guys?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, I now have a source on the inside, one who knows a lot about them.”

“What has he told you?”

“I didn’t say it was a ‘he.’ But for purposes of conversation, we’ll assume the masculine pronoun.”

“Sure.”

“He hasn’t been with them for all that long, but they’re coming to trust him.”

“How did he establish contact?”

“He got a call from a guy named Sykes, then they met.”

“Is he participating in their, ah, adventures?”

“Not yet, but he believes he will be invited along soon. There was an incident with a cell phone, and that slowed things down, but he thinks they’re back on track now. Apparently, the incident at the White House — broken window, injured staffer — was something to do with the group. He said that Sykes apparently thought they had killed Holly Barker, and when he saw her on TV, shopping in New York, he was upset to find she was still alive.”

“I believe a decision was made to make it seem that she might have been sidelined.”

“Hence, the story about the injured staffer?”

“Off the record, maybe something to do with that.”

“Anyway, Sykes apparently believes that she’s going to be in New York running her transition team, pretty much until the inaugural festivities.”

“And he wants her in D.C., where she might be more accessible?”

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

“That’s what you have to tell me?”

“Let’s call it an introduction to my source.”

“What’s your source’s name?”

“Can’t tell you that.”

“I need enough information about him to allow us to check him out. He could be a member of the group and just playing you.”

She shook her head. “I did my own checking. He was a government employee before, so that made it easier.”

He also needed enough information to ascertain whether Elizabeth Potter was her source as well as his. “I’m sorry, Peg. That’s not how the Bureau works. If we’re going to bring on a CI — a confidential informant — we have to do an FBI background check, and that’s more thorough than you can imagine.”

“Well, Tommy, that’s not how it’s going to work with my source. He tells me, I tell you. If he turns out to be right, he’s good. If not, well, you can look elsewhere. But I’m telling you, I have a very good nose, and if he was lying to me, I’d sniff him out. I don’t need a platoon of FBI agents to do it for me.”

“You’re very cocky, aren’t you?”

“Let’s just say that I’m cock-oriented.” She stroked his crotch and got a response.

“Careful,” he said, “it bites.”

“So do I,” she said, pulling his zipper down and putting a hand inside to free him.

“Be gentle,” he said, lying back and letting her have her way with him.

“Oh, that’s right,” she said. “You’ll have to use it again tonight, won’t you?” She went to work on him and got excellent results.