D.C. Dead

16

Teddy Fay turned the cessna toward Clinton Field, in the southeast quadrant of greater Washington.

“Tell me again why we’re landing at D.C.,” Lauren Cade said.

“Because it’s the last place Mr. Todd Bacon would think of looking for me. You can bet your sweet ass that right now he’s got a team canvassing every general aviation airport on the West Coast all the way to Canada.”

“I get that part,” Lauren said, “but there have to be, at the very least, dozens of people in D.C. that you used to work with at the Agency who would recognize you on sight.”

Teddy shook his head. “First of all, most of a generation of people I worked with have retired, and they don’t have the money to move into D.C. Those who are still active live out near McLean, as close to work as they can.”

“I guess that makes sense, but being here still makes me nervous.”

“Why? Nobody here knows you, do they? And remember, I wear disguises,” he said, pointing at the toupee that covered his pate.

“It’s true,” Lauren said, “that you do disguises better than anybody I ever saw. Sometimes even I find you unrecognizable.”

“That’s because I have a pretty much featureless face. A nose here, a mustache there, and I’m somebody else. So relax, baby, we’re going to be just fine.”

“Okay,” she said.

“Besides,” Teddy said, “I have a little hideaway at this airport that I kept for years as a backup to Manassas. I have a hangar here that you’ll like.”

“A hangar? What’s to like?”

“O ye of little faith,” Teddy said, stopping before a hangar. He shut down the engine, walked to the small door set into the hangar door, worked a combination lock, and stepped inside. A moment later the hangar door opened squeakily. He walked back to the Cessna, got out the tow bar, and backed the airplane into the hangar.

“We have a car,” he said, pointing to an oldish Toyota parked in a corner. He closed the hangar door and switched on a light. “Grab a couple of bags,” he said, “and follow me.”

He grabbed some bags himself and led her up a flight of stairs, where he tapped a code into a keypad, opened a door, and switched on some lights.

Lauren looked inside. “It’s a living room,” she said.

“It’s an apartment,” he corrected. “There’s a bedroom, a kitchen, and an office, too.” He fiddled with the thermostat, and cool air began to flow. “We need to dust and vacuum and lay in some groceries,” he said, “but that can wait until tomorrow. Let’s shower and change, and I’ll buy you dinner.”

Stone answered the bell and let Holly into the suite, then gave her a kiss. “You look smashing,” he said, admiring the tight yellow dress. “I thought CIA people were purposely drab and were trained to fade into the background.”

“Once in a while I fox everybody by being noticeable,” she said.

“And noticeable you certainly are.” He went to the bar, opened the freezer, and removed a pitcher of martinis that he had premixed. He filled ed.o the a martini glass, dropped in three olives on a spear, and handed her the glass, then poured himself a Knob Creek on the rocks. “Here’s to knockout dresses on beautiful women,” he said, raising his glass.

Holly took a tentative sip, then a bigger one. “Wow,” she said.

“It’s colder than ice.”

“I noticed that.” She sucked an olive off the toothpick and chewed thoughtfully. “Wow again! What’s in these olives?”

“Anchovies,” Stone said. “I didn’t want to tell you before you tasted one. Lots of people blanch at the thought of anchovies.”

“A perfect combination,” she said. “It’s fairly cool tonight, let’s sit on your terrace.”

Stone opened the door and followed her outside. She leaned against the railing and looked toward the White House. “Much of what happens in the world starts there,” she said. “It never ceases to amaze me how well our government works.”

“Sometimes,” Stone said.

“A lot of the time, because the government is full of people like me who love the country and want it to do well.”

“Does the Agency work well?”

“Again, a lot of the time. We probably make more mistakes than a lot of government agencies, but then we’re working in a world that’s full of surprises.”

“Isn’t it the Agency’s job to figure out what the surprises are before they happen?”

“Then they wouldn’t be surprises,” she said. “Lance and I do the presidential intelligence briefings when Kate is away, and we’re always able to warn him about two or three things that are about to happen.”

“And then,” Stone pointed out, “the Soviet Union collapses and Egypt erupts, and the Agency didn’t predict those.”

“The big ones are harder to predict than you’d think. We get more than our fair share right.”

“I won’t argue the point,” Stone said.

“You’d better not, if you want hot sex tonight.”

“This is my mouth closing,” Stone said, making a zipping motion.

Holly tossed off her martini and popped the last olive into her mouth. “I’m hungry,” she said, “and you have to feed me more than olives.”

“Where are we dining?” Stone asked.

“At an old D.C. favorite,” she replied. “Maison Blanche, next door to the White House, where the old guard goes, and some of the new guard, too. You’ll see movers and shakers.”

Stone drained his glass. “One more of these and I’ll be unable to either move or shake. I hope you’re driving.”

“We’re being driven,” she said, “courtesy of the Agency. There’s a little flap on, and we’re battening a few hatches, just in case, and mine is one of the hatches.”

“I place myself entirely in your hands,” Stone said, “except that I’m still buying dinner.”

“You talked me into it,” she said, heading for the door.

They took the elevator to the lobby and walked out to the portico, where the usual black SUV awaited.

“I’m going to ham guarve to give you a leg up,” Stone said, “what with the tight dress.”

“I’ll manage,” she said, “and remember, don’t talk shop in front of the driver-not your shop or mine.”

“Didn’t I already shut up?” Stone asked, opening the door for her.