Mistress

Chapter 62

When I stand up from my rented wheelchair, the others in my tour group let out audible gasps. “It’s a miracle!” I say. “I can walk!”

I leave them behind and meet Craig Carney, looking resplendent in his dapper three-piece gray suit and crimson tie, the Nationals baseball cap and pennant now discarded. We agree to take a walk along the reflecting pool. He’s built up a little perspiration in the scorching heat, which gives me some comfort, because I’m sweating through my clothes right now.

I try to keep my breathing even, but it’s hard. This is what I’ve been waiting for, but I have a sinking feeling I’m not going to come away a happy customer. And I don’t see a whole lot of other options for me out there.

“I know everything there is to know about you, Ben,” says Carney. “I know about your childhood. I know about your father and mother. I know that that newspaper of yours is something you do out of love, not because you have trouble paying the bills. It’s your baby. And that’s why I know that, whatever else, you’d never print a story that you know isn’t true. You wouldn’t do that to your baby.”

“Fear of death can do wonders to your integrity,” I note.

“Oh, it doesn’t have to come to that.” He says it like I’m being overly dramatic. I hope he’s right about that. “Y’know, Ben, when my father was in the Senate, he used to have a saying. ‘Don’t get in front of a ball rolling down a hill.’ Pick your battles, in other words. If you can’t stop something, don’t waste your time trying.”

“So he probably wouldn’t have been a big fan of, say, Martin Luther King or Susan B. Anthony.”

Carney chuckles. “You’re equating yourself with a civil rights leader?”

“I’m no hero,” I say. “Far from it. But we do have one thing in common. We’re both fighting our government. I just didn’t realize I was doing so until people started shooting at me and framing me for murder.”

We approach the Lincoln Memorial. Gotta love Honest Abe, but I’m not a huge fan of the Greek temple look of this memorial. Still, it’s hard not to be awed. I’ve been here fifty times, and I get chills every time I look up at him.

“The United States government doesn’t kill its citizens,” says Carney. “If someone’s been trying to kill you, it isn’t us.”

Given that he’s wearing a wire, what else is he going to say?

“I never had an affair with Diana Hotchkiss, Ben. If she told you otherwise, then it’s one, but not the only, lie she told you.”

We turn left-south-around the pool.

“Why didn’t you say so, Mr. Deputy Director? This whole thing’s been a misunderstanding. My bad. Sorry for your troubles.”

Carney doesn’t even crack a smile. He’s not what you’d call a whimsical guy.

“You’re anxious and confused. I don’t blame you. You’re looking at serious criminal charges. Your life could be over very soon. But you know what, Ben? What you don’t realize is how lucky you are.”

“Lucky because I know about your affair with Diana.”

He lets that comment pass. We bend around the pool again, this time heading east.

“You know much about World War II, Ben?” he asks me.

“Enough, I guess.” I saw Saving Private Ryan and that HBO series Tom Hanks did. Does that count?

“You know the story about when the Nazis bombed the city of Coventry in England? A lot of people think Churchill knew that bombing raid was coming because British intelligence had intercepted and deciphered the Nazis’ coded radio messages. You know about that, Ben?”

“I know that some people think Churchill knew the raid was coming, but he didn’t say anything because he was afraid the Nazis would figure out that the Brits had broken their code. So Churchill decided it was better to let one city get leveled to keep this advantage a secret. He let Coventry take a hit for the greater good of winning the war.”

“Right. That’s right, Ben.”

“And I know most people think that story’s bullshit.”

“Maybe so,” he says. “Maybe not.” It occurs to me now that I’m talking to a top banana at the CIA, so he may actually know whether that story is fact or fiction. “But surely you see my point, Ben. Sometimes there’s a bigger picture. A greater good, as you said.”

“Okay, so what does this have to do with Diana? Or me?”

Carney stops and faces me. “It means there are things I’d love to tell you, if I could, that would explain everything to you. But for reasons of national security, I can’t.”

“Then forgive me if I’m not tracking this,” I say. “How does this make me lucky?”

He nods. “Because I want this over,” he answers. “So I’m going to make you an offer you can’t refuse.”