Foreign Agent

CHAPTER 19

Senator Daniel Wells rolled over and picked up his iPhone from the nightstand. “What time is it?” he asked as he answered the call.

“A little after three a.m.,” his Chief of Staff said.

Her name was Rebecca Ritter and she could play the Washington game better than anyone he’d ever met. She was smart and aggressive, and never took no for an answer.

She was also a damn good-looking woman. She could play up or tone down her looks based on what any situation called for.

Rebecca could go from a sweet, demure Iowa farm girl any man would want to take home to meet his parents, to a show-stopping blonde in a little black dress who would have even the most devoted of husbands questioning whether she might be worth the risk.

Wells, though, had never touched her. It would have been like mixing alcohol and firearms. Guaranteed to be a lot of fun, right up until it wasn’t.

The Senator had greater ambitions than bedding the twenty-six-year-old graduate from the John F. Kennedy School of Government who sat on the other side of his office door. Besides, the more powerful he became, the more she wanted him. Once he was in the White House and certain of a second term, then maybe he’d entertain a little fun. Until then, though, there was too much to be done.

“Three a.m.?” he replied. “You must have something good.”

Rebecca had been warming the bed of a young man by the name of Brendan Cavanagh. Mr. Cavanagh just happened to be the executive assistant to CIA Director Bob McGee.

“Do you want a blow-by-blow, or should I skip to the bottom line?”

Propping a pillow behind his head, Wells made himself comfortable. His wife, Nancy, was back in Cedar Rapids. He had the king-sized bed and the apartment all to himself.

Reaching for his cigarettes, he said, “Give me the blow-by-blow. Regale me.”

Rebecca did, in sordid detail.

She started with what she had been wearing, knowing that her boss’s taste ran to that kind of thing — especially stockings and heels. Suffice it to say that despite her husband’s appetites, Mrs. Wells was much more subdued.

Rebecca described dinner, drinks, and then everything else that had happened back at Cavanagh’s. She took her time and was particularly descriptive.

When she finished talking about the sex, she got to the real reason for waking Wells at 3 a.m.

The Senator took another drag off his cigarette and sat up straighter in bed. “Are you positive?”

“I was right there. I heard the entire conversation.”

“Then what happened?”

“We had sex once more in the shower and he rushed off to Langley.”

Wells shook his head. She was incorrigible. “You’re not still at his place, are you?”

“I wouldn’t have called you if I was.”

Smart girl, he thought. Picking up his watch, he looked at what time it was now. “Get some sleep.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I think I may go for a run.”

“Right now?”

“I need to think,” said Wells.

“Okay,” Rebecca replied. “I’ll see you in the office in a few hours.”

“Sounds good. And by the way? Excellent job.”

She didn’t reply. She simply hung up. Her boss was happy and she needed some sleep. Come 6 a.m., Red Bull and a pretty face would only get her so far.

Wells, though, knew there was no going back to sleep. Not with what he had just learned. McGee should have been much stricter with the information floating around at the CIA.

Even then, Rebecca probably still could have gotten it. She was the smartest hire Wells had ever made. He didn’t care how much his wife hated her. Women like Nancy were always going to hate women like Rebecca. They were seen as threats. But in the right hands, they were gold mines.

Rebecca was his hard-bodied, big-titted golden calf. How he was going to get her information to market was another issue entirely.

What he had was too good not to use against President Porter. Rebecca, though, needed to be insulated. If they reverse-engineered it back to her then the jig was up. They would know Cavanagh was the source and the CIA would can him. Wells would then be left on the outside looking in. He had to figure out something else.

Changing into his running gear, he left his apartment and rode the elevator down to the lobby.

Stepping out onto the sidewalk, he looked around. It was still dark. The sun would be up soon, but he knew this was the most dangerous time of day. Criminals were like vampires. They shrank from daylight, but the hour before sunrise was when they were most desperate.

He decided to run parallel to the Mall. There was plenty of street traffic. He’d be all right.

After loosening up, he began his run. It was always the best part of his day. No phone calls, no email, no pathetic alms-seeking constituents. Just him and the pavement.

He was always amazed at how poorly the grounds of the Mall were maintained. The sidewalks were cracked, the curbs crumbling. There were weeds in the grass and entirely too much garbage.

A shining city on a hill it was not. For the capital of the greatest nation in the history of the world, it was disgusting.

Cleaning up D.C. was going to be one of the first things he did as President. Better yet, he’d have Nancy make it one of her initiatives as First Lady. She needed a pet cause anyway. This was a good one. It was good and nonpartisan. Perfect for her.

Within minutes, he had run two blocks. His heart rate was elevated and his endorphins were flowing. It was such a delicious rush. As far as he was concerned, a runner’s high was almost as good as sex. Almost.

Usually he let his mind wander on his runs. Today, though, he needed to focus. He had discovered a potential chink in the President’s armor. It was just begging to have a knife shoved through it.

But before he did that, he had to make sure the information was solid. What if Rebecca was wrong? What if she had misunderstood what she had heard?

There was some truth to the phrase If something sounds too good to be true, it probably is—especially in Washington.

As Wells continued to run, he saw a lone figure sitting on a bench. Homeless, he thought to himself. That was another thing his wife could get involved in. Good way to score points with the press and the public.

Passing the figure on the bench, he realized that he wasn’t homeless. He was an older man, buttoned up in a trench coat. He looked like something out of a spy movie. A newspaper sat folded in his lap.

That was when it hit him. Wells didn’t need to confirm Rebecca’s information. He needed someone else to do it. And he had the perfect person in mind.

That person, though, didn’t do anything for free. They would want something in return.

Looking at his watch, Wells decided to turn around and head back. There was a lot he would need to pull together.