Insatiable Appetites

28

Stone was on the phone with a client that afternoon when Joan came and stuck her head in. “Just a minute,” he said, then covered the phone. “What is it, Joan?”

“There’s a man out here who insists on seeing you, but he won’t give his name.”

“Describe him.”

“Five-eight or — nine, a hundred and forty, late thirties, early forties. Black overcoat.”

It sounded like the man watching from across the street. “Tell him I’m on a phone call and to wait.”

“He looks as though he might bolt at any minute.”

“If he bolts, he bolts.” Stone went back to his call. It took another ten minutes to ease his client’s mind, then he hung up and buzzed Joan.

“Send him in.”

“He bolted.”

“Check outside and see if he’s hanging around.”

He waited while she looked, then he heard the chime that meant the front door was open, and Joan said, “Please go right in there.”

The man appeared in the doorway, holding his hat and looking nervous.

Stone had never seen him, but he thought he knew who he was. “Come in, Congressman, and have a seat.”

Joan appeared behind the man. “May I take your coat?”

He jumped, then reluctantly gave up his coat and hat and sat in the chair that Stone indicated.

“Good morning,” Evan Hills said.

“Good morning. Why didn’t you come in earlier?”

“You seemed to be involved with your family. I didn’t want to intrude.”

“One of the young men is my son, the others are his friends.”

“Ah.”

“What can I do for you, Congressman?”

“That’s difficult to say.”

“Try. And by the way, I admire what you’re doing.”

Hills’s shoulders slumped. “I just want out.”

“You can do that, if it’s really what you want. The Times already has your statement, and they won’t reveal your identity.”

“I mean out of everything.”

Stone began to realize what he was dealing with. “I’d like to help,” he said. “What can I do to help?”

“I don’t seem to have any alternatives.”

“There are always alternatives, it’s just that sometimes none of them seem attractive. It seems to me you have at least three choices: One, you can continue as you are, and when your political colleagues suspect you, deny everything. The only evidence that you might be involved is your presence at that meeting, and that applies equally to the other two dozen people who were there. Two, you can resign from Congress and go home to Philadelphia, or wherever else in the world you might like to go, blaming ill health. Three, you can make a public statement, associate yourself with the Times piece, and resign from your party, become an independent or a Democrat.”

“You’re right, none of those alternatives is very attractive.”

“Tell me, in the best of all possible worlds, what would you like to be doing a year from now?”

Hills sat and thought. “I’d like to have a law practice in some small town in Pennsylvania.”

“Is that within your means?”

“Yes, I’m quite well off.”

“Then why don’t you do just that?”

“They’ll find me,” he said. “They’ll hunt me down and...”

Stone waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“Let me pose another question, then: During the next year, what is the worst thing that could happen to you?”

“I’d be hounded out of Congress and the party, most of the people I think of as my friends wouldn’t ever speak to me again, I’d be thrown out of my old law firm. Or, it might even be worse.”

“All of those things sound like a predicate for your doing what you want to do, except the last one. What would be worse?”

“I might be dead.”

“Are you ill?”

“No, I’m very fit.”

“Do you suspect someone of wanting you dead?”

“Half the people I know — if they knew what I’d done.”

“What you’ve done is courageous and good,” Stone said. “Has it occurred to you that, if it became known, you would gain many new friends?”

“You mean Democrats?”

“I mean people who will admire what you’ve done. Many of them might be Republicans who don’t like what’s happening to their party.”

“I’m not really cut out for being a rebel.”

“The rebelling is already behind you. You just have to figure out what you want and go do it.”

“They won’t let me do that.”

“Who are ‘they’?”

“Powerful people who don’t show their faces to the world.”

“For every one of them who wants to destroy you, there’ll be others who want to help.”

“I wish I could believe that.”

“If you’re concerned for your safety, I can arrange protection. If you want to disappear, I own the house next door, and there’s a comfortable guest apartment that you’re welcome to, for as long as it takes.”

Hills, who had been staring disconsolately into the middle distance, suddenly focused, maybe even brightened a bit. “You’d do that for me?”

“I would.”

“All right,” he said, standing up. “I have to make some arrangements first and get my things from my hotel.”

“My advice is not to tell anyone where you are, at least for a couple of days,” Stone said. “And then think carefully about who you tell.”

“There’s only one person,” Hills said.

Stone buzzed for Joan, and she came in. “Joan, this is Mr. Hills. He’s going to be staying next door for a while. Will you ask Helene to make sure the apartment is ready for him?”

“Of course,” Joan said.

“How long before you’ll be back?” Stone asked.

“An hour at the most,” Hills said.

“We’ll look forward to seeing you. Enter through the office door, and Joan will take you next door.”

Hills offered his hand, the first time he had done so, and Stone shook it.

“One other thing,” Hills said.

“Yes?”

“I made a recording of the meeting.”

“Good. You may need it.”

“Thank you so much, Mr. Barrington.” Hills put on his coat and hat and left, looking relieved.

Hills walked up to Third Avenue and looked for a cab. His cell phone buzzed, and he checked the caller ID. “Hello?”

“Are you all right?”

“I’m fine. I’m going to stay in New York for a while. Got a pencil?”

“Yep.”

Hills gave him the address. “You can always reach me on my cell.”

“Let me give you some advice. Get one of those prepaid throwaway cell phones from an electronics shop, and don’t give the number to anyone but me.”

“I’ll do that right now,” Hills said. He hung up and walked up Third Avenue, looking for a place to buy the phone.