Mistress

Chapter 61

An hour later, I dial the cell number Craig Carney gave me.

“Hello, Mr. Casper,” he says when he picks up. “I’m here at the Washington Monument, as you can see. Where are you?”

Where am I? I’m among about five hundred people strolling the west side of the National Mall right now, looking at the many memorials. But he doesn’t need to know that. Like pretty much everyone else around here, I have a camera, only I’m not snapping pictures. I’m using it as I would a pair of binoculars, zooming in wherever I need to look, trying not to be too obvious.

“I want you to move to the other side of the monument, Mr. Deputy Director. Come around to the west side and face the Lincoln Memorial.”

“Okay, I’ll go around to the other side of the monument.”

I have a feeling he didn’t say that for my benefit. I think he’s trying to signal someone-FBI agents, CIA, Capitol Police, whatever-what he’s doing. He must be wearing a wire. That’s about as surprising as a hot day in August.

“You’re not waving the pennant, Mr. Carney. I told you to wave it.”

Okay, that wasn’t called for or necessary, but give me a break-I’m nervous here. I’m trying to convince myself I have the upper hand. This is high-stakes poker and I’ve never played anything but solitaire.

“Okay, are you happy now?”

“I’m just kidding. I don’t know if you’re waving the pennant or not. I’m not on the National Mall right now. Sorry about that. There’s been a change of plans.”

They say that a lot in movies, when there are ransom drops or other controlled meetings. There’s been a change of plans, delivered with much more bravado than I can muster right now, when I’m doing my damnedest to keep the tremor out of my voice. Hell, I’m trying not to piss my pants.

I say, “Go to the Foggy Bottom metro station and take the Orange Line to the Landover stop.”

“Landover? This is ridiculous.”

“Do it or become a national disgrace. The clock is ticking.”

I punch off the phone and listen to a tour guide tell me and a dozen other people what each of the pillars on the perimeter of the World War II Memorial represents. Interesting.

Even more interesting? What happens next. Due east, at the Washington Monument, Craig Carney is speaking into his collar. So that confirms he’s wired up, and he’s obviously telling his people that he’s on the move.

Carney starts to head west and north toward the Foggy Bottom station. Several people dressed as tourists suddenly lose interest in the attractions they’re supposedly here to view and simultaneously begin to change course. A man in a navy suit and sunglasses near the Korean War Memorial breaks sharply toward the Washington Monument and trails Carney from a distance. A man in a gray T-shirt and blue jeans at the Lincoln Memorial breaks north into a jog, which means he’s either one of Carney’s guys or he likes to jog in denim. Two women, one in a blue suit and the other in a brown sundress, strolling east along the reflecting pool, suddenly stop strolling and nonchalantly pivot in the opposite direction. A casually dressed man and woman, who are not more than twenty yards away from me at the World War II Memorial, freeze in their tracks, touch their ears momentarily, and then start following Carney as he passes by on his way to the metro station. A nearby woman who is a dead ringer for Patricia Arquette in Goodbye Lover bends over and fixes the strap on her heel. I don’t think she’s with Carney, but I thought Patricia Arquette was totally hot in that movie.

I dial up Carney again. When he answers, I say, “One more thing, Mr. Carney. I’m going to ask you a question, and if you don’t give me a truthful answer, then we’re done. The article gets published. Ready for my question?”

He stops and waits a moment before answering. “Ask your question,” he says.

“Did you come alone, as I asked?”

He looks around him. He doesn’t know if I’m here or not. I told him I’m not, but he can’t be sure.

“No, I didn’t, Ben. I’m the second-ranking official at the Central Intelligence Agency and I’m meeting with someone who is wanted for two murders and who’s trying to extort me. There’s no way they’re going to let me meet with you without watching my back. But that’s all they’re doing, Ben. No one’s going to arrest you or try to hurt you.”

Fair enough. He admitted it. He told the truth. It’s a start. There are no guarantees in life.

“Turn around, Mr. Carney. You passed me a couple minutes ago.”

“Oh-you’re here. Okay. Where are you?”

“The World War II Memorial,” I say. “The tour group by the Atlantic arch. I’m the guy in the wheelchair.”