The Zero Game

59

“Daddy’s going to work now,” Lowell Nash called out to his four-year-old daughter early the following morning.

Staring at the TV, she didn’t respond.

As Deputy Attorney General, Lowell wasn’t used to being ignored, but when it came to family… family was a whole different story. He couldn’t help but laugh.

“Say good-bye to Daddy,” Lowell’s wife added from the living room of their Bethesda, Maryland, home.

Never taking her eyes off the videotaped glow of Sesame Street, Cassie Nash sucked the tip of one of her braided pigtails and waved her hand through the air at her dad. “Bye, Elmo…”

Lowell smiled and waved good-bye to his wife. At formal events, his colleagues at the Justice Department called him Deputy General Nash — he worked twenty-five years to earn that title — but ever since his daughter learned that the voice of Elmo was done by a tall black man who resembled her dad (Elmo’s best friend, according to Cassie), Lowell’s name was changed. Elmo beat Deputy General any day.

Leaving his house at a few minutes past seven A.M., Lowell locked the door behind himself, then twisted the doorknob and checked it three times. Directly above, the sky was gray, the sun tucked behind the clouds. No question, rain would be here soon. By the time he reached the driveway on the side of the old stucco colonial, his smile was gone — but the ritual was still the same. As he’d done every day for the past week, he checked every bush, tree, and shrub in sight. He checked the cars that were parked on the street. And most important, as he pushed a button and unlocked the doors on his silver Audi, he checked his own front seat as well. The lightning-shaped fracture was still fresh in the side window, but Janos was gone. For now.

Starting the car and pulling out onto Underwood Street, Lowell scanned the rest of the block, including the rooftop of every nearby house. Since the day he graduated from Columbia Law School, he had always been careful with his professional life. He paid his cleaning woman over the table, told his accountant not to be greedy on his taxes, and in a town of freebies, reported every gift he ever got from a lobbyist. No drugs… no outrageous drinking… nothing stupid at any of the social events he’d attended over the years. Too bad the same couldn’t be said of his wife. It was just one dumb night — even for the college kid she was back then. A few too many drinks… a cab would take too long… If she got behind the wheel, she’d be home in minutes instead of an hour.

By the time she was done, a boy was paralyzed. The car hit him so hard, it shattered his pelvis. Through some quick thinking and expensive legal maneuvers, the lawyers expunged her record. But somehow, Janos found it. THE NEXT COLIN POWELL? the Legal Times headline read. Not if this gets out, Janos warned the first night he showed up.

Lowell didn’t care. And he wasn’t afraid to tell Janos. He didn’t get to be number two at Justice by running and hiding at every political threat. Sooner or later, the news about his wife would come out — so if it was sooner, well… there’s no way he’d hurt Harris for that.

That’s when Janos started showing up at Lowell’s daughter’s preschool. And at the playground where they took her on weekends. Lowell saw him immediately. Not doing anything illegal, just standing there. With those dark, haunting eyes. For Lowell, that was it. He knew it all too well — family was a different story.

Janos didn’t ask for much: Keep him informed when Harris called — and stay the hell out of it.

Lowell had thought it’d be easy. It was harder than he ever imagined. Every night, the tossing and turning increased. Last night he was up so late, he heard the paper hit his doorstep at five A.M. Turning onto Connecticut Avenue and heading downtown, he could barely keep the car straight on the road. A droplet of water splattered against his windshield. Then another. It was starting to pour. Lowell didn’t even notice.

No doubt, Lowell had been careful. Careful with his money… with his career… and with his future. But right now, as the shrapnel of rain sprayed across his windshield, he slowly realized there was a fine line between careful and cowardly. On his left, a navy Acura blew past him. Lowell turned his head slightly to follow it, but the only thing he saw was the crack in his side window. He looked back at the road, but it wouldn’t go away.

Elmo beat Deputy General, he reminded himself — but the more he thought about it, that was precisely why he couldn’t just sit there any longer. Picking up his cell phone, he dialed the number for his office.

“Deputy Attorney General’s office. This is William Joseph Williams,” a male voice answered. During his interview for the job, William said his mother picked his name because it sounded like a President. Right now, he was still Lowell’s assistant.

“William, it’s me. I need a favor.”

“Sure thing. Name it.”

“In my top left-hand drawer, there’s a set of fingerprints I got off my car door last week.”

“The kids that cracked your window, right? I thought you already ran those.”

“I decided not to,” Lowell said.

“And now?”

“I changed my mind. Put ’em in the system; do a full scan — every database we’ve got, including foreign,” Lowell said as he flicked on his windshield wipers. “And tell Pilchick I’m gonna need some detail to watch my family.”

“What’s going on, Lowell?”

“Don’t know,” he said, staring dead ahead at the slick road in front of him. “Depends what we find.”