Capitol Murder (6 page)

“Of course,” Ali answered, backing off immediately. Fear of abuse had been nurtured in Ali since early childhood, and he never did well in physical confrontations.

Ali turned away and closed his eyes, but he didn’t fall asleep immediately. To distract himself, he thought of all the possible targets in America’s capital. Which one would he destroy in the name of Allah? When he fell asleep, there was a contented smile on his lips.

I
t was still dark when Ali woke up. He felt dull witted and spent a few moments rubbing sleep from his eyes. There was a sour taste in his mouth. The station wagon was driving down a dirt road in rural Maryland. Steve pulled into the driveway of a ranch-style house and woke up the sleeping men.

“This is where you’ll be staying until we’re ready to act,” he said. “The refrigerator is fully stocked, and there’s cable television. I’ll make runs with groceries around this time, once a week. If there are problems, tell me then. I’ll give you a cell phone number, but it’s only for emergencies. Remember, the Americans can listen in on your calls. You’ll ask for pizza, and I’ll say you have the wrong number. Then I’ll come right over.

“This house is pretty isolated. The nearest neighbors are a quarter mile away. You shouldn’t get visitors. If you do, tell them you’re students, and use the cover story you were given. Any questions?”

Steve showed them around the house and got them set up. There were clothes in the closets in everyone’s size and food in the kitchen.

“You’ll receive instructions soon,” Steve said before he left. “Be patient and trust in Allah. You will make history.”

Despite the sleep he had gotten during the drive, Ali was logy when they arrived at the house. His initial elation in the harbor was gone. Before he’d gotten out of the car, he was beset by doubts that depressed him. Things could go wrong. They could fail. The CIA and FBI were not fools. What if they were caught?

Steve’s last words elated Ali and erased his doubts. Allah was great, and he would see to their success. Steve closed the door behind him. Ali heard the car start. He looked through the slats in the Venetian blinds in the living room and watched the station wagon drive off. It had a Virginia license plate, and Ali memorized it when it passed beneath a streetlight. There was no reason for him to do it. He was just good with numbers and had an excellent memory, and the license plate number was filed away without much conscious thought.

Chapter Seven

T
he weather in Portland was unseasonably warm, and Jack Carson kept his window rolled down as he drove to Dunthorpe, eschewing air conditioning for the breeze that drifted off the Willamette River. In the distance, Mount Hood loomed, the setting sun tinting its snowy coat to a lovely rose color, but Jack was too on edge to take in the beauty of his surroundings. Normally, he would have had an aide drive him, but he’d given his staff the night off. He’d convinced himself that he’d done this because they’d been working hard and needed some downtime, but his subconscious was rife with images of Jessica Koshani naked and in bed, something he’d never see if a young staffer was waiting in his car or camping out in some part of Koshani’s house.

Carson followed Koshani’s directions and turned toward the river onto a narrow street that wound between large homes surrounded by expensively landscaped grounds. The house he was looking for was guarded by a gate that swung open moments after he announced himself through an intercom. Jack drove into a courtyard and parked near the front door of a house that was similar to Italian villas he’d seen during a family trip to Tuscany. Jessica Koshani was waiting for him at the front door, her jet black hair falling loosely across the shoulders of a yellow blouse that was tucked into tight jeans that emphasized her long legs.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” she said when the senator got out of his car.

“This is very nice,” he answered.

“We’ll go around back to the patio. It looks out on the river. It’s wonderful being outdoors at this time of night. Can I get you something cool to drink? I make a mean martini, and I’ve got a full bar.”

“Gin and tonic would be great.”

“What brand of gin do you prefer?” she asked as she led him through a large living room toward French doors that opened onto a wide terra-cotta patio.

Koshani left the senator with the view while she went inside to fix his drink. His heart rate was up and his mouth was dry. He tried to calm himself and hoped that the gin would help. Koshani walked out of the house with two drinks. His glass felt cold and damp against his hand. He took a quick sip and the cool lime taste chilled him.

“This is a great spot,” Carson said.

“As soon as the weather turns, I’m out here every chance I get.” Koshani smiled. “But you’re not here to talk about the view.”

Carson had noticed a manila envelope lying on a glass end table at Koshani’s elbow. She handed it to him. He opened it and took out five checks. Each was to the account of a different business situated in a different state and each was for twenty-five thousand dollars.

“This is very generous,” Carson said.

“Senator, you are one of only a few congressmen who are objective about American aggression in the Middle East. Neither I nor any of the people who have made these contributions have any sympathy for terrorists. They do not represent true Islam, and they have turned the world against every Muslim. We value a man with the courage to say that American policy in the Middle East might be wrong and not all Muslims are psychotic terrorists; a man who knows that most Muslims are men and women like the men and women in America, who only want to provide for their families and would love to live in a world where peace reigns.”

Carson blushed as Koshani showered him with praise. “I’ve always tried to keep an open mind.” He smiled. “I like to think my open-mindedness is a product of my scientific training.”

Koshani nodded. “There is no doubt that you are one of the most intelligent senators. I often wish there were more scientists in the legislature, people trained to avoid jumping to conclusions unsupported by evidence.”

Koshani and the senator continued to talk about politics, world affairs, and many other subjects as the sun set. Koshani stroked his ego and provided him with several more cooling drinks. By the second drink, the senator’s thinking had become a bit muddled, and he realized that he was becoming sexually aroused. He chalked up his agitated and confused state to the proverbial one drink too many, not to anything Koshani may have slipped into his gin and tonic. When he finally stood to leave, Carson wobbled a bit and Koshani pressed close to brace him. Carson had no idea how it happened, but moments after he stumbled, he had wrapped his arms around Koshani and they were kissing while her hand stroked him gently but urgently. When he left for home, he was thoroughly exhausted and completely sated by the most explosive sex he had ever experienced.

Part II

Love Hurts

Chapter Eight

T
he moment Millie Reston woke up, she knew she was beginning one of the best days of her life, and life had been pretty good lately. When Judge Case ordered new trials for Clarence, every television station in the state featured the interview she’d given after court, and she became the hot new attorney in town. The retainer that the parents of a man convicted of murder had paid her to handle his appeal would cover her rent for the next two years; a drug dealer who had exhausted his appeals paid her an outrageous sum to file for habeas corpus relief in federal court; and there were less extravagant retainers that, taken together, amounted to a tidy sum. Millie would never have had the courage to ask for the money she’d quoted these clients if it hadn’t been for the self-confidence Clarence’s love had fostered.

The penitentiary was for convicted felons. As soon as his convictions were set aside, Clarence was presumed innocent of the charges against him, and he had been transferred to the Multnomah County jail in downtown Portland, a few blocks from her office. In anticipation of the transfer, Millie had sprung for a makeover and had had her hair styled in Portland’s top salon. After she showered and applied her makeup, she put on a new outfit she had purchased especially for today, the first day she and Clarence would be able to touch each other without bulletproof glass to stop the warmth from passing from Clarence’s hand into hers.

Millie hummed as she drove downtown. After parking in a lot near her office, she walked to the Justice Center, a modern sixteen-story, concrete-and-glass building that was separated from the Multnomah County Courthouse by a park. The Justice Center housed several courtrooms, State Parole and Probation, the Central Precinct of the Portland Police Bureau, a branch of the district attorney’s office, and the Multnomah County jail.

The jail occupied the fourth through tenth floors in the building, but the reception area was on the second floor. Millie walked through a glass-vaulted lobby filled with police officers, attorneys, defendants, and others having business in this hall of sorrows. When she passed the curving stairs that led to the courtrooms on the third floor, she pushed through a pair of glass doors. A sheriff’s deputy was manning the reception desk. He searched Millie’s briefcase after checking her ID, then motioned her through the metal detector that stood between the reception area and the jail elevator. As soon as Millie passed through the metal detector without setting off any alarms, the guard walked her to the elevator and keyed her up to the floor where Clarence was being held.

After a short ride, the elevator doors opened, and Millie stepped into a narrow hall with a thick metal door at one end. Next to the door, affixed to a pastel yellow concrete wall, was an intercom. Millie used it to announce her presence. Moments later, a uniformed guard peered at her through a plate of glass in the upper part of the door before speaking into a walkie-talkie. Electronic locks snapped and the guard ushered Millie into a narrow corridor that ran the length of three contact visiting rooms. The interior of each room could be seen from the corridor through a large window.

The guard opened the door to the first room. Then he pointed to a black button affixed to the wall.

“Your client will be brought over in a few minutes. When you need to leave—or if there’s any trouble—press the button.”

The only furnishings in the concrete room were two orange molded plastic chairs set on either side of a round, Formica-topped table that was bolted to the floor. The guard left, and Millie took the chair that faced a steel door on the side of the room across from the corridor. As Millie stared at the door her heart beat faster. The man she loved would enter through it in minutes. She was trembling and her hand shook when she tried to open the clasp on her attaché case. Just as she started to take out the papers she had brought, the electronic locks on the rear door snapped open and two guards led Clarence into the room. He was dressed in an orange jumpsuit, and the first things Millie noticed were that he had let his hair grow and he was putting on weight. Clarence had always been lean, but now he looked a little lumpy, and she credited the starchy jail food for the extra weight. When Clarence was free, they could both go on a diet and slim down.

Manacles securing Clarence’s ankles and wrists restricted his movements, but he shuffled forward with a huge smile on his face. The first guard pulled Clarence’s chair away from the table so he could sit down. When he was sitting, the other guard unlocked his chains.

“Buzz when you’re done,” one of the guards said. Then they left Millie and Clarence alone.

Clarence looked her up and down. “I love your hair. You had it done, didn’t you?”

Millie blushed. “I wanted to look good for you.”

“Well, you succeeded. You look great, and I’m honored that you went to all this trouble for me. I don’t imagine you have much free time. You must be incredibly busy after the publicity you’ve gotten.”

Millie couldn’t help grinning. “My business has been amazing. I’m actually turning away cases.”

“You deserve your success. It’s not every attorney who could have convinced Judge Case to reverse two murder cases as notorious as mine.”

Clarence paused and stared into Millie’s eyes. Then he reached across the table and took her hand in his. Millie felt an electric charge pass between them.

“Thank you for standing up for me,” Clarence said. Then he released her hand and looked down at the tabletop. Millie had the impression that he was gathering his courage to broach something important. When he looked up, he radiated none of the self-confidence she was used to seeing.

“Millie, maybe this is premature but . . . well, when I’m free—and I know you’ll help me gain my freedom—would you consider . . .”

Clarence paused. Then he flashed a shy smile. “I’m sorry, but when I’m around you, well, you make me so happy, but you also make me nervous.” He took a deep breath and looked Millie in the eye. “I should have a ring with a diamond as big as the moon, but,” he said, turning his palms up, “Tiffany won’t deliver in here.”

Millie couldn’t breathe.

“What I’m trying to say is, would you consider marrying me?”

Millie had dreamed about this moment, and now that Clarence had proposed, she was speechless. Clarence stopped smiling. He looked so sad. Then his eyes dropped to the tabletop again.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I . . .”

Millie reached out and covered Clarence’s hands with hers.

“Don’t be sorry. I’m just so happy I couldn’t speak. Of course I’ll marry you. I love you.”

Clarence looked up, a wide smile on his face. “Thank you, Millie. You’ve made me the happiest man in the world. I wish I could kiss you but . . .” He nodded at the closed-circuit camera that was fixed to the wall. “But soon, Millie, soon we’ll be together, and we’ll be able to kiss and . . . and make love.”