D.C. Dead (17 page)

“That’s fine with me, Ed.”

Ed looked up. “Here’s Tank now.”

Todd stood up and shook hands with the very large man whom he had met only once before, at the beginning of his Panama mission.

“It’s good to see you in Tech Services, Todd,” Tank said. “You’re going to have a good time here, I can tell you that.”

“I know I will, Tank.” Then they all sat down, and Tank gave him an overview of what they were doing for the three pending operations.

A LITTLE BEFORE SEVEN that evening, Todd left the building and walked to his car. There was a note on the windshield:
Never mind the phone calls, meet us at J.Paul’s as soon as you can.

Todd got into his rental car and drove away from the Agency. He was going to need a new car, and he was thinking Porsche. The promotion would make it easy to handle the payments, and he could drive it for a long time.

He found the pub in Foggy Bottom, and when he walked into the place, a reproduction of an old saloon, there was a shout from a big table at the rear. They were all there, and somebody handed him a double of his favorite scotch as he sat down.

“We’re alive!” his number two said. “All of us. Great assignments, though we’re not supposed to tell you or anyone else what we’re doing.”

“Then don’t,” Todd said, “but I’ll see you all again anyway, when you come to Tech Services for your gear.” He took a huge swig of his drink.

“You got Tech Services?” number two asked. “That’s cushy work—interesting, too.”

“Not as interesting as what you’re all going to be doing,” Todd said, “but I’ll never have to pull a stakeout on a cold night again, or save one of your asses from something dire.”

“I’ll drink to that,” someone said, and they all did.

“And we’ll never have to worry about what’s-his-name again,” Todd said, own t size“and by the way, that name is never again to be mentioned by any of us, not even to each other. Everybody got that?”

There were grumbles and nods.

“That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” said number two.

“The cookie doesn’t exist,” Todd said. “Not anymore.” He tossed off the rest of his scotch. “Now, who do I have to fuck around here to get another drink?”

“That would be me,” said a pretty waitress at his elbow. That got a big round of applause.

Todd watched appreciatively as she went back toward the bar for his drink.

“Watch it, Chief,” one of his men said.

“I am, pal, I am.”

TEDDY FAY WORKED AWAY at his airplane in his hangar at Clinton Field. He borrowed a small crane from the airfield’s shop and spent the morning unbolting his engine from the airframe and lowering it into a crate, for shipment back to the manufacturer. The engine had served him well, but it was near the end of its Time-Between-Overhauls period, and he had elected, for reasons of speed, to replace it with a factory remanufactured engine, which came with a zero-time logbook and a full warranty. The new engine would arrive the following day. Teddy also had plans to replace most of the instruments in the airplane’s panel with new glass cockpit instrumentation.

Teddy screwed the lid of the crate into place and affixed a shipping label. The engine would be picked up the same day. He was having the propeller overhauled locally.

Lauren called down from upstairs. “The movie starts at two,” she said.

“I’ll get cleaned up, and I’ll buy you lunch,” he called back.

He went upstairs, used grease remover on his hands and scrubbed his nails, then he took a shower and changed clothes.

Lauren was waiting in the almost new Toyota convertible he had bought her the day before, and he got into the passenger seat. “Take me for my first spin,” he said.

They drove across the ramp, past the FBO (Fixed Base Operator), where they stopped to let a Cirrus pass in front of them, on the way to parking. Teddy exchanged a wave with the instructor, sitting in the righthand seat. “I’ve talked to that guy a couple of times,” Teddy said to Lauren. “He’s trying to get me to become a part-time instructor here. The FBO has a busy little flying school.”

“Why don’t you do that?” Lauren asked, driving behind the airplane toward the exit gate.

“Tell you what I’d rather do,” Teddy said. “I’d rather teach you to fly.”

“Me, fly?”

“I think you’d enjoy it. As soon as I get the airplane back together, let me give you a few lessons. If you don’t like it, we’ll forget about it.” Teddy was concerned about her becoming bored in their new location.

“Okay, I’ll give it a whirl,” she said.

They drove out to a mall, lunched at a little restaurant, and went to see
The Social Network.
They both thought it was great.

Back at Clinton Field, they let themselves through the security gate with the card they had been given, then had to slow again for the same plane they’d seen earlier.

“That stude>h tnt seems to be taking two lessons a day,” Teddy said. “That’s quite a load of work.”

“He must have a lot of time on his hands,” Lauren said. “Maybe he’s too rich to work.”

“Maybe so,” Teddy replied.

30

STONE AND DINO SAT IN A BORROWED OFFICE IN THE WEST Wing of the White House and gazed at the middle-aged Filipino woman who sat across the desk from them. She was fidgeting a little, and there was a film of perspiration on her forehead. She was the fourth of the four White House maids who cleaned the family quarters, the first three having been a waste of time to question.

“Mrs. Feliciano,” Stone said, “we’d like to talk with you for a few minutes about your work.”

“I try very hard to do the best job I can,” the woman said. “I hope there haven’t been any complaints.”

“Oh, no,” Stone said, “nothing like that. We’re just interested in some of the visitors you may have encountered in the family quarters.”

“Does the president know you’re talking to me?” the woman asked.

“Yes, he does. We’re speaking to you at his request.”

“The president told you to talk to
me?”
Now she looked more nervous than ever.

“No, Mrs. Feliciano, not just you. We’re talking to all the maids who work in the family quarters to get a few questions answered.”

Her shoulders slumped in relief. “Well, I don’t know anything,” she said. “I just clean.”

Stone smiled and tried again to put her at ease. “How long have you worked at the White House?” he asked.

“Twelve and a half years,” she replied.

“And how long have you cleaned the family quarters?”

“A little over three years.”

“Good. Now think back over the past two years or so. Have you, when you were cleaning upstairs, ever seen anyone in the quarters who did not belong there?”

“Oh, no, sir, the Secret Service people would never allow any unauthorized persons in the quarters.”

“How about authorized persons, like the cooks and repairmen?”

“Oh, yes, I see them all the time.”

“How about Mr. Kendrick? Did you ever see him in the quarters?”

“Mr. Brix? Oh, yes, many times.”

“What would he be doing when you saw him?”

“Well, he would sometimes bring in people from the outside, like to install new carpets or curtains, or he would supervise when they put in a new TV, or once, a new ice machine.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Brix in the quarters with a lady?”

“Sometimes the people he brought in would be a lady.”

“Did you ever see Mr. Brix and a lady go into or come out of one of the upstairs bedrooms?”

The woman looked more thoughtful. “Sometimes.”

“Do you remember who any of the ladies were?”

h ">Tdth="1em">“He sometimes brought the White House decorator upstairs.”

“And what is the decorator’s name?”

“Miss Charles,” she replied. “I don’t know her first name.”