The Parnell Affair (25 page)

The tease dropped out of her eyes, thought she held it on her lips.  You know they're forged, Tobias thought.

“Someone really screwed up there,” she said.  “Oh, that's, that's not an official State Department Opinion,” she said and took a step closer, coloring her features with sudden alarm.

“I know; it's alright,” he said.  “This isn't an interview; we're just talking.  All off the record.”

“Thank you,” she said and sighed.  “Someone really did screw up there,” she repeated.  “I mean, what were they thinking?  What could they possibly gain by it?”

“That's what I'd like to know,” he said.  “Basically, we have the Administration on one side saying, 'the Niger docs
prove
Saddam has a WMD program' and Mrs. Parnell's camp on the other saying, 'they're wrong.'  I was hoping to get a peek at the docs and see who had it right.  Then I found out that the IAEA believes they're forged.”

Her eyes widened—almost theatrically, Tobias thought—and her lips moved silently for a moment.

She stepped closer still and in a whisper said, “You're wonderful!  How could you have found that out so quickly?  They only saw them for the first time yesterday.”

“Well, I'd like to say it was the product of zeal and pluck and skill,” he said.  “But really it was mostly luck.”

“I don't believe that,” she said.  “You're deeper in the circles of power in Washington than many of the elected politicians!  I've seen Representatives cross the street just to shake your hand.  I think,” she said, dropping her eyes and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, “that no matter how high I might rise at State, I'll never know as much as the Tobias Hallströms of the world.”

“I don't know about all that,” he said.  “Right now I'm preoccupied by what I don't know.  Such as why the IAEA thinks the Niger documents are forged.”  He knew, no matter how pliant Ms Dupree suddenly seemed, he couldn't risk revealing how he knew they were forged, couldn't risk them being fixed.

“I wish I could tell you,” she said.  “I really do; I think it would
help
the negotiations.  Really, all the Secretary wants is inspectors.  I can't confirm what the IAEA believes, by the way.  I'm sorry.  They didn't tell us
why
.”

“Another reason I'd like to get a look at these things,” he said.  “Or better yet, get a copy of them and take them to an expert who may be able to determine if they're forged.”

“I wish there was some way I could help you,” she said breathlessly.

“Help us both,” he said.  “I could tell from the Secretary's presentation that he has his doubts.”

“Yes, definitely,” she said.

The way she looked into his eyes, he knew she wasn't thinking about WMD or inspectors anymore.  Though he'd found romantic sentiment dwelling submerged in the most unlikely personalities before, it never ceased to amaze Tobias how quickly passion could overwhelm a woman once surprised.  In the past, however, such a discovery was an opportunity for pleasure and indulgence: now, he'd need to use this advantage for ends entirely different from hers.  It was using and thus distasteful, but Tobias consoled himself with the high aim of his endeavor as he played his next card.

“Maybe I should talk to one of the INR guys,” he said.  “Do you think any of them would be willing to let me see the Niger docs?”

“Oh, I, I might be able to help you,” she said.  “I'm just not sure if I'll have access to the documents.  Let me check?  I want to help you.”

And so it's done, he thought.  He asked her to call him that night, if she could, but instead of giving her his cell number, he told her his room number at
The Palace
.  The rapid coloring of her cheeks quite convinced Tobias of the value she placed on such intelligence.  She said she would try and then retreated, all but at a run, to the doors of the Security Council Chamber.

The possibility that Ms Dupree would show up at his hotel room, sans Niger docs, with a bottle of wine and unmistakable air, only occurred to Tobias as he walked back to his hotel that afternoon.  He forgot his growing appetite for dinner and called Sally.  They talked generally about their days apart for a few minutes, lingering over what was not said.  After a very pleasant silence, Tobias turned to the task at hand.

“So, I have some good news,” he said.  “That suspicion of ours: I got confirmation.  We were right.”

“Don't give me the specifics over the phone!” Sally said quickly.

“I know,” he said.  “I wasn't going to.”

“That's fantastic, though,” she said.  “Another reason I can't wait until you get home.”

“You're going to love the how and the who, I think,” he said.

“Can you print it?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he said.  “Not without that, um, thing.”

“No luck getting a hold of it?” she asked.

“Not yet,” he said.  “But I'm on the right track.  There's a young woman who has access to it.  She's thinking about it.”

“Oh, a young woman,” Sally said and chuckled.  “Well what are you waiting for, Romeo?  Get in there and seduce her.”

“I'm halfway there already,” Tobias said.  “Went pretty smoothly.  Quick, too!”

“You scoundrel,” she said and laughed.  “Though, slow is more reliable in something like this; but it's not as if we have the time, I expect.”

“That's what has me worried,” Tobias said.  He took a breath to say more but rose and paced in the silence instead.

“Tobias?” she said.

“I was just thinking,” he said.  “Given the cross between puppy-dog-eyes and the come-fuck-me-look the young woman gave me, I'm suddenly wondering if she'll release the, uh, things without some sort of price attached to them.”

“When is the resolution expected?” she said.

“A day or two,” he said.  “There was a false alarm today; scuttlebutt is somewhat erratic on the subject.”

“Not much time,” Sally sighed.  “Not much time before those
things
go back where they came from, maybe out of reach.”  Another pause, this one of her making.  “If she asks, if she silently demands, can you do it?”

“What!” Tobias blurted.

“Listen,” she said quickly, “there's only one woman I want you to sleep with and she certainly is
not
in New York at the moment.  But this is so important.  Not just to me, not just to us: a war is being started with these lies.”

Sally's mind seemed to stiffen in response to her words.  Her long stifled emotions rebelled at the sight of the NOC officer recruiting a less than willing spy.  She had said many of these words before.

“I can't believe you're asking me to go through with this,” Tobias said.

“I'm not asking you,” Sally said. “Please don't make me ask you.  But the stakes are so high; so many lives depend on us—it's worth the sacrifice.  And it is a sacrifice.  It wouldn't be about lust or pleasure or even much about sex; it's just what needs to be done.”

Tobias was far from inexperienced, had indulged in more than his share of liaisons and one-night stands over the years.  Sex at times had been a diversion, a pastime without passion, closer to an agreeable exercise than the making of love.  But always, in those comfortably casual affairs, his partner had been equally casual, an accomplice in vice.  He'd been used—by wives seeking an excuse to divorce, girlfriends hoping to get caught, to force an end—but he'd never used.  And sex hadn't always been so casual.  Profligate as his life had sometimes seemed, sex had always been the only source of intimacy Tobias had.

“Really?” he said.  “So, if this shouldn't work and what I'm after goes back where it came from and next week
you
have a chance to fuck them away from some fella with access, you're perfectly okay with that?  Is that the sort of thing they get up to in the CIA?”

“Did you just call me a whore?” she said.

“No, I didn't,” he said.  “I asked you a question.”

“A few questions, all at once, it seems,” she said.  “To the question you did
not
directly ask: no, I never had occasion during my career to fuck some fella for god and country.”  Before Tobias could respond, she continued:  “But I would not have hesitated for a moment!  Not if the choice was between sex with someone I didn't like and the killing of hundreds of thousands, by nuke or by slower, more brutal war.  If those were the choices, I'd have had an extra glass of wine and shown the bastard a hell of a good time—and all through it I would have had images running through my mind of babies in their mother's arms, saved from being spitted on bayonets!”

Silence thrust itself between them.  As her agitated breathing slowed, Sally suddenly wondered if Lucy had heard what she'd shouted into the phone, if she were in her room down the hall.

“I'm sorry,” she said.

“No, don't be, forget it,” he said.  “You're right: compared to the slaughter of coming war, my little scruples are petty in comparison.”  He took a breath and sat down heavily.

“They're not petty,” she said tenderly.

“Babies on bayonets?” he asked and forced a laugh.

“Well?” she replied.

“Not really an image likely to entice my, uh, little partner up for some casual action,” he said.

“Your little partner?” she asked.  “Oh!  No, I suppose not,” she said and laughed.  After they'd both laughed for a moment, she said, “I'm sorry.  I know this isn't the life you set out to lead.”

“Don't be,” he said.  “I just, hell, I don't think I can do it, Sally.  Maybe it won't matter: maybe if she shows up and demands a little rumpy and my man servant doesn't rise to the call, I could tell her it's a medical thing.  Tell her it doesn't happen every time, that next time it'll work.  Play as if we were beginning a relationship.  I suppose she'd settle for other sorts of activities.”

“Activities I won't want to think about when you first kiss me after getting home?” Sally said.

“I just hope she has the courtesy to wash up down there before she comes over,” he mumbled.  “So, anyway, speaking of when I get back, I was thinking that it isn't all that likely people in your social circle would visit my old neighborhood, and there's a great Cuban joint there now.  Beats driving out of state every time we want to see each other.”

“I'd love to,” she said.  “You can show me the old neighborhood!  And I've come to the conclusion that keeping this a secret,” she said, deliberately not defining 'this,' “simply isn't possible.  Not without a hell of a lot more work and it isn't worth it.  I'm sure half of DC thinks Joe is shamelessly carrying on with his secretary.  And what business is it of theirs anyway?”

The next morning, Tobias tried for another steam-room rendezvous with the Russian ambassador but he never showed.  Back at the UN, Tobias caught sight of Ms Dupree only once.  She seemed to deliberately avoid looking in his direction, dropping her eyes to the floor if she happened to turn toward him.  Before she stepped out of sight, however, she stole a glance, blushed enough to show through her makeup, and smiled shyly.

That afternoon, Tobias caught up to her, or more accurately, she caught up with him.  He'd cornered one of the INR guys from State and asked him about the difficulties his office had had with certain appointed Under Secretaries, conducting the conversation as if following up on what he'd learned from Gerald Hicman.  Ms Dupree stole him away with come-hither glances, standing concealed nearly within a potted geranium.  She said she had an hour or two to herself and asked if he'd like to have a drink.

They sat huddled over a tiny elevated bar table in a rather dark bistro in midtown.  Though Tobias learned her first name was Marion, Marion breezed past his casual inquiries about where she was from and gone to school.  She wanted to know all about his work, how he went about discovering stories and getting people to talk, how to investigate and to put two and two together in the murky, misleading currents of American politics.  Their drink had made her more voluble but it seemed his stories intoxicated her more: whether a hair-raising account of his war correspondent days in Colombia or deducing whose arm was twisted by which lobby, Marion grew more rapt in her attention and more obvious in her awe.  Her manner was half that of a student shamelessly occupying a professor's office hours and half that of a fan begging for stories of sports glory.

Amid the tales of his professional success, Marion always returned to Tobias's reputation for romantic escapade.  At first shyly and, after another drink, more boldly, Marion at first seemed concerned that his reputation was too well earned, and later that it was exaggerated.  Tobias, still uncertain as to whether he could go through with any erotic persuasion, willingly turned the conversation back to his craft.  He selected stories in which a tip from someone inside government had led to a story of some importance, trying to frame the act of leaking as heroically as possible.  She took the hint in her stride.

“I guess you're somewhat anxious to know about those documents,” she said and pondered her drink.

“Preoccupied,” he said, stilling her fidgeting fingers by touching her hand.  When she looked up at him, a note of unease clouded her heretofore beaming features, and Tobias thought: crap, she thinks I'm playing at romance to get the Niger docs.  Which, truthfully, I am but it doesn't help if she knows.  Have to play in the other direction.  “I'm sorry,” he said.  “Deadlines, you know how it is.  I need to write it soon or my paper will recall me.  I'll probably wind up simply focusing on the IAEA's concerns, do without a look at the Niger docs myself.  It's too bad, the story would have been better with them, but I'm running out of time.”  He grinned wearily and sighed.  “I'll be buried somewhere in the middle of the paper again, I guess.”