their top man, none better, tons of experience, she should have full confidence in him, how lucky he was available, just don’t forget about the strict secrecy.
After all that, she’d been expecting—she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. She knew that most real-life undercover men looked like the people they were mixing with, i.e. criminals or middle-level bureaucrats or whatever. On the other hand, Rines had made her expect some kind of cross between Sean Connery and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The circumstances surrounding the meeting had added to the impression. No, she wouldn’t meet the man in Washington, too many people who were too savvy to shrug things off. It wouldn’t do for her to be spotted. They didn’t want their man linked with Washington. She tried to tell him it was ridiculous, but Rines had countered with two things—one, she had promised to do what they asked or call the whole thing off; and two, a year and a half ago she had lunch at a diner in Arlington, Virginia, with Congressman Peter Vitkins (D—Mo.), and it had appeared in Time, Newsweek, Worldwatch, and six hundred newspapers, many of them owned by the Hudson Group. None of which she could deny.
“Where should we meet, then?” she asked.
“New York,” Rines said.
Regina had pointed out that there were numerous savvy people in New York, too. Rines had explained that they didn’t care if their man was linked with New York, and the reason became apparent when he explained the cover they were preparing. Their man would be a feature writer, and she would interview him over lunch and hire him to work on the Kirkester Chronicle. “Pay him the right amount to make it look good,” Rines advised.
So the rendezvous had been set, not at a diner but not in the lobby of the Plaza, either. She met him at a place called Dosanko on Forty-fifth Street between Lexington and Third Avenues, one of a chain of Japanese-style noodle houses. Fortunately, they let her use a fork. The second thing Trotter had said to her was, “Someday I’ll teach you how to use chopsticks. If three billion Asians can learn how to do it, so can you. I’m talking because you don’t seem to be in the mood.”
It wasn’t that so much as Regina’s not knowing what to say. After all the cloak-and-dagger, this mysterious Trotter had turned out to be a tall young man, bordering on the attractive, with dark hair and eyes. And he wore glasses. Real ones, too. Regina had made it a point to get a step behind him, stand on tiptoe, and look through the lenses. He needed them, all right. So much for fantasyland.
They met as arranged, and the editor-in-chief of the Kirkester Chronicle had put out a hand and said, “You don’t look anything like I expected you to,” at which point he passed her the first snappy remark.
She couldn’t hold it against him, though. All the lines were delivered with a smile that drained any possible venom from them. It was a very nice smile.
If she hadn’t been told that Trotter was experienced and highly skilled, and all the other euphemisms people like Fenton Rines liked to use for dangerous, the thought would never have crossed her mind. Since the notion had been planted, though, she could see how this boyish charm and easy manner could be the most dangerous thing about him.
Since she was supposed to be interviewing him, she decided to make it look good (something else Rines had urged her to do) and ask him a few questions, most of which he refused to answer. For instance, he wouldn’t tell her anything about his past, but he would tell her why.
“You just take the background in the resume for the truth. If that’s all you know, you can’t get details confused and let something slip.”
“But I know you never worked for the Baltimore Sun. ”
“It’ll check out,” he told her. “If anybody checks.”
“Why a feature writer?”
“If you made me city editor, I’d be tied to a desk. If I were a regular reporter, I’d have
After all that, she’d been expecting—she wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting. She knew that most real-life undercover men looked like the people they were mixing with, i.e. criminals or middle-level bureaucrats or whatever. On the other hand, Rines had made her expect some kind of cross between Sean Connery and Arnold Schwarzenegger.
The circumstances surrounding the meeting had added to the impression. No, she wouldn’t meet the man in Washington, too many people who were too savvy to shrug things off. It wouldn’t do for her to be spotted. They didn’t want their man linked with Washington. She tried to tell him it was ridiculous, but Rines had countered with two things—one, she had promised to do what they asked or call the whole thing off; and two, a year and a half ago she had lunch at a diner in Arlington, Virginia, with Congressman Peter Vitkins (D—Mo.), and it had appeared in Time, Newsweek, Worldwatch, and six hundred newspapers, many of them owned by the Hudson Group. None of which she could deny.
“Where should we meet, then?” she asked.
“New York,” Rines said.
Regina had pointed out that there were numerous savvy people in New York, too. Rines had explained that they didn’t care if their man was linked with New York, and the reason became apparent when he explained the cover they were preparing. Their man would be a feature writer, and she would interview him over lunch and hire him to work on the Kirkester Chronicle. “Pay him the right amount to make it look good,” Rines advised.
So the rendezvous had been set, not at a diner but not in the lobby of the Plaza, either. She met him at a place called Dosanko on Forty-fifth Street between Lexington and Third Avenues, one of a chain of Japanese-style noodle houses. Fortunately, they let her use a fork. The second thing Trotter had said to her was, “Someday I’ll teach you how to use chopsticks. If three billion Asians can learn how to do it, so can you. I’m talking because you don’t seem to be in the mood.”
It wasn’t that so much as Regina’s not knowing what to say. After all the cloak-and-dagger, this mysterious Trotter had turned out to be a tall young man, bordering on the attractive, with dark hair and eyes. And he wore glasses. Real ones, too. Regina had made it a point to get a step behind him, stand on tiptoe, and look through the lenses. He needed them, all right. So much for fantasyland.
They met as arranged, and the editor-in-chief of the Kirkester Chronicle had put out a hand and said, “You don’t look anything like I expected you to,” at which point he passed her the first snappy remark.
She couldn’t hold it against him, though. All the lines were delivered with a smile that drained any possible venom from them. It was a very nice smile.
If she hadn’t been told that Trotter was experienced and highly skilled, and all the other euphemisms people like Fenton Rines liked to use for dangerous, the thought would never have crossed her mind. Since the notion had been planted, though, she could see how this boyish charm and easy manner could be the most dangerous thing about him.
Since she was supposed to be interviewing him, she decided to make it look good (something else Rines had urged her to do) and ask him a few questions, most of which he refused to answer. For instance, he wouldn’t tell her anything about his past, but he would tell her why.
“You just take the background in the resume for the truth. If that’s all you know, you can’t get details confused and let something slip.”
“But I know you never worked for the Baltimore Sun. ”
“It’ll check out,” he told her. “If anybody checks.”
“Why a feature writer?”
“If you made me city editor, I’d be tied to a desk. If I were a regular reporter, I’d have
Similar Books
