On the Fifth Day by A. J. Hartley Page A
Authors: A. J. Hartley
Tags: Fiction, thriller, Thrillers, Fiction - Espionage, American Contemporary Fiction - Individual Authors +
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damned well don't," said the senator, with a steely glare at his chief of staff. "I knew Ed Knight, and his death is a great loss to this community. That those Washington numb
skulls would desecrate his memory by turning him into some kind of leftist paramilitary because he happened to die in the wrong place is worse than insulting. It's incompetent and stu
pid and . . ." he sought for a suitable term, "blasphemous."
Hayes opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. His eyes darted to Thomas, who was getting slowly to his feet feeling as if he'd strayed into a family quarrel.
"Don't argue, Hayes," he said, raising a hand with absolute authority. He filled the room like a general astride the turret of his tank.
"Mr. Knight," said the senator, turning those bright, intense eyes on Thomas, "you have my word as an American that we'll clear your brother's name and get these idiots back to doing their job properly."
Thomas found himself smiling, inexplicably, swelling a lit
tle with something like pride, knowing even as he did so that the feeling was absurd and unreliable. But he thanked the sen
ator anyway, unable to stop himself from feeling privileged to be in his presence, awed by the scale of the man even as he knew they agreed on almost nothing.
"Sit," he said. "We'll have a drink. Senate's not in session, right? Must be, or I'd be back in D.C. resisting the impulse to take a swing at the esteemed senator from Massachusetts."
He grinned wolfishly.
"You can fill me in on your story," he said.
Thomas did so. The senator, like Hayes, said nothing, but watched him carefully, snorting and scowling at the right mo
ments, giving his secretary the nod as Thomas drew to a close. Hayes ducked out of the room.
"A good man," he nodded to Hayes's back as the door shut 45
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
behind him. "Conservative with a small c, perhaps, and what I call a trust-fund Republican with a tendency to be a little holier-than-thou, but I'll make a fighter of him yet."
"Whereas you are conservative with a capital C ?" said Thomas, mustering a little of his familiar archness.
"There isn't a letter big enough," said the senator, and the grin broadened till it split his colossal face and showed his bright, even teeth. "You're not, I take it?"
"No," said Thomas.
"Well, that's too bad. But I respect your right to believe whatever dumbass liberal crap you like. Hell, I'll fight to the death anyone who says otherwise. That's a hell of a story you have there, Mr. Knight. This guy who thumped you: you think he was searching for something?"
"I do," said Thomas, "but I've no idea what."
The senator frowned so that his forehead tightened by two inches, and nodded.
"Hayes! HAYES!" he roared suddenly. "Where did you go, Kentucky?"
Hayes reappeared at the door with a tray carrying three tumblers of Waterford crystal, two rocks and two fingers of Makers Mark in each.
"Bourbon okay?" said the senator, thrusting the glass into Thomas's hand.
"Sure," said Thomas, wondering what would happen if he said no.
"To your brother," he said, raising his glass a fraction. "A good man and a good priest. And that's coming from a hellfire Southern Baptist: spiritually speaking, of course."
He knocked the whisky back in one and banged the glass down on the mirror-polished mahogany desk. Hayes raised his glass for the toast, such as it was, but he didn't actually drink.
"So did Rod here give you anything useful to go on, or did he fob you off with a bunch of bureaucratic doublespeak?"
Thomas smiled a little and his eyes met those of Hayes, who returned the smile with what looked like familiar patience. 46
A. J. Hartley
"Oh, he was very helpful, thanks," said Thomas, "and told me to leave my contact information in case . . ."
"Bureaucratic crap," snapped Devlin, glowering at his chief of staff, who was nursing his untouched drink with his feet together like a maitre d' poised to sweep away their empty soup bowls. "I don't know what the hell
skulls would desecrate his memory by turning him into some kind of leftist paramilitary because he happened to die in the wrong place is worse than insulting. It's incompetent and stu
pid and . . ." he sought for a suitable term, "blasphemous."
Hayes opened his mouth to speak but said nothing. His eyes darted to Thomas, who was getting slowly to his feet feeling as if he'd strayed into a family quarrel.
"Don't argue, Hayes," he said, raising a hand with absolute authority. He filled the room like a general astride the turret of his tank.
"Mr. Knight," said the senator, turning those bright, intense eyes on Thomas, "you have my word as an American that we'll clear your brother's name and get these idiots back to doing their job properly."
Thomas found himself smiling, inexplicably, swelling a lit
tle with something like pride, knowing even as he did so that the feeling was absurd and unreliable. But he thanked the sen
ator anyway, unable to stop himself from feeling privileged to be in his presence, awed by the scale of the man even as he knew they agreed on almost nothing.
"Sit," he said. "We'll have a drink. Senate's not in session, right? Must be, or I'd be back in D.C. resisting the impulse to take a swing at the esteemed senator from Massachusetts."
He grinned wolfishly.
"You can fill me in on your story," he said.
Thomas did so. The senator, like Hayes, said nothing, but watched him carefully, snorting and scowling at the right mo
ments, giving his secretary the nod as Thomas drew to a close. Hayes ducked out of the room.
"A good man," he nodded to Hayes's back as the door shut 45
O n t h e F i f t h D a y
behind him. "Conservative with a small c, perhaps, and what I call a trust-fund Republican with a tendency to be a little holier-than-thou, but I'll make a fighter of him yet."
"Whereas you are conservative with a capital C ?" said Thomas, mustering a little of his familiar archness.
"There isn't a letter big enough," said the senator, and the grin broadened till it split his colossal face and showed his bright, even teeth. "You're not, I take it?"
"No," said Thomas.
"Well, that's too bad. But I respect your right to believe whatever dumbass liberal crap you like. Hell, I'll fight to the death anyone who says otherwise. That's a hell of a story you have there, Mr. Knight. This guy who thumped you: you think he was searching for something?"
"I do," said Thomas, "but I've no idea what."
The senator frowned so that his forehead tightened by two inches, and nodded.
"Hayes! HAYES!" he roared suddenly. "Where did you go, Kentucky?"
Hayes reappeared at the door with a tray carrying three tumblers of Waterford crystal, two rocks and two fingers of Makers Mark in each.
"Bourbon okay?" said the senator, thrusting the glass into Thomas's hand.
"Sure," said Thomas, wondering what would happen if he said no.
"To your brother," he said, raising his glass a fraction. "A good man and a good priest. And that's coming from a hellfire Southern Baptist: spiritually speaking, of course."
He knocked the whisky back in one and banged the glass down on the mirror-polished mahogany desk. Hayes raised his glass for the toast, such as it was, but he didn't actually drink.
"So did Rod here give you anything useful to go on, or did he fob you off with a bunch of bureaucratic doublespeak?"
Thomas smiled a little and his eyes met those of Hayes, who returned the smile with what looked like familiar patience. 46
A. J. Hartley
"Oh, he was very helpful, thanks," said Thomas, "and told me to leave my contact information in case . . ."
"Bureaucratic crap," snapped Devlin, glowering at his chief of staff, who was nursing his untouched drink with his feet together like a maitre d' poised to sweep away their empty soup bowls. "I don't know what the hell
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