worrying. They know absolutely nothing. Of that we are certain.”
“How can you be sure?”
“If they contact you, just give them a few happy remembrances, how much she’ll be missed, what a great person she was, and hang up. That’s all you have to do. It shouldn’t be difficult. Just a little white lie. Think of it as campaigning,” he said.
“You said there was still a problem. Some loose ends. Plural,” said Grimes.
“Yes, well, leave that to me. Forget I mentioned it.” He didn’t want to load her up with too many worries at one time. There was no purpose in telling her they had failed to bag Alex Ives, or that Ives and his boss were the ones digging for dirt, and that she might be hiding in the hole where they were shoveling.
The Washington Gravesite was stepped around gingerly like a poisonous serpent by any shrewd politician in the Capitol. It had a bite that was toxic and it seemed to be growing another rattle every year. Grimes didn’t need to know about Ives or the story he was working on. If she had known, she would have panicked. That and the girl. Ives, no doubt, would by now have told his lawyers about the little Asian beauty. They definitely had some mopping up to do.
“How serious is it?” she asked.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. You just take care of the items on your agenda. You have two up this week. Make sure the votes go the right way.”
A pained expression crossed Grimes’s face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a problem with the appropriation on the Siderail Software deal,” she said.
“What kind of problem?”
“I need one more vote. I was counting on Mendez. Senator from Arizona.”
“I know who Mendez is.”
“He won’t return my calls,” she said. “He’s avoiding me. His assistant says he has problems with the item, something about a manufacturer back in his state who wants a piece of the contract. Mendez won’t vote for it unless he gets a guarantee.”
“It’s too late for that,” said the man. “We need that bill.”
“Without Mendez I can’t get the item out of committee.”
“Don’t worry about Mendez. When the vote comes up he’ll be on board. But you should have called me. I can’t help you unless I know,” he said.
“How are you going to do that?”
“Leave it to me.”
Before he could say anything more, a man came into view walking quickly toward them. He was carrying a brown bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of Coke in the other. In his twenties, he had on a dark pair of slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. His collar was open. He had that hurried look, one of the sea of civil servants punching the clock for lunch. He plunked himself down on the other end of the bench and started opening the brown bag.
The man in the three-piece looked over at him and said, “Do you mind? This is a private conversation.”
The younger man was good-sized. He appeared fit. And apparently this was not his day to take shit. “You want privacy, find an office!” he said.
“I’d prefer you find another bench.” The man in the suit twisted the handle on his cane just enough to release the bayonet thread so that the razor-sharp blade slid a few inches out from the cane. He could have shown him the SIG Sauer nine-millimeter under his coat, but why go nuclear in a quiet park?
The man with the brown bag looked at the glint on the blade and swallowed. “No problem.” He didn’t even look up at Grimes. Instead he got up, grabbed his Coke, and walked quickly down the path away from them.
“Does that make you feel big?” she asked.
“I don’t have a problem with it. Oh, I forgot. That’s right, you don’t like weapons. I apologize,” he said. He gave her a sinister grin. “I forgot your crusade. That you authored all those bills to outlaw, what was it, assault rifles and large clips? And you worked behind the scenes so quietly to sell all that used US military brass to the Chinese, mountains of it,
“How can you be sure?”
“If they contact you, just give them a few happy remembrances, how much she’ll be missed, what a great person she was, and hang up. That’s all you have to do. It shouldn’t be difficult. Just a little white lie. Think of it as campaigning,” he said.
“You said there was still a problem. Some loose ends. Plural,” said Grimes.
“Yes, well, leave that to me. Forget I mentioned it.” He didn’t want to load her up with too many worries at one time. There was no purpose in telling her they had failed to bag Alex Ives, or that Ives and his boss were the ones digging for dirt, and that she might be hiding in the hole where they were shoveling.
The Washington Gravesite was stepped around gingerly like a poisonous serpent by any shrewd politician in the Capitol. It had a bite that was toxic and it seemed to be growing another rattle every year. Grimes didn’t need to know about Ives or the story he was working on. If she had known, she would have panicked. That and the girl. Ives, no doubt, would by now have told his lawyers about the little Asian beauty. They definitely had some mopping up to do.
“How serious is it?” she asked.
“It’s nothing for you to worry about. You just take care of the items on your agenda. You have two up this week. Make sure the votes go the right way.”
A pained expression crossed Grimes’s face.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he asked.
“There’s a problem with the appropriation on the Siderail Software deal,” she said.
“What kind of problem?”
“I need one more vote. I was counting on Mendez. Senator from Arizona.”
“I know who Mendez is.”
“He won’t return my calls,” she said. “He’s avoiding me. His assistant says he has problems with the item, something about a manufacturer back in his state who wants a piece of the contract. Mendez won’t vote for it unless he gets a guarantee.”
“It’s too late for that,” said the man. “We need that bill.”
“Without Mendez I can’t get the item out of committee.”
“Don’t worry about Mendez. When the vote comes up he’ll be on board. But you should have called me. I can’t help you unless I know,” he said.
“How are you going to do that?”
“Leave it to me.”
Before he could say anything more, a man came into view walking quickly toward them. He was carrying a brown bag in one hand and a plastic bottle of Coke in the other. In his twenties, he had on a dark pair of slacks, a white shirt, and a tie. His collar was open. He had that hurried look, one of the sea of civil servants punching the clock for lunch. He plunked himself down on the other end of the bench and started opening the brown bag.
The man in the three-piece looked over at him and said, “Do you mind? This is a private conversation.”
The younger man was good-sized. He appeared fit. And apparently this was not his day to take shit. “You want privacy, find an office!” he said.
“I’d prefer you find another bench.” The man in the suit twisted the handle on his cane just enough to release the bayonet thread so that the razor-sharp blade slid a few inches out from the cane. He could have shown him the SIG Sauer nine-millimeter under his coat, but why go nuclear in a quiet park?
The man with the brown bag looked at the glint on the blade and swallowed. “No problem.” He didn’t even look up at Grimes. Instead he got up, grabbed his Coke, and walked quickly down the path away from them.
“Does that make you feel big?” she asked.
“I don’t have a problem with it. Oh, I forgot. That’s right, you don’t like weapons. I apologize,” he said. He gave her a sinister grin. “I forgot your crusade. That you authored all those bills to outlaw, what was it, assault rifles and large clips? And you worked behind the scenes so quietly to sell all that used US military brass to the Chinese, mountains of it,
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