City’s trying to make a name for himself. Hates gambling. Blames everything that happens on the casinos. You think he wouldn’t give his left nut to see me hanging from that flagpole on top of the Golden Touch? He’d trade Matty Figueriano for me in a heartbeat.”
The Washington man nodded and turned back to the window. A minute later he said, “Thought about how you’d defend yourself, Frank?”
Gallardi went over to the man, who was several inches taller than he, and spun him around. The blood vessels in Gallardi’s neck bulged as he spoke. “Listen to me! I saved your ass that night! Put my own reputation on the line! You keep me out of this like you said you’d do, and I don’t care how you do it. But you better hope nobody comes to me about this.”
“How do you expect me to deal with it now, Frank? I’m too visible and you know it.”
“That’s your problem. My name comes up in this, the chips fall where they fall. I warned you six years ago. You remember that, don’t you?” Gallardi was an inch from Jag’s nose now, his prominent chest bumping the visitor’s.
Jag studied Frank for a moment and then put his hands on the casino man’s shoulders and forced a smile. “Frank, you’re tough as ever. I like that.”
Gallardi pushed him away, in no mood to be mollified. “You’ll do well to remember that!”
The man nodded. “Forget it, Frank. Don’t worry. You knew I’d take care of it.”
* * *
Jag scrolled down his list of contacts and selected a number as his driver navigated the SUV through D.C. traffic.
The line answered after one ring. “What’re you doin’ out so late?”
“Little problem has come up. Meet in 30 minutes.”
CHAPTER 3
Ana Koronis thought it must be the fiftieth time she rolled into a new sleeping position that night, and it had been like that for the last month. Today was Sunday and she had planned to sleep in, but the combination of sleeplessness and the impending end of her relationship with Austin Quinn seemed to pull her down more each day. Her productivity at the law firm was lagging and one of her partners had brought it up at lunch on Friday. “Not yourself these days, Ana.” He had ignored her denial. “Why don’t you take some time off and get it together?”
It was more than a casual comment: Her personal life was impacting the law firm. The partner’s admonition had edged her over the threshold and now she was waiting for the right time to talk to Quinn. Couldn’t just let him come home to his place in Georgetown one day and find she had moved back across the river to her own townhouse in Alexandria, even though he too had to know it was over. He wasn’t blind.
She was dozing again when Quinn’s official line rang. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock said it was ten past five. Had to be Langley, as she was sure no one except his lieutenants at CIA had this number. Quinn fumbled for the speakerphone button in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Director Quinn?”
“Yes.”
“Hold for Mr. Lloyd Tracey.”
The White House! Tracey was President Garrison Cross’s chief of staff and Ana was curious. Her handling of legal matters for the State Department often gave her the kinds of official details she was interested in, but since moving in with Quinn, the amount of knowledge she had accumulated tripled. It had taken Quinn a long time to begin confiding in her about operational goings on at the CIA, but then, as if his trust in her suddenly bloomed, he opened up. Ana knew Quinn enjoyed dealing out intriguing details of some ongoing clandestine operation like cards in a poker hand, causing her to sweat them one at a time. Ana would remember every nuance until she could get back to her office the next morning and dictate it all into a flash drive. She stored the drive in a small floor safe under her desk, to which only she had the combination. But Quinn had not been saying much in recent weeks, and it was clear she had gotten about all the
The Washington man nodded and turned back to the window. A minute later he said, “Thought about how you’d defend yourself, Frank?”
Gallardi went over to the man, who was several inches taller than he, and spun him around. The blood vessels in Gallardi’s neck bulged as he spoke. “Listen to me! I saved your ass that night! Put my own reputation on the line! You keep me out of this like you said you’d do, and I don’t care how you do it. But you better hope nobody comes to me about this.”
“How do you expect me to deal with it now, Frank? I’m too visible and you know it.”
“That’s your problem. My name comes up in this, the chips fall where they fall. I warned you six years ago. You remember that, don’t you?” Gallardi was an inch from Jag’s nose now, his prominent chest bumping the visitor’s.
Jag studied Frank for a moment and then put his hands on the casino man’s shoulders and forced a smile. “Frank, you’re tough as ever. I like that.”
Gallardi pushed him away, in no mood to be mollified. “You’ll do well to remember that!”
The man nodded. “Forget it, Frank. Don’t worry. You knew I’d take care of it.”
* * *
Jag scrolled down his list of contacts and selected a number as his driver navigated the SUV through D.C. traffic.
The line answered after one ring. “What’re you doin’ out so late?”
“Little problem has come up. Meet in 30 minutes.”
CHAPTER 3
Ana Koronis thought it must be the fiftieth time she rolled into a new sleeping position that night, and it had been like that for the last month. Today was Sunday and she had planned to sleep in, but the combination of sleeplessness and the impending end of her relationship with Austin Quinn seemed to pull her down more each day. Her productivity at the law firm was lagging and one of her partners had brought it up at lunch on Friday. “Not yourself these days, Ana.” He had ignored her denial. “Why don’t you take some time off and get it together?”
It was more than a casual comment: Her personal life was impacting the law firm. The partner’s admonition had edged her over the threshold and now she was waiting for the right time to talk to Quinn. Couldn’t just let him come home to his place in Georgetown one day and find she had moved back across the river to her own townhouse in Alexandria, even though he too had to know it was over. He wasn’t blind.
She was dozing again when Quinn’s official line rang. The glowing red numbers on the digital clock said it was ten past five. Had to be Langley, as she was sure no one except his lieutenants at CIA had this number. Quinn fumbled for the speakerphone button in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“Director Quinn?”
“Yes.”
“Hold for Mr. Lloyd Tracey.”
The White House! Tracey was President Garrison Cross’s chief of staff and Ana was curious. Her handling of legal matters for the State Department often gave her the kinds of official details she was interested in, but since moving in with Quinn, the amount of knowledge she had accumulated tripled. It had taken Quinn a long time to begin confiding in her about operational goings on at the CIA, but then, as if his trust in her suddenly bloomed, he opened up. Ana knew Quinn enjoyed dealing out intriguing details of some ongoing clandestine operation like cards in a poker hand, causing her to sweat them one at a time. Ana would remember every nuance until she could get back to her office the next morning and dictate it all into a flash drive. She stored the drive in a small floor safe under her desk, to which only she had the combination. But Quinn had not been saying much in recent weeks, and it was clear she had gotten about all the
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