According to his telephone conversation with Harry Sinclair, if Clayton could convince Irene Rivers to travel to Washington in secret, and Peter Frankel to come to the Smithville for another afternoon rendezvous, then all this pedophile bullshit would go away. It wasn’t Sinclair’s way to be specific in such things, any more than Clayton would have welcomed specifics over the telephone.
He moved to sit near the archway, as close as possible to the entrance. From there, he could see for himself who came and who left the restaurant, but Eddie Bartholomew wouldn’t hear of it. “Please,” he said as he led the senator toward a spacious table for four in the rear corner of the room. “You’ll be very comfortable over here.”
Albricht considered arguing but didn’t bother. Eddie seemed wrapped pretty tight this afternoon. A man who was none too stable on a good day, it was best not to push him.
Barely five minutes passed before he heard the heavy front door open and shut, and among the muddled conversation out in the hallway, he heard the unmistakable arrogance of Peter Frankel.
Jake listened to it all from the top of the stairs, where he sat crouched out of sight. If he wanted to, he could crane his neck far enough to catch a glance at people’s legs as they arrived, but what was the point? He’d see them all, soon enough, from head to toe.
He felt like a kid with a secret-ready to bust if he didn’t share it soon.
When Frankel entered the foyer, Jake’s blood pressure topped the scale. Just breathing the same air as that son of a bitch was nearly more than he could tolerate.
And Eddie Bartholomew was just as cordial as could be. They exchanged pleasantries at the lectern, and as Frankel handed over his firearm, Jake could hear the famous television smile in his voice.
Just a few more minutes, Jake told himself, and I’ll shove that smile out your ass.
“You sure this is it?” Paul asked incredulously as he backed into the narrow alleyway. “There’s no sign or anything.”
Irene checked her notes one more time. “It’s the right address.”
He shook his head. “I gotta tell you, boss. This one doesn’t feel good to me.”
She shrugged, even though she shared the sentiment. “Well, we’re here. If it’s the wrong place, then I won’t be gone long at all.” She opened the car door.
“I’ll be here if you need me,” he said.
She sensed danger as she climbed the front steps to the town house, and she found herself noticing every detail of her surroundings. The steel staples in the marble steps; the boot scraper on the stoop. Someone had spent serious bucks on this place. She waited patiently after pushing the doorbell, even though she never heard anything ring on the other side. To make it easy on whoever was watching the security monitor, she stared directly into the camera lens. She fought the urge to rest her hand on her pistol grip, figuring that this kind of security bespoke a certain paranoia on the other side. The last thing she wanted to do was make people more nervous than they might otherwise be.
Finally, the door buzzed, and she pushed it open. Eddie was waiting for her, smile already in place. “Ms. Rivers?”
She nodded. “Agent Rivers, yes. I’m here to meet someone.”
Eddie beckoned her inside. “Senator Albricht, of course. We’ve been expecting you, ma’am. You’ve heard of our unique security precautions?”
Another nod. She hesitantly produced her S amp;W from the waistband of her skirt and placed it on the lectern.
Eddie swept her body quickly with the metal detector, then ushered her forward with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Please go on in. The others are waiting for you.”
Others? she thought. As in, more than one?
The senator sat facing the door, and as soon as she entered the room, his face beamed. “Welcome, welcome,” he said, rising from his chair.
They’d never met, but she recognized him from the news. It was the other man-the one with his back turned-who looked remarkably familiar. As Frankel turned in his seat to greet the new arrival, his face mirrored the shock Irene felt in her belly.
“What the hell are you doing here?” they both said in unison.
Jake sat on the stairs now, waiting for the right moment to come down. The sudden explosion of voices startled him at first, then brought a smile as he imagined what must be going through everyone’s mind.
If they thought they were surprised now, they need only wait half a minute.
He took a huge breath and concentrated on his nerves. He had to remain calm through this. Finally, he had the audience he’d dreamed of, and at last, he knew what had to be said. Now all it would take was a little salesmanship. After fourteen years on the run-after all the days and nights of worry and of lies-it all came down to this.
A single roll of the dice.
His mind shot back to his last big gamble, where his hunch had turned on him and cost him so much. This one was it; his very last shot.
Jake stood tall, and paused long enough to straighten out his filthy clothes before descending the stairs. Eddie was waiting for him at the bottom. “Are you ready?”
“No,” Jake snorted, but Eddie started walking, anyway, escorting his next guest into the dining room. Once moving, they never stopped. Jake strolled on into the lions’ den, just as if he were any other diner.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Conversation stopped dead as Jake entered the room. Irene recognized him first. “Oh, my God,” she breathed.
Her reaction drew Frankel’s head around, and he reacted explosively. “Donovan!” He leapt from his seat and instinctively reached for the weapon he’d been forced to surrender at the door, but Eddie moved in quickly to dispel any notions his guest might have had about picking a fight.
The senator just stared, his face forming a giant O.
“What’s he doing here?” Frankel demanded. He turned to Albricht. “What the hell kind of game do you think you’re playing?”
The senator shrugged, clearly befuddled yet mildly amused. “I have no idea. Agent Rivers?”
Irene eyed Jake cautiously, then suppressed a knowing smirk of her own. So Jake was going right to the top. “Not a clue,” she lied.
Eddie placed a beefy hand on Frankel’s shoulder. “Please take your seat, sir,” he said.
Frankel tried to shake the arm off, but it was like shedding steel. He sat. With a nod from Jake, Eddie backed out of the room, leaving the group alone to discuss whatever was on their minds. Jake pulled a chair around to the end of the table so he could face everyone at once.
“Thank you all for coming,” he said.
“Look, Donovan,” Frankel seethed. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but I’m not-”
“Relax, Peter,” Jake said easily. “I’m just here to turn myself in to Agent Rivers. I’m just not up to the chase anymore.”
Frankel fell silent, his mouth open, frozen in midsentence.
Jake smiled serenely at Irene. “But first, I thought I’d make my official statement.”
“I think not,” Frankel blustered. “This is neither the time nor the place-”
“Shut up, Peter,” Albricht commanded. “The man’s come a long way.”
“The hell I will!” Frankel boomed.
“It’s tough to have a big secret, isn’t it, Peter?” Jake taunted. “Especially when everyone’s about to hear it spilled.”
Frankel rose again from his chair. “Agent Rivers, keep an eye on this man while I-”
Jake rose, too, and shoved Frankel hard. He fell backward, his legs entangled in the chair, and ended up halfway under the table. “Sit down, Peter!”
Irene made a move to intervene but stopped herself. It just looked too good.
