attorney.
Chapter 10.
[1]
Ryan Clark entered the pool house just as United States Senator Benjamin Gage began the final lap of his morning workout. Clark was six feet tall, darkly handsome and very fit. When he moved, he exuded a quiet confidence that warned off muggers and attracted the attention of beautiful women, who found the jagged scar on Clark's right cheek fascinating. They always asked about it and Clark had invented a story that seemed to satisfy their curiosity.
The only time Benjamin Gage had ever mentioned the scar was at the end of Clark's interview for a job at StarData, Gage's high-tech company. The conversation had taken place eight years earlier when Clark was twenty- nine and Gage was thirty-eight. Clark was wearing a beard at the time and the scar was barely visible. The formal part of the interview, which had been conducted in Gage's office at company headquarters, was over and the two men had adjourned to a smart restaurant in Northwest Portland for dinner. Their booth was in the back. Gage was a frequent customer. When he dined at the restaurant it was understood that the booth next to his would be kept vacant. Gage paid a premium for this that he could easily afford.
'Where did you get the scar?' Gage had asked. His own face was unmarked and ruggedly handsome.
Clark had hesitated before answering. That was when Gage knew that the scar had something to do with the five years on Clark's resume that read 'Naval Intelligence--Administrative Responsibilities.'' When Gage had asked Clark to describe his administrative duties during the interview at the office, Clark had been creatively evasive and Gage had let it pass. He knew he would pursue the question at dinner.
Gage had leaned back against the wine-red leather. There was no one else around. Their corner of the restaurant was suitably dark. When he spoke, Gage looked directly into Clark's eyes. A few years later, during Gage's first successful run for Congress, this ability to look people in the eye had convinced voters of Gage's sincerity. Clark was not affected at all and he was able to keep eye contact long enough to make Gage blink first, something few people could accomplish.
'Look, Ryan, you're not interviewing to be a security guard. If I wanted a rent-a-cop, I'd call Pinkerton. I wouldn't conduct my job search through the chairman of the Senate Committee on Covert Operations. I need a man who can be counted on to do odds and ends that other people can't, or won't, do,' Gage had said, proving that he could be as creatively evasive as Clark. 'You want me to pay you six figures to do these odd jobs. I'm not going to pay that kind of money or trust someone with this type of work without knowing everything there is to know about the man I'm hiring. So tell me about the scar.'
There had been no more hesitation. Gage liked that. It meant Clark could make important decisions quickly. He also liked the fact that Clark did not touch the scar or do anything else to indicate that he even thought about it.
'This is a knife wound I received in a Mideast country. The man who stabbed me was lying next to two other bodies. I thought he was dead. When I leaned down to secure his weapon, he stabbed me.'
'Who were these men?'
'It was two men and a woman,' Clark had answered without emotion. 'They were terrorists who directed the suicide bombing of the American Embassy in Paris.'
'I remember the bombing, but I don't remember reading that the people behind it were caught.'
'You wouldn't have.'
'What happened to the man who stabbed you?'
'Another member of my team shot him.'
'I see. Tell me, Ryan, did this incident occur when you were a navy SEAL?'
'No.'
'Was this one of your 'administrative responsibilities' in Naval Intelligence?'
'I'm afraid I can't answer that question, Mr. Gage.'
'Not even if refusing to answer costs you the job?'
Clark had smiled. He knew he had the job. He knew Gage was trying to play with him. Gage had held his ground for a moment. Then he had returned the smile. Clark had been doing this and that for Gage ever since.
Moments after Clark was admitted to Gage's house, a servant placed a pitcher of fresh-squeezed orange juice, a pot of steaming coffee and a plate with two croissants on a table that stood on the tiled deck of Gage's twenty-five-meter lap pool. The lap pool was four lanes wide and heated. Entering the humid air of the pool house caused beads of sweat to form on the brow and upper lip of Senator Gage's administrative assistant. Clark sat down at the table and watched Gage make his final turn. Then he lost interest and glanced out through the wall of glass on the east side of the pool house. On most days, Clark would have seen the apple orchards, lush farmlands and green foothills that stood between Gage s twelve-thousand-square-foot home of glass and cedar and the snow- covered slopes of Mount Hood. But today the landscape was gray with mist and there was little to see.
Gage boosted himself out of the pool. He was forty-six years old, but he was only slightly slower in the pool than he had been in his days as a competitive swimmer. Some of the hair that covered Gage's lanky body was starting to silver.
Gage toweled himself dry, then crossed the pool deck and sat opposite Clark.
'Have you seen the latest polls?' he asked Clark angrily.
'Crease has fifty-one percent, you've got forty-four and the rest are undecided,' Clark answered calmly.
'That's right. Before the murder, we were dead even. Crease has gotten everyone's sympathy for losing a husband, and the press has made her out to be a female version of Rambo. I am sinking fast.'
Gage took a bite of his croissant. Clark waited patiently.
'Did you listen to Crease's press conference in Bend?'
'I missed it.'
'A reporter asked Crease how her husband's murder affected her. She stared him down for a second or so. Then she told him that she would be dead, too, if the gun control lobby had its way and that Hoyt would be alive if the tough crime measures she's advocating were law. After that, she looked into the camera for a few seconds more. Then she told all those voters that she couldn't bring her husband back, but she could dedicate the rest of her life to trying to prevent similar catastrophes from happening to them and to seeing that those who break the law regret it.'
Gage smiled without humor and shook his head in wonder. 'She is one heartless bitch and she has played Hoyt's murder like a violin virtuoso.'
Clark allowed himself a rare smile.
'She may be playing a different tune by next week,' he said.
'Oh?'
'Cedric Riker called me. He wanted to make certain that you knew before the press. He's going to the grand jury this morning. It looks like Fargo tipped the scales.'
Gage grinned broadly.
'That's that, then,' the senator said with satisfaction. 'Once the indictment comes down, she's dead.'
'That's how I see it.'
'Good work, Ryan. Very good work.'
[2]
Henry Orchard knocked loudly on Ellen Crease's hotel room door because he knew she would be sound asleep after an exhausting day of campaigning. Crease's campaign manager was a slovenly, overweight dynamo who was uninterested in anything but politics. Until minutes ago, Orchard had been a happy man. His candidate had exploded in the polls, breaking away from a dead heat to take a substantial lead over Benjamin Gage.
'Who is it?' Crease snapped. She sounded wideawake. Orchard was not surprised. Crease never seemed to tire and she needed little sleep. When she did sleep, she had a knack for waking up fully alert.
'It's Henry. Open up. Something's happened.'
Orchard heard Crease cross the room. Her door opened and he walked in. Orchard was unshaven and there were dark shadows along his fleshy jowls. The shirt he had thrown on was dotted with stains and his socks did not match. Crease was wearing a quilted bathrobe over a floor-length flannel nightgown. Only the bedside light was on in the room, but Orchard did not turn on any other lights. He spotted an armchair near the window and dropped into
