Rodgers looked around. 'First of all, how did you know where I was?' the general asked. He was trying to spot the nearest surveillance camera or a tail.
'General, there was nothing conspiratorial.' Stone laughed. 'The desk supervisor said you went this way. I knew what you were wearing and got lucky.'
Rodgers did not buy that. One of the hundreds of people surrounding them could have been watching him. Perhaps someone in a hotel window.
'So what is it you wanted?' Stone pressed.
Rodgers regarded the younger man. He looked at his posture, at his expression, at his hands. 'I spoke with Detective Howell of the Metro Police in D.C.,' Rodgers informed him. 'He told me he is being blackmailed by someone in your camp. I want to know who and why.'
'That's ridiculous,' Stone said. 'The detective bungled an investigation. He needed someone to blame. He picked us. Maybe someone is putting him up to it; maybe he has a personal vendetta. All I can tell you is that he is wasting our time. Now, if that is all you need to know '
'No, there's more. I want to know what the end game is.'
'To elect a president,' Stone replied. He frowned and looked around.
'Where is Kat, by the way? Did you see her?'
'I saw her.'
'She's supposed to be with reporters, talking about the campaign.'
'She's taking some personal time,' Rodgers said. He moved closer.
'Talk to me, dammit.'
'I am.'
'No. You're playing. There's smug in your smile, in your eyes, but you're still lying to me.'
'Excuse me?'
'Tension displacement. When you're wound tight, it has to come out somewhere. Your fingertips are white. You're squeezing that walkie-talkie like it's a rubber stress ball. The pressure of all those steaks, is that what it is?'
'Yes, General. Look, I'll have to talk to you some other time '
'You will talk now,' Rodgers said.
'What you're doing makes no sense, do you realize that?' Stone protested. 'Think about it. If I were guilty of a terrible crime, would I stand here and confess to you? Do you think you're that good a bully?'
'I can be,' Rodgers said.
'Security would have your face pressed to the asphalt in about ten seconds,' Stone assured him. 'And I would have you incarcerated for assault, with no sad sack detective to bail you out.'
Rodgers's gaze sharpened. 'How did you know that?'
'What?'
'That Howell let the McCaskeys go.'
'I didn't,' Stone said.
It hit Rodgers a moment before he heard it. Voices were shouting from the walkie-talkie, inarticulate in their shrill and overlapping communiques.
Stone raised the unit. 'This is Stone. What's going on?'
'Something happened,' someone said.
