back to the laptop, she accessed the flash drives the CIA had given her and poured through the files that Maurice Fajardie had provided. It was tedious stuff, poorly organized and repetitive. It added nothing to what he had presented to her in person. But she plodded through it.
Roland Violette came off as the loosest of cannons. She read copies of his most recent correspondence to the CIA, frequently struggling with Violette’s drifting handwriting – and his reasoning, which drifted even more obliquely.The cold war ended in 1986, but the true struggle lies before us …The socio-economic exploitation of the population of Central and South America has exceeded anything Karl Marx could have imagined …I love America and its ideals very deeply …
And, almost inexplicably,Even if greedy America were knocked out of the game by heroic Islamic fundamentalism, the price of fish in Lima, Peru, would hardly be altered.
The latter was the opening salvo in a wandering five-thousand-word essay that tortured Alex’s ability to read.
After more than an hour, she had read enough and seen enough to understand the assignment. She went to her cell phone and called her friend Ben, who lived just a few blocks away.
The phone rang once, twice -
“Well, I can leave him a message,” she thought to herself. “He’s probably at the gym playing basketball. Or maybe he’s with his girlfriend.”
Three rings. A fourth.
“Maybe we could chat later when – “
Then Ben picked up.
“Hey,” she said, almost in surprise.
A pause, then,
“Really,” she said. “Your favorite head case. The one and only.”
“What the – ! What a nice surprise!” He paused a little awkwardly. “How are things?”
“Oh, they’re okay,” she said. “Hey, listen …”
“Yeah?”
“I’m in Washington.”
“You’re what?
“I’m in town,” she said, rallying. “Passing through. One overnight and – “
“And you didn’t tell me in advance? I’m hurt.”
“It happened suddenly. Part of a case I’m on,” she said. She hesitated. “But I’ve got a little time later. Want to talk?”
“Where are you?”
“At the Madison Hotel.”
He laughed. “Slumming, huh?”
“Right. At the taxpayers’ expense. Listen, I only called to talk and – “
“So let’s talk in person,” he said.
She turned and glanced at her door and pictured her guards beyond it. “Oh, I don’t think that would be possible,” she said, “but – “
“Come on, Alex,” he said. “You’re here in town. Let’s get together.”
“Ben, it’s complicated,” she said. “I’m on an assignment. I’m dealing with some bad people, okay? That’s why I’m passing through quickly and – “
Her voice wavered for a moment as memories came flooding back. She remembered the night Ben had convinced her not to commit suicide and saved her life. She remained quiet as she regained her composure.
“You there?” he asked.
“I’m here. Hey. Wait for a second, okay?”
“Of course.”
She thought for a moment, rose, and went to the door. She opened it. MacPhail and Ramirez were sitting outside, playing cards.
“Hey …,” she said, putting a hand over her phone.
MacPhail looked up. “Problem?” he asked.
“Listen, guys. I know I’m under some form of high-rent house arrest,” she said, “but do you mind if I have a friend come over?”
The Feds looked at each other. “We’re not supposed to let anyone in the room with you unless we’re there, Alex,” MacPhail said. “Those are the instructions. Isn’t that going to cramp your style?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Oh, it’s a ‘friend’ friend?” MacPhail asked.
“That’s what I’m trying to get across. So how about the restaurant downstairs? Can I meet a guy for a drink?”
“You buying for the four of us?”
“No. You are, Walter,” she said.
The Feds looked at each other again, back and forth. “We got to go with you and watch the door,” MacPhail said. “You know that. Unless you’re in that room by yourself we can’t take our eyes off you.”
“That’s fine. In fact, I appreciate it. So how about the bar?”
Ramirez shrugged. “Sure,” he said.
“Good,” Alex said. “We’ll do it.”
“Go for it,” Ramirez said.
She gave her bodyguards a thumbs-up and went back into her hotel room. She closed the door. “So?” Ben asked.
“Be at the Madison Hotel in ninety minutes. Fifteenth and M Street.”
“I know where it is,” Ben said.
THIRTY-TWO
Alex settled in at the far end of the bar and waited. The room was sleekly modern, an offshoot of Palette, the adjacent restaurant. The counter was light wood, and the cylindrical hanging lamps echoed the shape of liquor bottles. Tall, comfortable stools flanked the bar.
MacPhail and Ramirez took up positions near the door that led to the lobby. Alex scanned the room. It was moderately busy. She saw at least one congressman and a gaggle of lobbyists. She waited.
Alex saw Ben before he saw her. She lifted an arm and gave a subdued wave. He spotted her. He was in jeans and a polo shirt and looked fit and happy, with only a slight limp. He came directly to her and didn’t even notice when she gave a nod to her FBI babysitters to indicate that this was her friend and he was okay.
“Hey,” he said in greeting.
“Hey,” she answered.
She slid off the stool into his embrace. It was longer than it needed to be, but she went with it. She felt his lips linger on her cheek. Then he released her, and she installed herself back on the barstool.
“No hard feelings?” she asked.
“From what?” He eased onto the chair next to her.
“I didn’t like the way we said good-bye … in New York.”
“Nah.” He waved her off. “It’s forgotten. We’re friends.”
“You’re okay with that?”
He shrugged and winked. “I’m allowed to keep hoping that something might change, right?” he said, gently teasing. “I mean, no law against wishful thinking, right?”
“You’re allowed,” Alex answered.
The bartender appeared, and Ben ordered for himself and Alex. Alex glanced over at MacPhail and Ramirez. Ramirez gave her a goofy grin and a thumbs-up. She scowled back just as Ben turned back to her.
“So?” he asked. “What sort of trouble you in now?”
