She blew out a long breath. “I’m making a trip out of the country. That’s all I can tell you. It’s against the rules even to say that much. I’m nervous and scared, and I need someone friendly to settle me down.”
“Okay,” he said. He put his hand on hers. “I’m here.”
“Thank you. That means a lot.”
“Between us, there were threats against me in New York. So I’m dropping off the radar and taking what might loosely be called a short-term foreign posting, also known as keeping my head down and trying not to get killed. If I seem blase about it,” she concluded, “that’s a huge feint, because I’m nervous as a dozen scared cats, but you’re the one person I can bare my soul to. How’s that?”
“Lousy,” he said. “And I know you well enough to see how shook up you are.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“To me,” he said. The drinks arrived. Ben continued, “You going alone?”
She hesitated. “I can’t tell you that.”
He looked at her strangely. “Someone you work with?”
“No. Someone I know. I can’t tell you the name.”
As he tried to decipher the situation, Alex began to feel the whole conversation was going the wrong way. “Someone you’re involved with?” he asked after a long pause.
“No,” she answered immediately. “And, Ben, don’t ask questions like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because I asked you not to. Please?”
“Okay, okay,” he said.
“Ben, I need a friend right now. I need you to be that friend, to have a strong shoulder, and to believe in what I’m doing. Without asking questions. Can you do that?”
“Maybe,” he said. “I’ll try. It’s just that … you come to D.C., I see you, I think I’m over you and can accept the way things are, and I take one look at you, and it all goes in another direction. I’m
She steepled her fingers in front of herself. She didn’t know whether to cry or scream. She should have known this was a bad idea. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her two FBI guards. It was 11:00 p.m., and they were watching ESPN’s Sports Center more carefully than they were watching her.
“How long have you known this guy?” Ben asked.
She quickly calculated. “Just shy of a year,” she answered.
Ben leaned back on the stool. He seemed to stretch slightly, then settled again. “Wow,” he said. “That explains a lot.”
“What does it explain?” she asked, turning the conversation around.
“Why you were never interested in pursuing anything with me,” he said. “There was someone else. You might have at least told me. Or mentioned it.”
“Ben, I don’t need this right now. It’s not why I asked you to come over. And I’m not involved with Paul. It’s a professional assignment.”
“Yeah, right, okay,” he said sullenly, hearing but not listening. “We’ll just be buddies. I’ll listen to what you have to say. I won’t get mad, and I won’t tell you how much I burn with envy and jealousy over the guy you’re traveling with.”
She put a hand on him, but he seemed unreceptive. In the back of her mind, a voice told her that she should have left him alone this evening.
He looked down into his drink.
“I asked you over as a friend,” she said.
“Sure,” he answered. “But you just play around with me, you know that? Just play around.” He looked her squarely in the eye. “I’m in love with you. You know that.”
She was unable to respond.
“There,” he said, “I said it. It’s in the open. Do you think that’s meaningless? Does it bother you? Don’t answer any of this,” he continued quickly, “because anything you say will make things worse.” He paused. “But I’ve given you plenty to think about, haven’t I?”
“I already had plenty, Ben,” she said.
“And now you have more,” he said. He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek.
“There,” he said. “That makes me happy and probably makes your FBI guys happy as well, or it would if they were paying any attention. The only person it doesn’t make happy, I’d guess, is you. But at least I told you. If you don’t come back from this trip, wherever you’re going, at least I got to say it once.”
He stepped from the stool and downed the end of his drink.
“Good night, Ben,” she said.
“Good night, Alex.”
She watched him in the mirror behind the bar as he disappeared out the door, his limp more pronounced than when he arrived. She stayed, in frustration. A lonely businessman at the far end of the bar sidled over to her and attempted a clumsy late-evening no-one-is-ugly-after-midnight pickup.
She indulged him with conversation for a few minutes, then went upstairs by herself. By then, the night team had relieved MacPhail and Ramirez. In her room, she lay awake, wondering what had just happened – and why.
Then she slept.
THIRTY-THREE
Alex woke up early the next morning and opened her laptop. There were documents in her secure email. Nothing of much importance from Rome. Gian Antonio Rizzo had managed to cadge a few files – a half dozen official ones plus one extra from his private stock. They reaffirmed what she already knew about Roland Violette. At least there were no glaring discrepancies. In his email, which was dated the previous evening, June 7, he sent these seven items along with a funny, literate, affectionate, flirtatious, mildly obscene and thoroughly decadent note in Italian.
Rizzo then proceeded to regale her with personal news. He had apparently lost both his heart and the final vestiges of his common sense to his young associate Mimi, a girl one third his age, and one of his best code breakers in Rome. They were heading off on holiday together to Vietnam, stopping in Los Angeles on the way so they could both go to Disneyland. He noted in closing that he was booked on an Alitalia Boeing 777.
What a world. And this was how Alex’s
Alex ordered breakfast from room service and scanned the new material. Breakfast arrived. She kept reading. One document considerably piqued her curiosity.Soviet espionage efforts against the United States via Roland Violette
Document USSR/2007/10/12/cia- Esp.hg.7
On July 9th, 1983, the US Central Intelligence Agency intercepted a series of memos in Caracas, Venezuela,
