chrome walker next to her chair at a large dining table that was covered with food.
In the center of the table was a centerpiece: Two dinosaurs, each about two feet long, faced each other. There was a pink bow around the neck of one of them.
“I think everybody knows who Mr. Parker is,” Delchamps announced to the residents.
Everybody nodded.
“He wants to know what’s going on here,” Delchamps said, “what this place is. Can I tell him?”
“Is he a friend?” one of the men in a wheelchair asked.
“Roscoe vouches for him,” Delchamps said, “and Roscoe-in case you didn’t know-is one of us.”
“In that case, tell him.”
“Sure. Tell him.”
“Why not?”
The elderly lady added: “As long as he understands that if he runs at the mouth. .”
“. . we’ll have to kill him.”
Another of the men, about Delchamps’s age, pointed at the centerpiece of dinosaurs, and said: “That should make it quite obvious, Mr. Parker. This is where us old dinosaurs come to die.”
There were grunts, and then came what appeared to Parker and Danton to be a regular war of words among the residents.
“Oh, shit, there he goes again with that crap!”
“Jesus Christ, Mac, will you knock off with that come-to-die nonsense?”
“Speak for yourself, John Alden! You’ve always-”
“Let me have a shot at this!” Dianne Sanders interrupted. “Mr. Parker, everybody in this room-except those two and me-is retired from the Company.”
She pointed to the enormous black man and to a man who looked to be in his late forties.
“That’s Dick Miller and Tom, my husband. They used to run around the block with Charley Castillo and General McNab until the Army decided they were no longer able to play Rambo, and medically retired them. I was a cryptographer, and took my retirement, too. Then came the glory days of the Office of Organizational Analysis. . you both know what that was?”
Parker and Danton nodded.
“Charley needed a safe house here, and OOA bought this. Then Uncle Remus-you know who he is?”
Roscoe Danton knew that Uncle Remus was the politically incorrect-and some suggested racist-name that only his close friends could call Chief Warrant Officer (5) Colin Leverette, U.S. Army, Retired.
Danton nodded.
Porky shook his head.
“He’s the guy who took Colonel Hamilton to the Fish Farm in the Congo,” Delchamps clarified.
“One of the better snake eaters,” Tom Sanders further clarified. “Dianne and I were in our happy, exciting retirement in Fayetteville, watching the mildew grow in the bathtub when Uncle Remus showed up and asked if we’d be interested in running this place. We were on the next plane up here.”
“Then we thought we’d be out of a job when OOA was broken up,” Dianne picked up. “But when Edgar said he needed a place to live now that he was retired, he moved in ‘as a temporary measure.’ ”
“And then the other dinosaurs started moving in, one by one,” the elderly lady offered. “We were scattered all around D.C. I was in the Silver Oaks Methodist Episcopal Ladies Retirement Community in Silver Spring. You can imagine how much I had in common with the ladies there.”
“So you’re also retired from the CIA?” Danton asked.
“Thirty-four years in the Clandestine Service,” she said with quiet pride.
“Dinosaurs?” Porky Parker asked.
“That’s what they call us at Langley,” the elderly lady said. “We still believe that the only good Communist is a dead Communist, so we’re dinosaurs to them.”
“And, so,” one of the men in a wheelchair said, “with the not inconsiderable help of Two-Gun, we formed Lorimer Manor, Inc., and bought this place from the Lorimer Charitable and Benevolent Trust. When one of Castillo’s Merry Outlaws needs to use a safe house-Edgar, Two-Gun, and Gimpy stayed here last night, for example-we send a bill to the LCBF Corporation.”
“What’s the LCBF Corporation?” he asked.
“That’s who’s going to pay you your combat pay, Roscoe,” Delchamps said.
Porky Parker’s eyebrows rose at that.
“Think of it as our basic corporate structure,” Two-Gun amplified. “Providing complete financial services to our little community.”
“All right, David,” the elderly lady said, a little impatiently. “Now it’s your turn. What the hell happened at Langley this morning?”
“. . And so the President told me he was accepting my resignation and to get off his goddamn helicopter, and then I ran into Roscoe, and he brought me here,” Porky Parker concluded.
“I said, and you all heard me,” one of the middle-aged men said, “that there was something phony about that failed microphone.”
“What is that sonofabitch up to?” the elderly lady asked softly.
“I have no idea,” Parker said. “My question is, what do I do now?”
“You stay out of sight,” Delchamps said. “I already told you that. Maybe go to Mexico with us. You’ve got your passport?”
“My official passport is in my briefcase with my laptop,” Parker said. “The last time I saw it was when I asked one of the Secret Service guys to watch it for me backstage in Auditorium Three.”
“I hoped you kissed it-
“My regular passport is in my apartment,” Parker said.
“Outside of which members of the media can be counted on, sitting,” Roscoe said, “burning with desire to hear your version of your surprising and sudden departure from distinguished government service.”
There was a buzzing sound.
“Our master’s voice,” Dick Miller said as he took a CaseyBerry from his pocket and put it to his ear.
“How nice of you to call,” he went on. “I just put you on conference, Charley.”
Roscoe saw Delchamps and Yung quickly put their CaseyBerrys to their ears. He took out his own, found the CONF button, and pushed it.
“I didn’t call to chat, Gimpy,” Castillo’s voice announced. “I called hoping to hear that Edgar has Roscoe in the bag and that you’re about to go wheels-up. Better yet, that you’re already in the air.”
Danton made a face.
“Ace, Roscoe is in the bag,” Delchamps said.
“And he brought Mr. John David Parker with him,” Delchamps continued.
“What the hell is that all about?” Castillo said.
“Roscoe, would you be so kind as to tell our leader what the hell that’s all about?”
“The press is looking for him,” Danton said.
“Why?”
“Right about now, the President is going to announce he’s accepted his resignation,” Danton replied.
“Because of that fucked-up press conference?”
“Yes, but Porky didn’t fuck it up,” Danton said.
After a moment, Castillo replied, “Got it. And you are-what is it you say? — ‘chasing the story.’ ”
