opened the glove box and saw the owner’s manual. He flipped to the back of it where there were a bunch of blank pages and where, if you were totally anal, you could record your maintenance history. He ripped out three of the blank pages.
The light changed. While driving he searched for a pen. He needed a pen. No pen in the glove compartment. He checked the console between the front seats. No pen, but there was a Magic Marker. That would work.
He managed to hit the next three stoplights when they were red-he was probably driving Alice crazy, driving so slowly-and at every red light he wrote on the blank pages from the owner’s manual, now certain there wasn’t a camera in the car or somebody would have scolded him.
“DeMarco, why are you turning?” Alice asked, her irritation apparent.
DeMarco ignored her.
“DeMarco! Get back on New York and stay on it until you reach-DeMarco, goddammit, why are you stopping?”
“You see that liquor store over there, Alice? I’m gonna buy a bottle of vodka. There’s no booze at the safe house, and after what I’ve just been through, I feel like getting drunk.”
“We’ll get you some booze. Just keep going.”
“And I gotta use the can.”
“I said keep going.”
“Alice, I want some booze and I wanna take a leak, and if you don’t like it, you can kiss my ass.”
He heard Alice scream something as he got out of the car.
He walked into the liquor store and saw Ray-Ray was alone behind the counter, sitting on a stool, reading a college textbook. His laptop, which he practically slept with, was sitting on the counter. Ray-Ray smiled when he saw
DeMarco and started to say something, but DeMarco held up his first piece of paper and waved it frantically in the kid’s face. The paper said, RAY-RAY, SHUT UP! DON’T SAY A THING! NOT A WORD!”
“Hey,” DeMarco said, still showing the paper to Ray-Ray. “I need a fifth of Stoli and a small bottle of vermouth.”
Ray-Ray stood there, frowning now, not having a clue what DeMarco was doing-and that’s when DeMarco handed him the second note.
“You got a bathroom here?” DeMarco said as Ray-Ray read the note.
DeMarco held up the third note. It said: YOU GOTTA DO THIS FOR ME, RAY-RAY. IT’S IMPORTANT, REALLY IMPORTANT.
Ray-Ray nodded and said, “The bathroom’s back there, sir. I’ll get your vodka.”
DeMarco grabbed up the notes and walked to the bathroom. Once there, he flushed the notes down the toilet, then flushed it a bunch more times, and then made as much noise as possible pulling toilet paper off the roll. By then he figured Ray-Ray had accomplished his task-it would have only taken him a minute-so DeMarco left the restroom and walked back to the sales counter.
“Thanks,” he said to Ray-Ray, as he took a bag from him containing the bottles of vodka and vermouth-and at that moment Alice stepped into the liquor store. She looked at DeMarco, then over at Ray-Ray, and then stood in the doorway, blocking the exit, until DeMarco reached her. Speaking softly, so Ray-Ray couldn’t hear her, she said, “Give me the recorder, DeMarco.”
“Sure,” DeMarco said, and he switched the brown paper bag containing the booze from his right hand to his left, reached into the pocket of his eavesdropping suit coat with his right hand, and passed her the recorder. Alice looked down at the recorder to make sure it was the one he’d been given by Dillon, and as she was studying it he stepped around her and walked back to his car.
With Alice on his bumper, he continued on to the safe house, smiling slightly, feeling somewhat smug. He’d pulled it off.
“Hey, Alice, do I take the next left?”
“Yes,” Alice said, sounding all tight-jawed.
“You know, this is kinda cool. You’re like my own personal navigation system.”
“Shut up, DeMarco,” Alice said.
39
Charles Bradford was spit-shining his shoes when Levy entered his office. As a four-star general and the army’s chief of staff, Bradford obviously could have had some soldier shine his shoes but, as he’d told Levy once, he’d started spit-shining his shoes as a cadet at West Point and had always found the task relaxing in a Zen-like way. And he sounded relaxed now as he told Levy about DeMarco’s visit and the recordings DeMarco had in his possession.
“Why didn’t you detain him when he came here?” Levy asked.
“I considered that,” Bradford said. “And if you’d been here, I might have, but I didn’t want DeMarco talking to anyone other than you. Where have you been, John?”
“Trying to find DeMarco. I got copies of his phone records and I’ve been checking out people he calls frequently. One’s a woman, and based on how often he calls her, I’m guessing she’s his girlfriend. I found out she works at Langley and is out of the country right now, but I haven’t been able to get a fix on her location.”
“She’s with the CIA?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Could she be helping DeMarco?”
“I doubt it. I don’t know exactly what she does, but I do know she was overseas when all this started.”
“Well, don’t waste any more time on her,” Bradford said. “Everything’s going to be fine.”
Fine? “Sir,” Levy said, “you don’t seem very upset by all this.”
“Oh, I was very upset at first, John. And I imagine that’s what these people were counting on, me panicking and giving in to their demands, resigning because I was afraid they’d go public with what they know. But then I calmed down and thought things through.”
“So you’re not worried about DeMarco going to the media?”
Bradford ignored Levy as he placed his gleaming shoes on the floor, slipped back into them, and tied them with a double knot. “Of course I’m worried,” he said, “and if he did, it would be a three ring circus. But that’s not going to happen. I think DeMarco was telling the truth, and whoever he’s working with has the intelligence-or maybe the patriotism-to know that going public with those recordings would be bad for the country.”
“But what if they did release the recordings?” Levy said.
“John, they have no proof of anything. I suppose the president could order me to resign, but frankly I doubt he has the balls to do that. I’m more popular than he is. And I’d deny everything, of course, but a lot of people will still admire these things I’ve allegedly done.”
Levy didn’t like the way Bradford was acting. The calmness he was displaying was unnatural-and disconcerting. Bradford should have been angry, worried, demanding action. He should have been developing a plan to neutralize DeMarco and whoever was controlling him. It was as if DeMarco’s visit had shocked him so badly he was in a state of denial. Or was it possible, Levy wondered, that Bradford didn’t believe anyone could bring him down? Had he stepped over that thin line separating confidence from egomania?
John Levy thought all these things, but he said none of them. All he said was, “Sir, what do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Don’t you understand, son? These people made a huge tactical blunder in sending DeMarco to me with those recordings. Now I know everything they know, and I know they have no evidence linking me to anything Martin did. And I’m about ninety percent certain that whoever’s helping DeMarco works for the NSA and this person realizes that to expose me he would have to expose himself, and he’s too much of a coward to do that.” Bradford inhaled deeply, centering himself. “They took their best shot, John-and they missed.”
Levy just stood there, not knowing what to say.
Bradford rose and came out from behind his desk. Putting an arm around Levy’s shoulders, he walked him toward the door.
