right, and Russell next used the knife to make reference marks on the van. It seemed a pity to score the paint on the van, but he reminded himself that the van would be blown up anyway, and there was no sense in getting sentimental about a truck. On the whole, he was proud of his artistic talents. He hadn't had a chance to exercise them since he'd learned a trade in the prison shop, many years before. When the logo was painted on, black letters on the white-painted truck, nobody would be able to tell the difference.
The next job of the day was to drive to the local motor-vehicle agency to get commercial tags for the van. He explained that he would use it for his electronics business, installing and servicing commercial phone systems. He walked out with temporary tags, and they promised delivery of the real ones in four working days, which struck Russell as unnecessarily efficient. Getting the license was even easier. The international licensing documents that Ghosn had provided to go along with his passport were honored by the State of Colorado, after he passed a written test, and he had a photo-certified license card to go along with the tags. His only “mistake” was messing up one of the forms, but the clerk let him sign a fresh one while Russell dumped the first in the trash can. Or appeared to. The blank form slid into the pocket of his parka.
Johns Hopkins Hospital is not located in the best of neighborhoods. As compensation for that fact the Baltimore City Police guarded it in a way that reminded Clark of his time in Vietnam. He found a parking place on Broadway, just across from the main entrance. Then he and Chavez went in, walking around the marble statue of Jesus which both found rather admirable in size and execution. The large complex — Hopkins is a vast facility — made finding the right part difficult, but ten minutes later they were sitting outside the Wilmer Eye Institute office of Associate Professor Caroline M. Ryan, M.D., F.A.C.S. Clark relaxed and read a magazine while Chavez cast his lecherous eyes on the receptionist whom Mrs. Ryan evidently rated. The other Dr. Ryan, as Clark thought of her, showed up at twelve-thirty-five with an armful of documents. She gave the two CIA officers a who-are-you look and breezed into her office without a word. It didn't take much of a look on his part either. She'd always appeared to him a very attractive and dignified female. Not now. Her face, if anything, was in worse shape than her husband's. This really was getting out of hand, John thought. Clark gave it a ten-count and just walked past the open-mouthed receptionist to begin his newest career, marriage counsellor.
“What is this?” Cathy asked. “I don't have any appointments today.”
“Ma'am, I need a few minutes of your time.”
“Who are you? Are you going to ask me about Jack?”
“Ma'am, my name is Clark.” He reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the card-sized CIA photo-pass, attached as most were, to a metal chain that went around his neck. “There may be some things you need to know about.”
Cathy's eyes went hard almost at once, the anger taking over from the hurt. “I know,” she said. “I've heard it all.”
“No, ma'am, I think that you do not know. This isn't a good place to talk. May I invite you to lunch?”
“Around here? The streets aren't all that—”
“Safe?” Clark smiled to show just how absurd her observation was.
For the first time, Caroline Ryan applied a professional eye to her visitor. He was about Jack's height, but bulkier. Whereas she had once found her husband's face manly, Clark 's was rugged. His hands looked large and powerful, and his body language proclaimed that he could deal with anything. More impressive was his demeanor. The man could have intimidated almost anyone, she realized, but he was going out of his way to appear gentlemanly, and succeeding, like the ballplayers who sometimes came here to see the kids. Teddy bear was what she thought. Not because he was, but because he wanted to be.
“There's a place right down Monument Street.”
“Fine.” Clark turned and lifted her overcoat from the clothes tree. He held it almost daintily for her to put it on. Chavez joined them outside. He was much smaller than Clark, but more overtly dangerous, like a gang kid who was trying to smooth off his edges. Chavez, she saw, took the lead as they walked outside, preceding them up the sidewalk in a way that was almost comical. The streets here were not what she thought safe — at least not for a woman walking alone, though that was more a problem at night than during the day — but Chavez moved like a man in battle. That, she thought, was interesting. They found the small restaurant quickly, and Clark steered everyone into a corner booth. Both the men had their backs to the wall so that they could stare outward at any incoming threat. Both had their coats unbuttoned, though they both seemed outwardly relaxed.
“Who exactly are you?” she asked. The whole affair was like something from a bad movie.
“I'm your husband's driver,” John replied. “I'm a field officer, paramilitary type. I've been with the agency for almost twenty years.”
“You're not supposed to tell people stuff like that.”
Clark just shook his head. “Ma'am, we haven't even started breaking laws yet. Now I'm mainly a Security and Protective Officer, an SPO. Ding Chavez here is also an SPO.”
“Hello, Doctor Ryan. My real name is Domingo.” He held out his hand. “I work with your husband also. John and I drive him around and protect him on trips and stuff.”
“You're both carrying guns?”
Ding almost looked embarrassed. “Yes, ma'am.”
With that, the adventurous part of the meeting ended, Cathy thought. Two obviously very tough men were trying to charm her. They had even succeeded. But that didn't change her problem. She was about to say something, but Clark started off first.
“Ma'am, there seems to be a problem between you and your husband. I don't know what it is — I think I know some of it — but I do know that it's hurting the guy. That's bad for the Agency.”
“Gentlemen, I appreciate your concern, but this is a private matter.”
“Yes, ma'am,” Clark responded in his eerily polite voice. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Xerox copies of the Holtzman articles. “Is this the problem?”
“That's not any of your…” Her mouth clamped shut.
“I thought so. Ma'am, none of this is true. I mean, the sexual impropriety part. That's definitely not true. Your husband hardly goes anywhere without one of us. Because of where he works and who he is, he has to sign out for every place he goes to — like a doctor on call, okay? If you want, I can get you copies of his itinerary for as far back as you want.”
“That can't be legal.”
“No, it probably isn't,” Clark agreed. “So?”
She so wanted to believe, Cathy thought, but she couldn't, and it was best to tell them why. “Look, your loyalty to Jack is very impressive — but I know, okay? I went through the financial records, and I know about that Zimmer woman, and I know about the kid!”
“What exactly do you know?”
“I know that Jack was there for the delivery. I know about the money, and how he tried to hide it from me and everybody else. I know that he's being investigated by the government.”
“What do you mean?”
“A government investigator was here at Hopkins! I know that!”
“Dr. Ryan, there is no such investigation at CIA, and no investigation at the FBI, either. That's a fact.”
“Then who was here?”
“I'm afraid I don't know that,” Clark answered. It wasn't entirely true, but Clark figured this lie was not pertinent to the matter at hand.
“Look, I know about Carol Zimmer,” she said again.
“What do you know?” Clark repeated quietly. The response he got surprised him.
The answer almost came out as a scream. “Jack's playing around, and she's the one! And there's a kid involved, and Jack is spending so much time with her that he doesn't have any time for me and he can't even—” She stopped, at the point of sobbing.
Clark waited for her to settle down. His eyes didn't leave her face for an instant, and he saw it all as clearly as though it had been printed on a page. Ding merely looked embarrassed. He wasn't old enough to understand.
“Will you hear me through?”
“Sure, why not? It's over, the only reason I haven't just walked out is the kids. So go ahead, make your pitch.
