“Good evening. Richard.” Warner shook Cain’s hand warmly. “Winston, how’ve you been?”
Winston met Warner’s gaze. “Well, thank you. How’s your father?”
Surprised by Warner’s familiarity with Cain, Carolyn watched as the three men talked. They appeared to be a very cozy group of cronies. But the true enigma remained Richard Young. Carolyn promised herself that she’d figure him out. She couldn’t afford not to.
Jack ran his finger along the inside of the collar of his tuxedo shirt, then took another sip of his club soda.
Carrie Masters, a twenty-something correspondent, strolled toward him with a glass of champagne in one hand.
“Quite a party,” Carrie said. “It always amazes me to see so many power brokers all in the same room. It has to be a security nightmare.”
“I’d say so.” Jack agreed as he surveyed the crowd, taking note of who was talking to whom. Lead stories often started with an overheard sentence or phase.
“Did you have a tough time getting in?” Carrie asked. “Scratch that. With your family history, you probably don’t have a hard time getting in anywhere.”
Jack shrugged. He’d given up long ago explaining that he lived in the trenches with the rest of the media troops, scrapping for a story, spending years cultivating sources. What did it matter, anyway?
“I guess they’re used to seeing me periodically.” His father had nothing to do with his A-list party invitations. If anything, due to his insistence on reporting the full truth, many politicians considered him a traitor. He’d worked doubly hard to be accepted and receive invitations to most Washington functions. Now, with his journalistic reputation well established, he was rarely overlooked. “How about you?”
“My editor had to pull some strings.”
Jack knew her type all too well, a pretty face with a mind like a bulldozer when it came to news. She was relatively new to the Washington scene, but Jack had no doubt that her ambitions would take her far.
“Isn’t that Senator Lane with his wife Carolyn over there?”
Jack followed her gaze. “Yes.”
“I gather the Senator is on the fast track to the White House. Who are they talking with?”
“Senator Young. I’m not sure who the other guy is, though.” In fact, Jack did know the man’s identity to be Winston Cain, but due to security issues couldn’t admit it. Why was Cain at the party? he wondered.
Carrie squinted in concentration, no doubt committing the scene to memory. “I’m going to check him out,” she said distractedly.
She made a beeline toward the foursome. The direct approach, Jack thought. Interesting. He looked on as Carrie shook hands with them. The group immediately dispersed, leaving Carrie standing by herself. So much for visiting with the press, he thought with a chuckle.
Carrie sulked back over to him.
“Looks like you broke up the party,” Jack said.
“Not exactly what I had in mind.”
“Who’s the other guy?”
“Winston Cain. Does the name ring a bell?”
“I’m not certain,” Jack said, skirting the issue. It wouldn’t do to admit knowing a former CIA operative like Cain.
The infamous Winston Cain, Jack thought. Plenty of rumors had floated through the intelligence network about the man. None of them flattering, he reflected.
“Would you care to dance?” Carrie asked.
“Sure, why not.” Jack took her hand, and they approached the dance floor.
“You’re quite a dancer.” Carrie said. “Is there anything that you don’t do well?”
“Kids.” Jack answered. “They scare the hell out of me.”
She laughed.
The music ended.
“How about we go somewhere, get a drink, and something a little more substantial than hors d’oeuvres to eat?” Carrie said. “You’d still be working, and we could have some fun.” She linked her arm through his. “I know the perfect spot.”
“Oh really, where?”
“My place. I could whip up some pasta and I make a killer martini.”
He hesitated only a moment. “Thanks, but I’ll have to take a rain check. I’ve got a night of writing ahead of me.”
Carrie pouted. “Gee, you must have seen something at this party that I missed.”
Jack kissed her cheek. “Just the usual run-down. See you at the next event.”
“Keep playing hard to get, and I might give up.” Carrie said with a forced laugh.
Later that night. Jack stood next to his car. enjoying a cigarette.
“I got your note,” a voice from behind him said.
Jack turned. “Thanks for coining.”
“I don’t know how much I can tell you.” Randall Kipp, a CIA counterintelligence officer, said.
“How and why was Cain at the party tonight?”
“Technically, he attended as Richard Young’s guest.”
“Technically?”
“Yes, only the Secret Service knew because they didn’t arrive together. Young’s office arranged it. It was kept very quiet.”
“Why was he there?” Jack asked. Cain was tied to his father’s suspicions of the Lanes. But where did Young fit in?
“Possibly to generate business for his firm, but we’re not sure. Cain’s into the social register. Maybe he just wanted to be seen at another White House function.”
“Did you guys watch him?”
“Of course. We wanted him out of there, but you know how it is. The White House is the Secret Service’s domain. They didn’t want a scene.” Kipp said.
“Who’d he talk to?”
“Cain logged twenty-two minutes with Young, fourteen with Warner, and thirty-six with Carolyn – they danced twice.”
“Thorough as ever, I see,” Jack said.
“We try.”
“What did they talk about?”
Kipp smiled. “Nice try.”
“Not even a hint.”
“You know, I can’t divulge conversations.”
“So what does this little get together mean?”
“Beats the hell out of me.” Kipp said. “The election is around the corner. I hear Lane and Young are both contenders. If there’s any correlation, that may be it.”
Jack took a final hit off his cigarette. Thirty-six minutes with Carolyn Lane. Cain’s attendance meant something. But what?
TWENTY-NINE
The next morning. Jack Rudly shook Winston Cain’s hand as he entered Cain’s office. “It’s been a long time.”
“Yes, it has.” Jack said taking a seat across from Cain’s desk.
An Asian woman lounged in an overstuffed leather chair across the room. A long stem red rose lay across her lap. She appeared to be reading, but Jack felt her cold gaze sweep over him. Cain did not introduce her.
“I hope you’ve come looking for employment. My agency could use your skills.”
Jack arched his eyebrows, feigning surprise. “You need a good writer?”
“Mr. Rudly, obtuse doesn’t suit you. You know very well that I’m referring to your ‘other’ skills.”
“Ahh… my training at Langley.”
“Actually. I was thinking more of your years of field experience using that training.”
Jack shrugged. “Maybe we could do business. Of course, I’ve got particular tastes.”
Cain smiled. “Like what?”
“I’m interested in working on your project with the Lanes and Young.”
Cain pressed his intercom. “Mr. Rudly is leaving now. Show him out.”
The Asian woman stood, her wide-set eyes alert and intense.
“That was a quick interview,” Jack said. “Do I get the job?”
Cain glared at him.
Two well-dressed men entered the office. The woman nodded toward Jack.
Jack rose. “We didn’t even discuss salary.”
Carolyn’s stomach fluttered when the plane lifted off taking flight toward Missouri. Washington was glowing on her. It seemed that her presence in D.C. was not only good politically, but also personally. She and Warner had shone at the party, drinking champagne and dancing long into the night. Warner’s arms around her as they glided across the dance floor had felt wonderful.