She relaxed, and I realized she’d been waiting to tell someone else about the money. Someone other than Callahan or anyone else inside the CIA bubble.
My phone rang and I hoped it wasn’t another job. At least, not yet. I now had something important to take care of. I excused myself and answered the call.
‘Mr Portman.’ It was a man’s voice but not one I recognized. Confident, relaxed. It wasn’t a question. I didn’t answer. Not that many people know my number and there was no caller ID to help me out.
He gave a brief chuckle. ‘I guess that tells me how you’ve survived so long, Mr Portman. Or may I call you Marc?’
‘What do you want?’ I don’t like guessing games, especially when I get a tingle on the back of my neck. I couldn’t be absolutely certain I was being watched and in any case it was pointless looking; there must have been a thousand vantage points within a hundred yard radius of my position where he could be concealed. The thought that I’d been tracked wasn’t comforting, a feeling he confirmed with his next words.
‘Relax, Marc. I’m not a threat. I approve of your choice of lunch venue, by the way. Unexpected, open … careful. Attractive company, too.’
Damn. He was close. ‘Glad to hear it. Who are you?’
Lindsay had picked up on something in my voice and was frowning. I signalled her to stay put and she nodded, although her knuckles were white around her coffee cup.
‘Who I am doesn’t matter. You don’t know me; we’ve never met and never will. This is a friendly call, and the only time you’ll ever hear from me. We’re sort of in the same line of business, you and me. We both provide security, take care of problems. The only difference is it’s time for me to close shop and take up another occupation. But I’d like to do you a service before I go.’
‘That’s very kind of you. Why?’
‘Let’s call it a courtesy, one professional to another. See, I know what you’re planning; what you’ve been planning since coming back from Ukraine. Probably even more so now you’ve met Miss Citera. At least, if I know the kind of man you are, and I think I do, it’s certainly on your list of to-do jobs.’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘It involves a certain senator who is, shall we say, less than a real asset to the American way.’
‘What about him?’ It’s always safer to play dumb with cold calls. You never know who might be recording them.
I had already decided that if I was correct about Callahan’s oblique method of sending me a message, he was hoping I might do something about Benson. I wasn’t sure what that might be, but I couldn’t afford to leave any footprints while I was in town, just in case. Meeting with Lindsay had been a risk, but worth it. At least I got to thank her for her help. She was a nice kid and I hoped she did well.
‘You know what I’m talking about. Benson nearly got you killed, you and Travis. He tried to wreck an intelligence-led operation and he set the Russian dogs on you to discredit the CIA and make a profit into the bargain for himself and some pals called the Dupont Group. Incidentally, I’ve sent some damning information on those people to the FBI, so I think the Dupont Circle area of Washington will be seeing some dawn activity sometime soon. But Benson, he’s something else, am I right? Pretty untouchable, I think you’ll agree.’
‘You tell me.’
He gave a dry chuckle. ‘Cautious all the way. But I can’t blame you. If I were in your shoes I know I’d be planning on doing something to even up things a little. Hell, what am I saying? I am planning it.’
‘Doing what?’
‘The senator has outlived his position. He’s gotten dangerous and needs stopping. And I know, I know, there’s not a person in this town who can touch him by legal means. I always figured everyone — and I mean everyone — was reachable in law. But not Benson; he’s as good as Teflon-coated. Oh, he might lose a little gloss here and there when any of this comes out, but it won’t stop him completely. Which leaves only one other way to do it. But that doesn’t mean it has to be you.’
‘Go on.’
‘I’m saying this is my call. I have the means, the opportunity and most importantly the motive. I have some cleaning to do and he’s right at the top of the list. Hell, he is the list.’
‘You worked for him.’ I was guessing but it didn’t take much to know what his motivation was.
‘Indirectly, yes. And you’d be right if you said my decision to intervene is out of self-interest. But that’s the way it is.’
‘You’ll get caught.’
‘No. After this, I’ll be gone where nobody can find me — and I know they will come looking; it’s how Benson plays things. He keeps evidence, leaves markers. I’ve taken care of most of them but I know I haven’t found them all. But disappearing is what I’m really good at.’
‘Well, good luck with that.’
‘Thanks. You did fine work in Ukraine, Portman. You saved a good man. It would be a shame to spoil your future for no good reason. And they’ll know it was you; it’s the way their devious little minds work and you’ll have no way of ducking it. Doesn’t matter what you did for them in Ukraine, they’ll still send the dogs after you. You know it.’
He was right. In with one hand, out with the other. ‘So where do we go from here?’
‘My advice to you is make sure you have your whereabouts for this afternoon set in stone, with some good witnesses. Miss Citera, for one. Then go home. This is Two-One, over and out.’
There was a click and the phone went dead. I knew if I tried to call back there would be no answer.
‘Problem?’ Lindsay asked.
I shook my head. ‘No. But after we finish up here it might be wise to visit a public gallery or two.’ Preferably, I decided, somewhere where our visit would be recorded.
‘I thought men like you didn’t do public.’
‘This is one of those times when I do — as a precaution. Do you mind?’
She smiled, already ahead of me. ‘Of course not. If I’m going to skip work I might as well get some culture along the way. And I know a couple of places with lots of cameras. Is that public enough for you?’
Like I said. A natural.
SIXTY
The afternoon was growing old when, just over sixty miles south-west of Washington DC, Senator Howard Benson strode up the gravel path to his weekend cottage in Lake of the Woods, Virginia. He was smiling, feeling good about himself and what he’d accomplished. He’d seen off the twin threat of Cready and Conkley, and not even the safe return of Travis and Portman had been enough to dent his self-confidence.
In fact, by some careful positioning, he’d been able to avoid being pulled into the aura of blame that was currently circulating in the corridors of the State Department and the CIA looking for a culprit. He’d also managed to ensure that his contact down the street, the one who went under the name of Gus Boranov, and who’d agreed to have Travis and Watchman taken care of, was keeping his head down with an eternal promise of silence about their recent exchange.
Even his colleagues in the Dupont Group had proved themselves satisfied by the results of their work — well, his work. Given a couple of weeks or so to let the dust settle, he was now confident of being able to deal with Chapin and his ill-considered threats. For now he was content to play along, being the friend and co-conspirator, the hand of influence inside the government machine. But all it would take was a phone call and whatever recordings the elderly lawyer might have made through his internal bugs in the library would be located and wiped clean. When that was done, his recent health scare would rear up into something real — and terminal.