Never turning to see if he was behind her, Ronnie stopped long enough to rent a yellow tube from a kid under a big umbrella. Oblivious to the other teenage boys with gaping mouths, she told the kid at the register to keep his change. Bowen found himself wondering where she’d gotten the money from to pay him in the first place.
A moment later, Garcia tossed the tube into the water and slipped smoothly into the long ribbon pool that wound its way through the entire water park. Known as the “Lazy River,” there was just enough current that swimmers could hang on to their big tubes and drift along without expending any energy.
Apparently satisfied it was safe to talk again, Garcia draped her arms over the tube, breasts mashed against the yellow plastic, and waited for Bowen to join her, which he did.
He pulled himself up across from her, legs trailing in the cool water, steering them so they moved sideways and neither had to drift backwards. If gunfighters swam in lazy rivers, this was the way they did it.
“Nice necklace.” She nodded at the black pearl hanging from the chain around his neck. “Looks real.”
“Hmmm,” Bowen grunted. “It is.”
“Doesn’t really fit the rest of your profile,” Ronnie said, half to herself. “There must be a story behind it.”
“So, what is it you need from me?” He repeated his question from the whirlpool, changing the subject. The last thing he was going to do was talk to this spy chick about his past.
She nodded and got down to business, obviously realizing they weren’t that close.
“Marshals usually end up with federal prisoners once they see a judge, right?”
“That’s right,” Bowen said. “But things are a little muddy on that front lately with the IDTF sticking their noses in everything. I’m assuming Director Ross will have some kind of in-camera hearing with only the ID agents and the judge in attendance. And that’s if they have a hearing at all. The stories about these guys would give you chills.”
“I’m sure,” Garcia said. She waved a hand under the water, toying, watching the trailing whirlpool as she spoke. “But you could find out where she’s being held, right?”
“I can try,” Bowen said. “For all the good it will do. I’m guessing you’ve lost your friends in high places if you’ve gone outlaw like Quinn.”
“That’s an understatement,” Ronnie said. “My friends in high places don’t have even have friends anymore. But you let me handle that end when the time comes. I’d appreciate it if you can just find out where she is. I’ll take it after that.”
“Of course, I’ll help you.” Bowen smiled. “If only for the chance to go swimming with you again.” Bowen had never been very good with gray areas. If someone needed their ass kicked, he kicked it. If they needed arresting, he arrested them and let the courts figure out the rest. But something was different here. He’d sensed a sea change the moment he’d set foot in Japan when he’d first been assigned the fugitive warrant for Quinn. Washington had always been full of powerful forces that could rip a person to pieces if they took a wrong turn. Bowen couldn’t put his finger on it, but sometimes, he wondered if he was still working for the good guys.
Ronnie looked back at him across the tube, seeming to realize he was coming to grips with the situation. He rubbed a wet hand across his face, resolving to march forward at full speed if he was going to march. “Who do you think is behind all this?” he said.
“The President,” Ronnie said without a moment’s hesitation. “And I don’t just think. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s a pretty bizarre thing to be sure of.” Bowen watched her eyes for any sign of doubt.
She stared back at him, lips trembling with the heat of pure conviction. “Doesn’t it strike you as odd that the Speaker of the House came within an inch of stepping into the presidency once before because of a bomb a year ago, and then both the President and VP are assassinated a short time later so he gets another chance? There has never in our history been another assassination of both a sitting president and VP — and now we have one near miss and a bull’s-eye during the same administration with exactly the same players.”
Bowen shrugged. “It wasn’t the Speaker’s fault someone killed the President and VP on the same day.”
“I’m positive it was,” Garcia said. “And look at what he’s doing with the country. Do you think Clark would have put so many thugs in high-level government positions?”
“Washington is full of thugs,” Bowen said. “People like that are drawn to money and power.”
“I can’t argue that,” Garcia said. “But you have to agree that there are more in place now than ever before. The Secretary of Labor has known contacts with organized crime in Chicago. The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs was twice accused of sexual harassment of female subordinates. The Secretary of State is a moron and the Secretary of Defense is an avowed isolationist who can hardly order pizza without threatening to kick the delivery boy’s ass. Does that sound like the kind of people that should be running a government?”
“Look,” Bowen said, “if the President is leading some secret cabal, it seems impossible that he’d have so many co-conspirators with his same ideology. From what I’ve read, the Taliban, al Qaeda, and even the Baader-Meinhof gang may have been highly organized, but in the end, they couldn’t even agree on what to have for lunch, let alone find enough like-minded guys to run an operation as large and unwieldy as a presidential administration within the United States.”
“That’s the beauty part.” Ronnie brushed a lock of damp hair out of her face. “They wouldn’t have to share the same ideology. Have you ever had a bad boss?”
“Of course.”
“What happened to him?”
“Well,” Bowen said, “it was a she, and the people above her in rank eventually tuned her up.”
“Exactly my point,” Ronnie said.
They floated under a series of metal teapots raining water down on their heads. Elbows hooking the tube, Ronnie wiped her face with both hands and looked at him. “Think about it. What if the man at the very top turned a blind eye to bad behavior? Imagine the worst bully in your office, and then imagine him with all authority of a Nazi SS officer or East German secret policeman. He wouldn’t have to share the President’s ideology — because he has one of his own that is equally rotten. It really doesn’t matter what that ideology is. It still benefits Drake’s plan.”
Bowen sighed. All this talk about ousting a sitting president made him wonder how he’d do in prison.
“And exactly what do you believe that plan to be?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Garcia said. “But it’s not good. Just imagine all the things you could do to bring down the nation if you were the president of the United States.”
“I’m not that much of an imaginer,” Bowen said, though the entire story made more sense than he’d like to admit. “I am going to help you though. Those Internal Defense guys are the kind of people I cannot abide.”
“Thank you.” Ronnie smiled. Her eyes fluttered, half shut as if she was on the verge of drifting off to sleep. “You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
“Listen,” Bowen said, “I’m sorry for being so flip about those guys putting a camera in your bathroom. That’s pretty twisted. I shouldn’t have made light of it.”
“No big deal.” Garcia gave him another killer smile. “Anyhow, it’s a conscience like that that will keep you from getting recruited by the IDTF.”
She shoved Bowen backwards as they approached a large waterfall that fell in a roaring curtain from a fake stone arch across the Lazy River. Garcia was on her back now, and strong legs propelled her toward the falls. Her feet cleared the surface so he caught delicious glimpses of her painted toes. Just before she disappeared behind the falls, she flipped onto her belly. Her butt arched out of the water as she dove below the surface to vanish under the silver curtain.