“You see him more than I do. What are you asking?”
I took a seat on the bed, with a bottle of water, as she said, “I’m curious about your relationship,” then explained that her subcommittee relied on Harrington for information. He was a respected analyst in the world of intelligence gathering-also true. She didn’t know, of course, it provided the perfect cover for Harrington’s covert work.
Barbara said, “When I wanted you checked out, Hal was the person I asked. He gave you full marks. Do you know what strikes me as odd?”
She wasn’t going to wait for an answer so I didn’t offer one.
“I find it odd that you and Montbard, and Harrington, are all here, in New York, the same week I agreed to meet the boy. And only a few days after the court assigned control of the Castro Files to me. My subcommittee, I mean.”
She cut me off when I tried to remind her that we’d made our date weeks before.
“I also find it strange that you know each other. Some might even say that you and Montbard made an effort to ingratiate yourselves. Returning the video, for instance. A coincidence?”
I was tempted to comment on the egocentric slip- my subcommittee- but said instead, “Or saving your life? If that’s currying favor, your friendship bar is pretty high.”
“You know I didn’t mean that.”
“I know you’re making too much of it. Tomlinson’s lecture was booked months ago. When Hooker found out, he decided to visit the Explorers Club while I was in town instead of coming in March. Seeing you was a nice perk, but-”
“Tomlinson,” she said, “is someone else I find oddly suspicious.”
I said, “Who doesn’t?,” unsettled that she’d made the connection, hoping she would smile. She didn’t.
Instead, she got out of the chair, sighing as she stood over me, communicating something-disappointment? suspicion?-then went to the phone on the nightstand. She opened the drawer and took out a palm-sized tape recorder. Surprise! I overcame the urge to sit up straighter.
“This is voice-activated, a common security measure for rooms I book and pay for. When Sir James said he needed a phone, I gave him the key. Have you ever felt like someone is spying on you?”
“As of now.”
“Good. I want you know what it’s like.” Barbara hit FAST REVERSE and waited for the garbled voices to stop. “I haven’t listened yet. Your call, Doc. Should I? You know things about me no one else knows. I find that scary.”
She tossed the recorder onto the bed, stared at me. “Is there something in the Castro Files that scares you? I’ve had a look through those cartons, remember.”
I cleared my throat again.
She sighed, this time communicating I thought so, then sat on the bed close enough to put her hand on my arm but didn’t. I hadn’t earned her approval. “I’ve heard rumors about a covert cell that’s more like a secret society. Clandestino, in Spanish. Wouldn’t that be filed under Cn? If it’s true, how many countries do you think would demand extradition? There’s no statute of limitations on murder.”
I was sitting straighter now, my brain alternately scanning a list of lawyers while reviewing an escape procedure put in place long ago.
Her voice softened but not her tone. “But that’s ancient history. The important thing, Doc, is that we work together. I don’t care what you’ve done or who you’ve worked for, I need your help now.”
I said, “What?,” not trusting the surge of relief I felt. She’d used the same finesse to manipulate the policewoman.
“You think I’m being tricky.”
“Aren’t you?”
“My motive is right up front. It’s an offer. Find Will Chaser. Find him alive and bring him back. I don’t give a goddamn what it takes. I’m halfway through my first term. Three years in a row, my staff expenses were way under budget. I can afford you.” She let that settle a few beats, then added, “Or would you rather barter?”
“I don’t understand what that has to do with-”
“I’m hiring you as a special consultant. At least twice a day, every day, you will report by phone. I’ll give you every piece of information my contacts provide.”
“But the FBI, the New York police-”
“They’ll do a brilliant job… but within the constraints of the law. The boy, if he’s still alive, doesn’t have time for legalities. You’re working for me now, understood?”
I was thinking, Jesus Christ, what about Harrington?
The woman swung her legs onto the bed and leaned in close enough that I could smell her shampoo. “When the FBI agent left the room to take that phone call, it was Ruth Guttersen, Will’s foster mother. Fifty-eight years old, a Minnesota native. Her husband may be a fake cowboy but she’s pure Middle America. When the agent gave her the bad news, know what she said? She said, ‘God help them.’ Can you imagine? Worried about Will, but also the kidnappers, asking God to forgive them.” Barbara’s expression was a mix of admiration and remorse.
“In D.C., it’s easy to forget there are decent people out there. People who follow the rules, who keep their word, people who care even about the jerks of the earth. It’s the America I’d like to believe in, but I don’t. Did you read Will’s essay?”
Yes, the first two pages, but I shook my head no. The writing was feminine, flowery, tough to stomach because of its smug naivete.
“Mrs. Guttersen is only a foster parent, but the boy has the same values. He’s decent. A good kid.”
I was thinking of another way to interpret God help them. That Will Chaser was dangerous-which was ridiculous, unless Ruth Guttersen had somehow anticipated the wrath of Barbara Hayes-Sorrento.
Barbara was back on the subject of the men who’d attacked her, saying, “I don’t give a damn what you do to them. It’s your business as long as my name’s not involved. Bring the boy home, that’s all I care about.” She turned to the window, as if to say, Kill them-whatever-I don’t want to know.
I nodded slowly. Drained the last of my water, thinking about it. “No one can find out.”
The woman looked at me a moment, then smiled-a savvy, knowing smile. “We’ve got a deal.”
“Did you hear what I said? It never leaves this room.”
“There’s not much I don’t understand.” Her smile became recreational, signaling that she was done with business. “This could be the beginning of an interesting friendship. Maybe even beautiful. But I doubt if I’ll ever be able to call you Frenchy.”
“I appreciate that.”
“Don’t worry, Doc.” She stood and fished something from her pocket. A lighter and a cigarette. No… a joint, long and thin. “People like me-people who know what they want-we spend our lives hiding who we really are. You’re among the few who’ve seen the real me.”
“I never watched the video.” How many times had I told her?
“You had it in your hands, though. Holding is more intimate than seeing. You held me, the way I am when no one is watching. That’s close enough.”
“Give me some credit.”
Barbara said, “I’m trying to,” then flicked the lighter and leaned back, inhaling deeply, her face softening as she inhaled again.
Through a veil of smoke, she told me, “I rarely get the opportunity, but this is how I relax. I become recreationally indecent. When I come out of the bathroom, I don’t expect you to be decent either.”
With her free hand, she was unbuttoning her blouse.
9
On my flight back to Florida, Barbara Hayes-Sorrento confirmed, via computer, what I had suspected but didn’t want to believe: Re: Documents ›Castro Files› (search incomplete.) No entries as T-I-N-M-A-N. However, several references to T-E-N (space) M-A-N. Identified as U.S. citizen, male, no criminal record, address: (indecipherable). Birthplace: East Hampton, Long Island. First name unknown. Surname: T-O-M-L-I-N-S-O-N.
In my hotel room, Barbara had said, “He’s another one I find oddly suspicious.”
Now I understood.
If I had been on a commercial flight, I would’ve ordered a couple of vodkas for the Virgin Marys I usually drink. But this plane wasn’t carrying liquor. There might have been weapons in the hold-machine pistols, Stinger rocket launchers, no telling what-but no booze, no beer.