Karp told him not to worry about it. He's trying, and I guess they don't teach diplomacy at spook school, he thought. He's not such a bad sort. Just a little overzealous. "I had misgivings about it when I heard, too," he said. "But you're right. I imagine in your business, the burnout rate can get pretty high and frustrating to deal with."
"You got that straight," Ellis said, shaking his head. "Sometimes between the media and Congress, I wonder who's on whose side. Speaking of the media, how's your friend, Miss Stupenagel?"
It was odd to hear Ariadne Stupenagel referred to as his friend. True, they'd known each other for a long time, but most of it had been contentious. He respected her, but he had to think about whether he considered her a friend. I guess I do, he thought.
"Better," he replied to Ellis. "And from what I understand, she's writing again. Sometimes I think she has a death wish."
"Yeah, walking on thin ice with those stories," Ellis agreed. "I'm not a big fan of the media these days, and I worry that she might drive these guys underground. We'd like to get our hands on Jamys Kellagh before that happens."
"You're not the only one," Karp said. "But then you and I might find ourselves in another jurisdictional squabble."
Ellis laughed and held up his hands. "Hey, I learned my lesson. Once you cross the river into Manhattan, one man's word is law. But we will take the leftovers if you don't mind."
Karp had left the meeting with a better opinion of Ellis. He was never going to be a friend, but the guy was trying to do his bit and had his life on the line in dangerous waters. He decided that his original assessment of the assistant director of special operations had been an emotional one. Karp's mentor, Garrahy, had always warned against making decisions based on emotions. Make up your mind on the facts, the old man used to preach. Save the emotional stuff for your friends and family.
Karp decided to follow that advice with Ellis, which was the reason his name was now crossed off on the legal pad. But it didn't seem to matter; he wasn't getting anywhere with the columns and names. He needed something that tied it all together.
He turned to another blank page and in the center wrote Jamys Kellagh and circled it. He surrounded the circle with a dozen smaller circles, to which he drew lines from the center. Some of the smaller circles he filled with the column headings from the first page. Kane's Escape. Fey's Murder. Aspen. And he added one more: Black Sea Cafe.
A few of the circles he left blank. Something told him that more of them would be filled in before it was over. However, now that he'd created the new page, he wasn't sure what it meant, except that Jamys Kellagh was at the heart of it all, and he already knew that.
Karp turned the legal pad over and gave the pancakes his attention until Saul Silverstein, the ladies' apparel pioneer, showed up with a copy of the newspaper and began reading Stupenagel's story aloud to the others.
"Now, that is one brave lady," Bill Florence said when Silverstein finished. "I would have been proud to have her on my staff at the Post. Met her once, big gal but pretty, nice set of jugs, too. Too bad we're the 'Sons' of Liberty or we could ask her to join us."
"She could be the women's auxiliary, Daughters of Liberty," the artist, Geoffrey Gilbert, quipped.
"To jugs and the First Amendment," defense attorney Murray Epstein shouted, lifting a whiskey and orange juice.
"Jugs and the First Amendment," the others said, joining the toast.
"Hey, are you guys talking about some other bimbo's jugs?" Marjorie the waitress demanded with her hands on her hips.
"Never," the Sons of Liberty shouted. "Show us your jugs!"
Marjorie laughed. "Your pacemakers couldn't handle it. But…" she said, leaning toward them seductively.
"Yes?" the old men replied breathlessly.
"I just want you to know that they are magnificent."
A table full of old men groaned and poured themselves another round from Florence's silver flask. Karp laughed and began to return to his pancakes when he noticed his friend the priest, Jim Sunderland, and the former judge, Frank Plaut, standing off to the side talking. He couldn't hear their conversation and wouldn't have understood the context anyway unless he'd talked to his daughter first.
"Is it time to send the second package?" Sunderland asked.
"Yes, we seem to have gotten a response for the first," Plaut answered.
"Interesting that Lucy Karp is involved," the priest said, glancing over at the girl's father.
"Yes, but perhaps that could have been anticipated, considering Jaxon's relationship with the family," Plaut pointed out.
"So what's the lucky fellow's name again?"
"Cian," Plaut answered. "Cian Magee."
13
Lucy saw Cian Magee standing at the top of his stairwell and knew that he had to be excited to have ventured so far from his burrow. He clutched the iron railing as though afraid that some ill wind was about to carry his great bulk off into the void. However, he managed to let go with one hand so that he could wave when he saw her.
"Cead mile failte romhat, Lucy," he shouted.
"Go raibh maith agat," Lucy thanked him. "A 'hundred thousand welcomes' is certainly a nice Irish greeting. How are you?"
"Very well, indeed, a ghra mo chroi!"
"Really, Cian." Lucy laughed as she walked up and gave him a hug. "You're going to have to stop calling me the love of your life or I'm going to demand a ring."
"If only that were so, Lucy, I'd have already given you my mother's ring. In fact, I have it right here in my pocket just in case." Magee dug into his pants and to her surprise pulled out a beautiful ring with a large diamond in the center. Awkwardly, he got down on one knee. "So want to put your money where your mouth is, mo chuisle? An bposfaidh tu me?"
"Oh my, so now I'm your 'pulse,'" Lucy said, giggling. She patted him on the cheek. "And no, I can't marry you. I'm already spoken for."
"Ah yes, the cowboy." Magee sighed as he struggled to his feet. "Too bad I'm afraid of leaving this stairwell, and flying in airplanes, and probably deserts, too, or I'd go to New Mexico and challenge him to a duel for your hand. Rapiers…except, no, I'm also afraid of sharp objects, too. They can put your eyes out, you know."
"So I'm told," Lucy agreed with a laugh. "Now, what's so exciting that you demanded we come right over?"
Magee looked around as if he were only just realizing where he was and didn't like it. The evening was growing darker and only a few passersby scurried along the sidewalks, trying to get home. He nervously eyed the slow parade of cars that passed, as if he expected one of his phobias to leap out of one.
"Yes, yes, very exciting," he said, and turned to go back down the stairs. "But that's quite enough of the great outdoors. Let's retire to my crib, as the kids like to say. By the way, where's your friend…the secret agent man, I thought he was coming."
"He is," Lucy said, following behind. "But Jaxon called to say he was running a few minutes late. He can catch up."
A minute later, Magee was safely ensconced in his easy chair, while Lucy sat on the stool across from him. He was obviously enjoying the moment, and the company, and in no hurry.
Lucy glanced around and noticed the Stouffer's Turkey amp; Stuffing microwave dinner box in the trash can and felt a pang of guilt. I was home with my family and our friends enjoying the real thing with all the trimmings, and this poor man ate alone out of a box, she thought. It was unbearably sad, but she smiled for her friend's sake and vowed that she'd visit him on Christmas.
"So, Cian. You said you'd received some 'extraordinary' information and that you needed to see us right away."