So that would’ve been a compliment.
Hard to get angry about that.
“But what if he can’t pull it off?” Paul imagined the Langley special activities officer asking. And in his mind’s eye, he saw Rhodes shrugging and saying, “Then he doesn’t pull it off. We’re no worse off for trying.”
“Unless he gets caught,” Paul whispered aloud, still speaking as the imaginary SAD man.
Paul shrugged. So just don’t get caught.
So how could he avoid getting caught? The only way to definitely not get caught was to not try at all, but that wasn’t an option.
He didn’t want to let Rhodes down. More important, he didn’t want to let his country down. He had to try something.
But what?
Paul checked his watch. It was time to call Rhodes. He wasn’t going to be happy.
After several rings Rhodes finally picked up. “Paul?”
“One and the same.”
“It’s good to hear your voice.”
“Yours, too, Wes. I hope I didn’t wake you.”
“Not at all. Just got back from the gym. How’s the weather over there?”
“Warm, scattered showers. A lull in the monsoon season, I’m told.”
“We’re expecting snow this evening. I think I’d rather be where you are. How do you like it? The city, I mean?”
“It’s an amazing place. I’ve never been in such a clean, well-ordered city. It feels more like Disney Epcot than New York or Chicago.”
“I thought you’d like it. So, how is everything? Has Dr. Fairchild taken good care of you and Jack?”
“Very much so. Jack’s out on the town right now with Lian Fairchild.”
“Outstanding. How’s work?”
“Uneventful, as we suspected.”
“That’s good news.” The senator paused. He was waiting for the coded message Paul was required to deliver.
“I only have one complaint about this place. I can’t find a good cup of chamomile tea.”
There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, “That’s disappointing to hear. But keep looking. I have no doubt that you’ll find it, and soon. Tell Jack I said hello and send my greetings to Dr. Fairchild.”
“Will do.”
“Stay in touch.”
Paul rang off. He could hear the disappointment in the senator’s voice.
There had to be a work-around. He hoped he had the time to figure out what it was, but he doubted he had the skill.
Still, he had to try.
And if he got caught? Well, if the prison was as clean and well run as the rest of the city, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
Fuck, fuck, FUCK!
Rhodes paced around his library, his cell phone still clutched in his hand.
This wasn’t good. He was sure Paul would’ve already loaded the USB drive. He knew Dalfan’s security was tight, but Paul was smarter than any IT security department. Or at least he thought so.
And if smart wasn’t enough, luck was even better. Paul has that in spades, the fat bastard.
Rhodes stepped to the library door to make sure the maid didn’t have her ear pressed against it, even though she wasn’t due in for another hour. His young wife was off to her hot yoga class, which meant Rhodes had the place all to himself.
Rhodes retrieved his burner phone, SIM card, and battery pack and hit the speed-dial button. His father taught him a long time ago the only way to confront trouble was straight on. Unfortunately, the man on the other end was a brick wall and Rhodes was running into it headfirst.
“What’s the status?” the voice demanded.
“Still working on it.”
“Then why have you called?”
“To keep you informed.”
“Do I need to remind you that time is running out?”
“There are still four days left. I’m confident he’ll figure out a way to make this happen.”
“You know what happens if he doesn’t.”
Rhodes swallowed hard. He’d bet heavily on this operation by borrowing heavily, including a second mortgage on the McMansion he was standing in. Crashing Dalfan’s stock price was a guaranteed way for him to cash in with leveraged calls — like betting against a boxer you knew was going to throw the fight. “I’ll lose a great deal of money.”
“That’s the least of your worries.” The voice rang off.
Rhodes stared at the phone in his hand, trembling with rage.
“Or yours, asshole.”
Rhodes paced the room.
How in the hell did I get myself into this mess?
22
His favorite hotel was a cozy boutique closer to the city center, but the women were always more impressed with the view of the Potomac from the seventh-story suite his family had owned for more than thirty years. Rhodes had recently updated it in mid-century modern, a phase he was going through at the time.
He stood on the balcony despite the chill air, staring at the lights of the Capitol, eager to begin the night’s festivities. The little blue pill had already kicked in, as had his first gin and tonic, and the twins from the escort service were due at any moment.
Over the years it had never been a problem for a man as handsome and well built as Rhodes to pick up women in bars, hotel lobbies, gyms, and even libraries. But the time and energy expended in the pursuit were too taxing for him now, as he balanced his role as board member of a major defense company with marriage to a young and eager trophy wife, the mother of their toddler, Weston Porter Rhodes III, his only son and heir. Better to spend his limited time and energy in the physical act of wanton sexual congress and avoid the inevitable emotional entanglements engendered in the women he seduced.
Or, as his father used to say, better to just pay for it.
Rhodes used a particularly well-stabled and discreet service called The Sorority, specializing in college coeds seeking to finance their expensive private-school educations in the Washington, D.C., metroplex. The girls in this service were also medically certified and psychologically screened. Most came from middle-class families and saw their employment as both adventurous empowerment and practical necessity.
The women he reserved for tonight were two of his favorites, partly because of their physical endowments, but mostly because of their shamelessness. The twins — in truth, Tri Delta sisters born on the same day, not genetic siblings — were pricey but worth it, and never failed to please.
They were also running late.
But Rhodes didn’t mind. It was part of their immature charm, a childish but calculated ploy to whet his insatiable appetite.
They needn’t have worried.
Just thinking about the coming revelries stirred a familiar ache in Rhodes, and the gentle ring of the doorbell nearly set him off.
He crossed the living room eagerly, brushing past the white tufted Harvey Probber modular sofa, where he intended the evening’s first consummation after drinks and, for the girls, Ecstasy. He yanked the broad door open, a lascivious smile plastered on his square jaw and a prominent erection bulging against his tight-fitting pants.
“Hello, Weston.”
Terror shot through Rhodes like a bolt of lightning.
It wasn’t the twins.
How?” Rhodes asked, hand still on the door handle.
The thickset man in the hallway smiled, revealing yellowed teeth nestled in a gray, well-groomed beard that matched his well-cut slacks and suit jacket. The top left corner of his forehead was hidden by a green felt fedora with a wide brim, pulled low and angled steeply.