He squeezed her knee, then he turned his hand and held hers. Gently he picked her hand up and put it to his lips, a gentle gesture from someone everyone else called cold.
“Oh Jeremiah!” she sighed.
The phone rang.
“That’s the office,” Jeremiah growled, instantly losing his warmth. It was reflected in his voice, but he didn’t hesitate to answer. “Slade here!”
It was Director Gann himself. “Agent Slade, something’s come up,” the director said in a deadly serious.
“Yes sir?” Slade didn’t deal with the director except on very rare occasions. This was unusual, but not as unusual as the director’s request.
“You’re downtown D.C. by the JFK Center — good! I’m just leaving the White House. Meet me at 1510 26th Street Northwest in Georgetown — got it?”
“Sir, I’m just leaving the opera with my date,” Slade objected.
“You date?” the director started. “Your pretty cousin Helen won’t like that; don’t go Don Giovanni on me Slade.”
“No sir, it is Helen,” he answered.
“Then bring her along. I’ll see you there in about five minutes.”
“Yes sir,” he said and the line went dead. Slade let out a deep breath. Helen was looking at him.
“Well what is it? What’s up at work that they need you at midnight?”
He turned onto Potomac Parkway heading north. “That was my boss; you’re about to meet him.”
“Is that a big deal, they’re just bureaucrats,” Helen said testily, obviously unhappy that their conversation was interrupted.
Slade understood. Helen had been trying to talk seriously about the subject for years — literally. He always avoided it. Something always, always came up. Now there was this. “My boss is a bit higher up than that. He’s quite high up in fact.”
“Well who is he?”
“Why are you so sure he’s a he; he could be a she?” Slade chastised her. “Your lady friends aren’t going to be very happy with your assuming my boss is a man.”
“Jeremiah Milton Slade, you’re avoiding the question!”
Slade pulled in front of a white nice white brick house with black shutters and a black front door. He got out of the Jag and walked around to open her door. Holding out his hand, Helen took it but not without some consternation. As he closed the door she whispered harshly in his ear.
“Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“Helen, dear, there’s no time to explain. We’ll have a nice talk afterwards. I promise you a nice long back rub.”
“You’ll be honest — about everything?”
He let out a deep breath. “Yes — everything.”
They started to the door, but Helen stopped. “I’m not about to meet your secret family am I; there’s not another wife and kids on the side?”
“No, I am quite fulfilled with you my dear cousin!” he told her, leading her to the front door.
It opened for them. A large man met them. He was wearing a black suit and tie. “Agent Slade, Ma’am, the director is waiting for you. Please come in.”
“The director?” Helen whispered. “So it’s not the Secretary of State?”
“No,” Slade said, nodding to the man. “Thank you!”
Director Gann was waiting in the living room with a tall distinguished looking woman; his wife Gwen. She was as much a Washington insider as he, she had to be. This was D.C. Gann smiled stiffly when he saw Slade and apologized.
“Slade, I’m sorry to interrupt your evening, and you Ms. Sanders. As I’m sure Slade has told you, I am Jacob Gann and this is my wife Gwen.”
They exchanged greetings and Director Gann immediately invited Slade into his office. Gwen took charge of Helen, “Would you care to sit outside in the garden dear, it’s a lovely night?”
Helen accepted, not knowing what else to do. She followed Gwen out through the white rooms through a pair of French doors to the back garden, a narrow but lovely place of flagstones and green areas. She motioned to some outdoor furniture. “Have a seat dear, can I get you anything to drink?”
“No thank you, I had some champagne at the opera.”
“How was the performance?”
“I loved it; I always love the opera and the symphony,” she said.
“So do I, maybe we can see a performance one of these days. Jacob speaks very highly of your husband, but then in their line of work you have to be careful mixing business and pleasure.”
“I’m sorry Gwen but we’re not married,” Helen corrected her, embarrassed.
“Oh that’s right, you’re his cousin,” Gwen smiled, shaking her head. “I’m so sorry. I forgot. That’s right, Slade took you and your children in. That was very gallant of him; there aren’t many men these days who would do that. But then you are a very sweet thing and so very helpful. I know that Slade appreciates it.”
“I’m sorry Gwen, I don’t mean to seem rude, but how do you know so much about me and my family?”
“Gracious me, dear, that’s what we do,” she smiled.
“I’m sorry I don’t understand,” Helen said, now completely confused. “What does the State Department need to know about Jeremiah’s home life? Is he in some sort of sensitive position?”
“The State Department?” Gwen laughed. “Dear me, do you mean to tell me that Jeremiah Slade hasn’t let you in on his little secret?”
“What secret?”
Gwen leaned close to Helen and whispered with great pleasure, “He’s a spy dear. My husband is the Director of the CIA. Jeremiah works for him. He’s one of the very best agents we have.”
Helen looked at Gwen with shock, but finally said, “That explains a lot. I was afraid he had another family somewhere.”
Gwen patted her hand, “You know, you’re taking the news a lot better than I did when I found out.”
“You mean Jacob didn’t tell you?”
“My dear, men never tell you anything until they get caught at it,” she laughed. “We were married fifteen years before I found out; I missed all the excitement!”
Director Gann’s office was a large modern room with an electronic fireplace and one wall devoted to half a dozen large flat screen panels. He got straight to the point.
“You did a nice job in Iraq Slade, but unfortunately it’s come back to bite us.” He put up a picture of the meeting.
“I left Khallida and Nikahd alone sir, just as ordered, though I still don’t know why. They would have been my first two marks.”
“Mine as well,” he said, circling another man standing next to Nikahd. “That was the order, however, and you carried it out. We think Nikahd can be useful. Khallida is someone we want to track. That leaves us this man — do you know him?”
“No sir.”
“You’re sure?”
“Absolutely — who is he?”
“He is the man who is trying to ruin your career, maybe your life Slade.”
“He’s dead sir. I splashed his brains all over Nikahd.”
“That’s the point,” Gann sighed. “That man is, was, Turgut Ataturk. He’s the nephew of President Ataturk of Turkey; President Oetari’s fishing buddy.”
“He was with ISIS and Al Qaeda sir,” Slade said steadily. “I didn’t have a chance to interview all the attendees of the meeting to see whether they or not I should shoot them.”
“I understand that, but the president does not,” Gann told him. “Therefore, the president wants you off the Cobra missions and on this.” He activated a display showing a Malaysian A380.
“You want me to look for the missing jet?” Slade shook his head. “Isn’t that Agent Wolfe’s territory sir? I mean, he’s an airline pilot. It’s a perfect reason to use him.”
“The president personally suspended Flint Wolfe, who is, as you are, far too efficient in his work. Of course, Wolfe goes off the reservation on occasion, he did this occasion big time, so I couldn’t protect him.” Gann poured himself a drink, as if the mere mention of the Company’s most notorious agent necessitated such a remedy. “If there’s one agent the president loves to hate it is Wolfe. Flint keeps killing his buddies.