Part 36 (2/2)

I listened to Dobson, almost dizzy. It was hard enough to keep track of the names, let alone the motives and inferences.

Valerie might have had the pole position, but I was finally up to speed.

Ghasemi was giving Sengupta, his good friend and former roommate, Iranian nuclear secrets.

Dobson took another sip of coffee before leaning forward, his words coming slowly. ”I understand you've lost someone very close to you, Mr. Mann, and that undoubtedly you want justice. I sure would. But I'm afraid justice means exposing Sengupta, and that would mean no more connection with Ghasemi. Thanks to that relations.h.i.+p, our government currently knows more about the Iranian nuclear program than the Supreme Leader himself. And I wish it were hyperbole when I say that the fate of the world could very well depend on that relations.h.i.+p continuing.”

Yes, indeed. We live in a very complicated world.

I wasn't sure what I was going to say, only that it was something. Perhaps a feeble attempt to strike some sort of ”justice bargain,” the way I used to with prosecutors after I went to the dark side, as Claire liked to call it, and became a defense attorney.

But before I could even push out the first word, the door of Dobson's office opened. It was his secretary.

”I'm sorry to interrupt, but there's-”

Dobson cut her off. ”I said no calls, Marcy.”

”I know, but it's not for you. It's for Mr. Mann,” she said. ”Apparently, it's an emergency. Someone named Winston Smith?”

That got everyone staring at me. Although, with Dobson, it was more like glaring. If looks could kill. ”No one outside this room is supposed to know you're here, Mr. Mann,” he said.

Immediately, Crespin cleared his throat. Maybe he could just sense it, that something was up and I desperately needed a lifeline. Or maybe it was more than a sense. Perhaps he, too, had read 1984.

”Sorry, Clay, my bad,” said Crespin. ”Mr. Mann's sister is being operated on this morning, and that's his nephew calling to let him know how it went. For obvious reasons, Mr. Mann ditched his cell phone once this whole ordeal started.”

I watched and listened to Crespin with nothing short of amazement. He was so calm, so convincing. The guy could probably fool a polygraph, if he had to. He had to be the best liar I'd ever met.

Actually, make that the second best.

Dobson nodded to his secretary. ”Put it through.”

As she disappeared back to her desk, he handed me his phone. The longest two seconds of my life followed as I waited for the call to be transferred.

Click.

”Winston, is that you?” I asked.

”Yes, it's me,” said Owen. ”And what Dobson just told you is bulls.h.i.+t.”

CHAPTER 108.

THE QUESTIONS were bouncing around in my head so fast and deliriously I could feel my brain smushed up against my skull just trying to contain them all.

Where has Owen been? How did he know I was in Dobson's office, let alone what was being said? And who's the ”new friend” he went on to mention, the one he wants me to meet?

The only thing close to an answer-or, better yet, what would get me closer to all the answers-was the address Owen gave me before hanging up. But not before first telling me I had to come alone. ”For real, Trevor. I mean it. Just you.”

Of course, that went over like a fart in an elevator with Valerie and Crespin. Especially Crespin. He and his Spidey sense had bailed me out in Dobson's office, and this was how I repaid him? I'm off to go meet the kid, but you can't come?

”I'll be back, I promise,” I said. ”And I'll do everything I can to have Owen with me.”

It was either detain me or let me go. They let me go.

Almost one hour to the dot after saying good-bye on the phone in Dobson's office to my nephew, Winston Smith, I arrived at Fifteenth Street NW and Madison Drive.

If the Jeopardy! category is Well-Known Was.h.i.+ngton Addresses, I'll admit that I tap out with 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. Besides, who really needs to know the address of the Was.h.i.+ngton Monument? All you have to do is look up, right?

”Father, I cannot tell a lie,” came a voice over my shoulder.

I turned to see Owen, smiling at his own cleverness about the line and our location, although I knew he hadn't chosen it for the irony. Just because I thought I'd come alone didn't mean I actually had. The flat, sprawling grounds of the Was.h.i.+ngton Monument, with nothing but a circle of skinny flagpoles for cover, were his way of making sure that even if I had been followed, no one was within earshot.

Speaking of hearing things on the sly ...

Owen pivoted to his right. ”Trevor, I'd like you to meet Lawrence Ba.s.s,” he said.

I pushed aside what was now the latest question in the long queue-How the h.e.l.l did these two ever meet up?-and shook the man's hand.

I knew exactly who Ba.s.s was. Namely because of what he wasn't-the next director of the CIA. Owen and I had watched him withdraw his name on television, standing in the East Room, flanked lovingly by his wife and two young daughters. We'd listened to him explain that he wanted to spend more time with his family. And we'd both known he was lying.

”Wait a minute,” I said, turning back to Owen. Gone fis.h.i.+ng? Lawrence Ba.s.s? ”This is where you went?”

”No one just walks away from being named CIA director,” Owen said. ”There had to be more to it, not that I was really expecting Lawrence to divulge anything. But as it turns out, he was doing some fis.h.i.+ng of his own.”

True to his military background, Ba.s.s took the cue and didn't dillydally. Nor was there much emotion. The guy seemed to have everything wrapped in a blanket of calm and measured.

”Last week, I paid a visit to Clay Dobson in his office,” he said. ”And I never really left.”

With that, Ba.s.s reached into his pocket and held out an iPhone. I recognized the app he tapped; it was the same one Claire always used to edit and organize her interviews. Voice Recorder HD.

Let the answers begin.

CHAPTER 109.

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