Part 30 (1/2)

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN.

Bethesda, Maryland.

Rebecca Rose stood on the brick porch, adjusted her long cashmere m.u.f.fler-a luxury she had purchased for herself on the first crisp day of fall-and pushed the ivory-colored doorbell b.u.t.ton. Behind the paneled door, chimes rang and a dog immediately began barking. She lifted her white paper bag with its box of See's chocolates. Alph tended to bounce when visitors arrived.

Nancy Newsome opened the front door, restraining a midsized Springer spaniel. Silver-blonde, wide-faced, with a sharp nose and pale blue eyes, pleasantly plump and wearing a tailored pink suit even at this hour of the evening, Mrs. Newsome immediately broke into a smile. 'So good to see you, Rebecca! Hiram has been so looking forward. He's in his study.'

Alph was beside himself with welcome. Rebecca patted him, gave Nancy a hug, and held out the bag. 'To be rationed,' she suggested.

'How awful of you,' Nancy said conspiratorially. 'I will hold these over his head whenever he irritates me. He will be so grateful. Hiram, I mean, not Alph.' Another glorious smile, and then she ushered Rebecca through the cla.s.sically Colonial hall and across elegant rugs of Persian design-but American manufacture-to the study. 'He'll only come out if I tell him it's you,' Nancy said, lips judgmental. 'He's been on the computer and then on the phone since three. I'll give you both ten minutes, and then I'm serving dinner. Pot roast. Plain fare for just plain folks.'

'Wouldn't miss it,' Rebecca said. Alph tagged dutifully at her heels, past his initial glee but more than willing to be company.

Hiram sat half in shadow, his face moon-colored in the glow from an old CRT. One hand was holding a phone receiver to his ear and the other was moving a wired mouse on a foam pad so old its edges curled. The desk was covered with piles of printouts loosely arranged by topic-news stories, emails, copies from texts. The rest of the room-dark wood wainscoting, matching maple furniture, white walls, crystal cove lights pendant from bra.s.s fixtures-was immaculate. The walls were covered with plaques, framed photos, testimonials.

Alph nosed his master's leg and Hiram looked up. His face was unhappy in a Jovian way, an expression he had probably maintained all afternoon. 'I'm on hold. Ah, forget it.' He slammed down the receiver. 'Did you hear Josephson's rant?'

'Good evening to you, News,' Rebecca said, and pulled up a second chair to sit. 'I've been trying to avoid it.'

Hiram rotated in his desk chair, glowering. 'Son of a b.i.t.c.h,' he said. 'Son of a loose-t.i.tted, sow-bellied, egg-sucking b.i.t.c.h.'

'Yes, sir,' Rebecca said, grinning her appreciation.

Hiram flung out his arm and lifted a page from the desk. 'Read it. It's our death warrant.

She held the printout under a light.

'We are at the end of a long and awful period of the repeal and repression of civil liberties. Secret courts, secret files-all tied to a binge of muddled thinking that has done nothing to protect America, which became abundantly clear on 10-4. The FBI, as the most important law enforcement agency in our nation, has been complicit in many of these transgressions, and I think a break-up is long overdue. I say we remove the FBI from its homeland of radical indoctrination, and reconst.i.tute its most talented and least culpable agents in a new agency, based on the West Coast, that deserves and rewards their best efforts, and does not lead them always down the paths of uncivil retribution for political ideas with which senior executives happen to disagree.'

'Gasbag,' Hiram said as she lowered the page. 'What in h.e.l.l would the bureau do in San Francisco?'

'Our offices would look pretty,' Rebecca said.

Hiram snorted. He took the page and sadly finished Josephson's speech. '”A small hiatus in FBI activities is to be expected.” Oh, the mice will play, Rebecca. Let me put it politely, before Nancy comes in here with a bar of soap and a spittoon. As a nation, we're up s.h.i.+t creek.'

'Some of it's true,' Rebecca said.

'Makes it worse,' he shot back. 'The lick of Papa's strap is all the keener if you actually stole the cookie.'

Alph put his paws up on Hiram's knee and stared soulfully into his master's face, muttering doggy sympathy. 'Josephson's just a rooster crowing on the tomb. The President is the hangman. She called the director today and gave him his walking papers. Jesus wept. ”No confidence.” So who's next?'

Rebecca had been at headquarters all afternoon. 'I brought some material for you to look over,' Rebecca said. 'Fair warning from some old friends.' She handed him a clipped folder.

He lifted an eyebrow. The folder hung in Rebecca's hand. Then he grabbed it, pulled the clip, and muttered, 'Too much G.o.dd.a.m.n paper.'

Nancy appeared at the door. 'Is Senator Josephson joining us?' she inquired archly. 'Because I hear his name so often, I'm wondering what he likes to drink with his pot roast-beer or wine.'

'Irish whiskey,' Hiram said, lost in the pages. 'Just a minute, Nancy.'

'Table's set, Hiram.'

'Don't get cross with me. The whole world is cross with me.'

'Poor baby,' Nancy said. She withdrew after exchanging a womanly glance with Rebecca.

'These are OPM internal vetting doc.u.ments, Rebecca. How'd you get them?'

Rebecca said nothing, just looked sweet and simple.

Hiram riffled through the papers, eyes wide. 'Sam Adams, they've got dirt on half the people I work with.'

Rebecca leaned forward. 'They're looking for somebody whose hands aren't covered with mud. Someone who can finish what he starts and knock heads-but the right heads, and with practiced charm.'

Hiram's face went pale.

'I heard something on the weed vine,' she continued. 'n.o.body knows if the rumors are true.'

The phone rang. Hiram jerked, then sat up, looking as if he were about to be shot.

'Scrub your hands, sir,' Rebecca advised.

A second ring. His lips twitched. 'I won't do it,' he said emphatically. A third. 'I won't preside over a funeral. I'm not a d.a.m.ned undertaker.' The phone rang for the fourth time. Hiram looked as if he were contemplating the easy out of just dropping dead. 'c.r.a.p,' he said.

'Answer the phone, Hiram,' Nancy called from the dining room.

Hiram wrapped his forehead in one thick-fingered hand and rolled back to the desk. He picked up the phone and listened for a moment, then said, 'Yes, Madam President.'

Rebecca took the folder from his hand, pulled back the bra.s.s screen, and tossed the papers into the light and heat of the office's small fireplace. She walked into the dining room, where Nancy had just laid out on the damask tablecloth a large pot roast smothered with potatoes, carrots, and onions.

Nancy pushed through the kitchen door, balancing a tray of drinks in crystal gla.s.ses. 'Elderberry wine?' she asked archly, and handed Rebecca a tumbler of Scotch. 'Pardon me for my big ears. I do not countenance profanity, my dear, you know that. But what in h.e.l.l h.e.l.l are they about do to my husband? I've actually enjoyed having him around, the last few months.' are they about do to my husband? I've actually enjoyed having him around, the last few months.'

Rebecca could not provide a comforting answer.

'If they take him back and move him up the ladder, will I ever see him?' Nancy sat with a flump on the nearest chair. 'I remember Alice Sessions, way back when. I remember what they did to her husband. If the President has chosen Hiram without consulting the other senior executives, OPM will bring out the long knives. Hiram's a healthy man, but this could give anyone a heart attack.' She stretched out her hand, tears in her eyes. 'Give me that, d.a.m.n it.'

Rebecca returned the gla.s.s of Scotch. Nancy slugged it back neat.

The dinner was brief, the pot roast having been re-heated twice. They ate quickly and with hardly a word, and immediately after, Hiram retired to the study to make more calls.

Nancy insisted Rebecca stay for a gla.s.s of port. Sitting in the living room, she realized she was still wired-still on the grid, if anyone was tracking. She deactivated her Lynx and then looked at her slate: five calls from one number. She looked up the number. It was in Israel.

Nancy returned and caught her with her slate out. 'Never mind me, dear,' she said, a little tipsy, and set down a gla.s.s of Ficklin on the table beside Rebecca. 'I know that look. Something demands your immediate attention.'

Rebecca took a sip of port. 'What an evening, huh?'