Harry stopped in the middle of the lobby. He held up his hand to get both Bert’s and Jack’s attention. “Just stop and think about what you already ate this week. Steak, fries, hot dogs the other day, burgers, and cheese. Egg muffins every morning. All that sugar in those soft drinks you guzzle. Ah, I hear it now, do you hear it? Click, click, click.”
“I don’t hear anything,” Bert said uneasily.
“I don’t hear anything, either,” Jack said.
“That’s because they’re your arteries clicking shut. We all know my hearing is extraordinary compared to yours.”
“You are so full of it, your eyes are turning brown,” Jack sputtered.
“Better my eyes turning brown than my arteries exploding,” Harry said, pushing at the revolving door.
“Maybe we should head to that fruit bar on the corner and get one of those ultrasmoothies instead of the hot dog,” Bert said.
“If we do that, he wins.”
“Yeah, but he’s right. We do eat a lot of crap. Kathryn is always on my case about it. She eats healthy, unlike us. I’m getting the smoothie.”
Jack was relieved that the decision to wuss out in front of Harry was taken out of his hands. So Harry was one up on him today. But in a good kind of way.
While the trio waited for their smoothies to go through the blending process, Elias Cummings was tooling along listening to the stereo system in his car, his mind on other things. But he wasn’t so preoccupied that he didn’t see the black Saturn peel out of the gas station as he drove by. Because he was tall, he didn’t have to move his head at all to take a quick glance in his rearview mirror. He had a tail. He almost laughed out loud. And the tail had a name: Joseph Espinosa. He wondered whom he should thank later on. Nellie? The girls? More than likely that pest Ted Robinson, who—in his opinion—was the nosiest reporter he’d ever met. Maggie Spritzer’s right hand.
Just because Elias was retired, out to pasture, so to speak, didn’t mean he’d forgotten the tricks of the trade. He knew he could lose Espinosa if he wanted to, but sometimes it paid to play the game. What was that old saying? Just because there’s snow on the roof doesn’t mean there’s no fire in the chimney. Yeah, yeah, that was it. Old dogs not knowing any new tricks. A load of crap if he ever heard one. Still, did he want to play the game? No, not really. Let Espinosa follow him. He wouldn’t be privy to anything that happened once Elias reached his destination, so in the end it really didn’t matter. All they—and there was a they, he was sure of it—would end up with was a report on his travel itinerary.
Now, if it was back in the day when he himself did surveillance, he’d have arranged for a second tail the minute he hit the District. Maybe even a third tail. Ted Robinson would pick him up in the District, then Jack, Harry, or Bert would stick with him till he got to his destination.
Elias felt pleased with himself. So much for memory loss. Well, he wasn’t going there, he didn’t want to think about that.
This whole thing was beyond stupid in his opinion. He was retired. These last years he’d gone out of his way to ignore anything and everything that pertained to his old profession. Helping Bert out on occasion when he was director was a pleasure because Bert was like a son to him. And to be honest, Bert always arrived at the right decision even before he asked for his input. Elias had been just a sounding board. A confidence builder, for want of a better term. Screw it all. Maybe he should just turn around and go home.
Elias felt his mind start to wander to why he even agreed to make this trip to the White House. The old, tired argument—the president is my commander in chief—wasn’t working for him right now. His foot tapped the brake when a maroon SUV in front of him put on its brakes. Great! Just what he needed, a traffic jam. Before he knew it, traffic was moving again, and he was back to thinking about turning around and going back home.
But… he’d never turned his back on the Bureau or his commander in chief in the past. He was proud of his dedication to the Bureau. What could it hurt to sit in on a meeting and listen. He’d always been a good listener.
Elias looked in his rearview mirror. There was Espinosa, three cars behind him. Well, he would be entering the District in about two minutes if the traffic kept moving. Then he’d know if he had a second tail. He laughed when he envisioned telling Nellie all about this little trip. Sooner or later, no matter how he tried, he knew she’d worm it all out of him. One way or the other. And to tell the truth, he’d be glad to share what this was all about. He hated secrets. Really, really hated secrets.
Martine Connor gulped at the last of her cold coffee, draining the cup. She glanced out the window to see that it was what she would have called a glorious day in her other life. Life in the White House was different. Living here she had no time to enjoy glorious days. When she did find a few minutes during the day that she could call her own, she was too wired to do more than sit down and close her eyes. Never mind spending the time looking out a window to see if it was a glorious day or not. Vaguely, she remembered someone saying something about rain later in the day. Well, since it was coming up on four o’clock, and the sky still appeared to be cloudless, that had to mean it wouldn’t rain till later or the weatherman was wrong, which was often the case.
When the knock sounded on the door, the president’s new best friend, Cleo, bolted upright and waited for her brand-new owner to give her a command.
Cleo, a retired K-9 dog, had adapted to her new owner and her surroundings within hours. The bonding was almost instantaneous. She nudged the president’s leg gently, the signal indicating that they should move toward the door. The president’s hand dropped to the shepherd’s head. “Okay, girl, time to sally forth. Your handler told me you were top dog when it came to judging people. I’m relying on you to do just that when we get into the room.” The huge dog looked upward as though she were listening and assessing her new owner’s words. “I’m counting on you, Cleo. I’ll be making decisions based on what you do.”
And if this ever gets out, they’ll lock me up and throw away the key. It’s kind of like making decisions based on fortune-tellers and the stars the way the press said Nancy Reagan did.
As they walked down the hallway, the president kept up a low-voiced running “dialogue” with the dog at her side. Twice, the dog slowed and looked up at her and again seemed to be assessing her words.
The president smiled and continued smiling when she recalled the conversation she’d had with Cleo’s handler. “I can’t explain it, Madam President,” he’d said when he got over his stage fright at speaking with the president of the United States, “but Cleo can anticipate, she seems to know what I’m thinking before I do. A half dozen times she stopped me from doing something I thought was right at the time. During her time of duty, she was always number one in the field trials. She never screwed up … ah … sorry, she never fouled up once. I just want you to know, Madam President, I did everything I could think of to keep that dog, but I’m going overseas, and they said no. She did her tour and deserves to be retired. That dog will give up her life for you if it ever comes to that, and I sure hope it doesn’t. Ah, could I ask a favor, Madam President?” And of course she’d said yes.
“Don’t let her forget me. When I get back, can I come see her?” Again, she’d responded affirmatively, with a lump in her throat.
The president stopped outside the door of the meeting room. She bent over and whispered to the big dog, “Make Gus proud of you now, Cleo.” The big dog raised her head, and President Connor was 100 percent certain that the shepherd smiled at her. “Good girl! Remember now, these guys are not exactly the enemy, but I sure as hell don’t like them.”
Cleo used her snout