“Whatever happened, Secretary Abbott is royally pissed. If the interview was as tame as it sounds, then why would Abbott complain to his mother about Davis?”
“The short version is that Day Abbott wants to marry Perry Black and he’s very jealous of Davis, and he’s not above asking his mother to hurt him.”
“I don’t suppose Davis—no, I’m not going there. If this guy is jealous of Davis, that kind of bad blood won’t go away.” Savich heard his boss curse under his breath. “You know, he couldn’t have picked a better way to hurt Davis’s career. If there’s a formal inquiry from State alleging he behaved unprofessionally, let his personal feelings get in the way, we’ll have to pull him off the case, put him through a review process that will stay on his record. I really don’t want this to happen. Take care of it, Savich, get things smoothed out, all right?”
“Yes, sir. I’ll deal with it. About Davis—”
“Stop. I don’t want to hear anymore. The secretary of state wants to see you and Davis in her office in, ah, thirty-two minutes. You want me along to run interference?”
“No, sir, but I think I’ll take Sherlock with us. She might help cool the secretary down a bit. I’ll let you know what happens.”
“You know what?” Maitland said. “If my mom were the secretary of state, I’d call her, too.”
Secretary of State’s office
Harry Truman Building
Washington, D.C.
Thirty-one minutes later, Savich, Sherlock, and Davis finished clearing three different security checks, all fast, efficient, but not as polite as the White House. Davis was nervous, he admitted it to himself, as they moved step by step toward the seat of power, toward the woman who could ruin his career in the FBI. Savich had told him not to worry too much, to act properly deferential, and leave most of the talking to him.
They were shown into the richly paneled office of the secretary of state. Arliss Abbott was standing behind her desk when they entered, her arms crossed over her gray Armani-suited chest. She said nothing at all until the three of them were standing directly in front of her desk, like disruptive schoolkids in front of a headmaster to be disciplined. Behind her impressive desk was a wall of solid built-in wooden bookcases filled to overflowing with books and knickknacks, probably gifts from world leaders, and a dozen shining photographic moments with various heads of state. It wasn’t an overly large office, small enough to be fitting for a servant of the people, but still, it announced power, tradition, and a big fist.
An older aristocrat of a man stood at her left. He had a long face, razor-sharp cheekbones, a thin nose, and boasted a beautiful salt-and-pepper mustache above his seamed lips, perfectly matching his styled hair. He gave off the subliminal I’m smarter than you, richer than you, more important than you. He didn’t smile at them. He did not move from where he stood, merely nodded and introduced himself as Bernard Pearson Franklyn.
A much younger man, about Davis’s age, stood behind him, obviously his subordinate in billable hours, judging by where he stood. He looked dramatic, no other way to put it, with his dark, liquid eyes and glossy black hair a bit on the long side. He wore a black turtleneck beneath a black blazer. He was a sharp package, the perfect distraction, Davis thought, for a living and breathing jury. He continued to smile when he introduced himself. Sasha Powers, and what kind of name was that? Davis wondered. Like his boss, Sasha did not offer to shake hands. These two were an impressive duo.
Arliss Abbott nodded to them, only a whisper of a smile on her face and none in her voice. “You’re prompt, gentlemen. And who is this?”
Sherlock pulled out her creds and handed them to her. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Secretary. I’m Agent Sherlock, FBI.”
Arliss Abbott looked at Davis and held out her hand even though she knew very well who he was. Savich got his creds out, but she waved his away. “I know exactly who you are, Agent Savich.”
She studied them, and looked at Sherlock. “And why are you here, Agent Sherlock?”
To protect them. She said, “Agent Savich believed I could be useful.”
Arliss raised a brow. “In what way, Agent Savich?”
“She’s been closely involved, ma’am. Her insights are invaluable.”
Whatever that meant. Sherlock returned Arliss Abbott’s gaze, waiting for her to move on. She had never before been in the presence of the secretary of state, didn’t know what to expect of this woman with her obvious intelligence. She was fascinated to see how she would handle this meeting—like the professional negotiator she was or like a lioness protecting her cub? She looked briefly toward the two lawyers, Franklyn leaning against the secretary’s desk, the theatrical young stallion Sasha Powers with his diamond stud standing behind him at attention.
Arliss said to Davis, “Agent Sullivan, when I met you last Tuesday night with Ambassador Black, I did not take you for a bully.”
No, you took me for something else entirely.
“Indeed, after Natalie explained why you accompanied her, she assured me you have her complete confidence to keep Perry safe. I understand you saved her life last night, is that correct?”
Davis nodded. “However, the assailant escaped.”
“I am grateful nonetheless,” Arliss said. “Will you tell me now how those events led you to turn around and confront my son in the fashion you did?”
A smooth and flawless segue, Sherlock thought.
“After the shooting last night, ma’am, interviewing your son was standard procedure. However, he became quite upset at the nature of the questions we needed to ask him—”
She rolled right over him. “You should have notified this office as a courtesy, Agent Sullivan. You should have made an appointment to see him to give him the opportunity for legal counsel. You did neither of these things. Instead, you arrived at my son’s office with no prior notification, simply barged in and accused him of trying to murder the woman he is currently viewing as his future wife. Both he and I have reason to be outraged at that behavior, Agent Sullivan.”
“Madame Secretary,” Savich said, “I sent Agents Sullivan and Hammersmith to interview Mr. Abbott. It is not our procedure to notify anyone of prospective interviews. Let me assure you, however, that if we need to speak to Mr. Abbott again, I will see to it we notify your office.
“As to what happened this morning, I think there are differences between what Mr. Abbott told you and what actually happened.”
“Oh? My son is now a liar?”
“No, ma’am. A difference in viewpoint, I’d say.”
“My viewpoint, Agent Savich, is that by not notifying my son of your planned visit, and Agent Davis’s tone being what it was, the interview smacked of an attempt to intimidate, even though viewing my son as a suspect in this tragedy is ridiculous. He has loved Perry his whole life; Natalie will verify that.”
Her eyes went to Davis. “My son believes you had personal motives for your questions, your tone, and your behavior, Agent Sullivan, the reason being that you have feelings for Perry Black, the woman you have been assigned by the Bureau to protect. He believes you are jealous of him, and thus your attacks and your obvious animosity. What do you have to say for yourself, Agent?”
Davis wanted to tell her that her precious son was a jackass, that he’d been the one to attack. But he knew he shouldn’t have retaliated, shouldn’t have provoked him. What made it worse was that Davis also knew Perry had no intention of marrying Day Abbott. Davis had been unprofessional. He’d been wrong, and it burned.
He said, “I’m sorry, ma’am. Your son is right, my behavior did border on the unseemly. There were words between us, words that shouldn’t have been spoken.” He drew a deep breath. “I promise you that will never happen again.”
“For the simple reason that you will never again interview my son, Agent Sullivan, unless there is a prior appointment, his lawyers are present, and you aren’t. Are we clear on that, Agent?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
; Savich said, “The Bureau will gladly stipulate to that, ma’am. Since none of us wish either Ambassador Black or her daughter to come to any harm, we must continue in a reasonable and logical way to pursue evidence.”
Arliss gave him a long look. The two lawyers took this as their cue to speak.
Mr. Bernard Franklyn said, “Since you’ve mentioned the matter of pursuing evidence, Agent Savich, it is our position that the DNA sample you took from our client, Mr. Dayton Abbott, was illegally obtained.” He turned to the young man behind him and gave a nod.
Sasha Powers gave them a blinding white smile. “The fact is, Agent Savich, that your department had no warrant for such an invasive request, and it appears that Mr. Abbott would never have agreed to provide the sample if he had not been coerced into doing so.” His dark eyes settled on Davis. “Agent Sullivan himself has agreed he behaved inappropriately while obtaining it.”
Savich said, “Mr. Abbott gave Agents Sullivan and Hammersmith a sample, after, admittedly, some discussion as to the reasons for the request. The DNA is already being analyzed and matched. What is important here is that because we have Mr. Abbott’s DNA, we will shortly be able to exonerate him from any suspicion. Given this positive outcome, I see no reason why there would be any legal issues in the future about how the DNA sample was obtained.”
Arliss said, “This is not a game of mutual intimidation, Agent Savich. Trust me that you wouldn’t fare well if it were. I understand you have a job to do, that everyone in a case such as this has to be interviewed. My son is not a boy. He is a grown man and he will deal with this. However, you are right. The DNA my son so imprudently provided you will clear him of any involvement.
“What happened this morning is unacceptable. I believe Agent Sullivan understands that. Since I do not wish to deprive Perry of Agent Sullivan’s continued protection, I am willing to let this go for now, with all the assurances you’ve given me. You are all excused. Thank you for coming.”
On their way out, Davis saw there were coffee cups and a beautiful jug of coffee sitting on a low table. They hadn’t been offered any.
Savich was bemused. The secretary of state could have lopped off their heads, but instead she’d backed off.
He wondered if Davis understood how lucky he was.
Natalie Black’s house
Late Monday afternoon
Blessed parked his stolen Honda in the trees down the road from Ambassador Natalie Black’s mansion—and that’s what he’d call it, one of those huge three-storied in-your-face barns of a place they used to build a hundred years ago, with a wraparound porch and so many chimneys and big windows he’d hate to be the one to have to clean them. It was painted blue with brown trim—only two colors. His mama’s big Victorian back in Bricker’s Bowl was painted five different colors she’d picked out herself, and she’d had each color freshened every year. This place wasn’t as nice as his mama’s—how could it be, since it had only two colors and needed a paint job? It had a big, important-looking gate, though, with a call box and a guard’s station, for the big yahoos who lived in this hellhole of Washington. It was easier for them than actually doing something about the criminals who littered the streets. There were cameras, too, he saw, and men in dark suits at the gate and on the grounds. They were there to protect the big-shot ambassador Black, he knew, the woman he’d seen on the TV news shows.
Well, his mama had been a big shot, too, in Bricker’s Bowl, but she hadn’t closed herself in with a fancy high fence and a guard gate. Nope, she’d been welcoming, especially the local folk who had touched up the paint on the house every year, planted her spring flowers, and washed her Cadillac every week, with only a little nudging reminder from Blessed. He remembered the local teenagers, probably there on a bet, to gawk at that awesome house, remembered how afraid they were that they might get caught. He’d always liked that slick of fear he saw on all those faces. He wondered what had happened to his mama’s house. He wondered what Mama’s house looked like now. Were there strangers living there? Or maybe it was dark and moldy now, Grace’s paintings all covered with dust.
The family graveyard behind the house had to still be there. He remembered how quiet and serene it was under its canopy of trees, which always kept the gravestones cool to the touch. Grace should be buried there, comfortable in the black loamy earth with his family, but he wasn’t. Mama wasn’t buried there, either, and that wasn’t right. He missed his family. He missed the cheesecake his mama had served him and Grace every night.
He saw a light blue Ford moving past him. It was the ambassador’s daughter—Perry Black, the sportswriter, and what sort of girl did something like that? He watched her gloved hand reach out, press the intercom button, since the guardhouse was empty. The gates swung smoothly open and the car went through, the daughter giving a little wave toward the camera.
Blessed pulled a bottle of water out of the Honda and drank deep.
He was cold again, even in his beautiful camel coat, and he stuck his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t here for the girl, he was here for Savich. He’d be patient and wait.
Only a few minutes later, he saw the red Porsche, Savich’s red Porsche. He knew they would come. He checked his watch. He had to know how long it would take him to get to Morganville.
Natalie hung up her suit, placed her heels in their box in the closet, and pulled on her sweats. All the interviews here in Washington, then the trip to New York and the appearance at the General Assembly that morning, and, finally, the horrible news that someone had tried to kill Perry last night, had drained her dry. She was exhausted, her brain numb. She wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, bury herself in a pile of blankets, and escape into blankness. That wasn’t going to happen. She couldn’t fall asleep if she tried. Her brain would squirrel about madly with horrible visions of Perry lying dead, with a killer standing over her she couldn’t make out, only a sinister shadow. She couldn’t stand it.
She’d felt only relief and hope after she’d left the podium at the UN. Her speech had gone well and Arliss had been pleased. The president had called her, congratulated her. It had felt good. It was only on her way to JFK with two DS agents escorting her that she’d had time to call Perry. Perry had kept the news from her until then.
She realized she was shaking, and drew several deep, calming breaths. Falling apart wasn’t an option; it wouldn’t help anything. She had to get hold of herself. Perry and Davis were both fine. Perry would be here soon and tell her all about it.
She looked toward the bedroom window, remembering the gut-churning fear when George’s son William had tried to climb into her room. She wondered if he’d seen Arliss introducing her at the UN, calling her an American heroine. Had he watched any of the interviews? Did he still believe she was responsible for his father’s death?
Her cell phone rang. It was Connie, at the hospital with Hooley, telling her Hooley was better today and congratulating her on her interviews. Some good news, she thought. When she punched off, she called Perry again, got voice mail.
She stood, indecisive, in the middle of her bedroom, alternately looking at the bedroom window and down at her thick white socks. She heard Luis’s voice outside her bedroom door.
Perry was here. She shoved her feet into slippers and went downstairs to see Perry standing in the huge entrance hall, unwrapping the wool scarf from around her neck.
Her daughter saw her and yelled, “You were great, Mom, great!” And Perry was hugging her, kissing her, laughing, hugging her again. “You’ve got to be exhausted, I mean, jetting off to New York and back again. Go back on upstairs, I’ll get you some tea. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten, either. How about some toast with peanut butter?”
Natalie stared at her, then she took Perry’s beloved face between her hands and held her still. “Someone tried to kill you and Davis last night and you didn’t tell me. You didn’t tell me until my talk was over this morning. And you want to make me some peanut-butter toast?”
“I’m sorry,
Mom, really, but the last thing you needed was to hear about the attack before you gave your speech. I talked it over with Dillon and Davis, and everyone thought it would be better to wait.
“I’m all right. Davis is all right. We spent the night here, since my condo is shot up, missing windows, and covered with crime scene tape. It’s a mess.” She put her hands over her mother’s. “Really, Mom, I’m okay.” She hugged her tightly against her. “We’ll both be okay, Mom, really, you’ll see.”
Natalie stepped back. “I want you and Davis to remain here, with me.”
“We’ve got to go back to my condo so I can pack some things, but yes, we’ll be back here. I met your two DS agents. I’m glad Luis’s still here, though. At least you’re safe now. The place is a fortress.”
“You’ll be safe, too,” Natalie said, and hugged her back.
Perry said, “I was at work this morning, but everyone stopped to watch you at the UN. You were incredible. Arliss’s introduction was perfect. My mom the heroine, yes, perfect.”
“What does Davis say about last night?”
Perry’s face turned cold.
“What? What’s wrong? Was Davis hurt?”
“No, he wasn’t.” She started to say something else, thought better of it, and forced a smile. Natalie merely stared at her until Perry admitted, “I need to have a discussion with him, that’s all. Don’t worry about it.”
“What about?”
At the continued silence from her daughter, Natalie said, “Where is Davis? Is he speaking to the DS agents?”
“No. Davis had places to go, people to see this morning. I was assigned another agent.”
“Where is he?”
“His name is Agent Gregory, and I, ah, left him at the Post.”
“You ditched your guard? Why, for heaven’s sake, Perry?”
Good question, Perry thought. She knew it would sound seriously lame, but still she said, “Agent Gregory is older. He meant well, I’m sure, but he wanted to play my father and give me advice on everything from crime in D.C. to my sports column. I tried to hunker down to my work, but after a while, I, well, I wanted some peace, so I left and came directly here. I called him on the way so he knows I’m okay.”
Power Play (An FBI Thriller) Page 26