“You have nothing to apologize for, Rosa. Michelle always checks the messages as soon as she gets home. You know that.”
The distant sounds of Tomb Raider were audible in the kitchen. Michelle was parked in front of the television in the front room, eating ice cream and watching videos. Funny way to calm a kid down, sugar and stimulation.
Christine asked, “How bad is it?”
Rosa slipped her hands down around the teacup and lifted it. “I only heard the very end. I was in the living room and Michelle called out my name. I heard the man say, ‘I’ll talk with you later.’”
“He said that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Christine muttered, “Jesus H. Christ.” When Rosa blanched, Christine added, “I’m sorry, Rosa. Okay. Let’s hear this thing.”
She glanced in the direction of the front room and adjusted the volume on the answering machine.
“Hello, Michelle. I was just calling to let you and your mother know that your father is an evil man. Right up to his stinking white perfect teeth…”
Christine listened to the entire message. By the time the beep came, Rosa looked ready to cry.
“Who would say that about Mr. Foster?”
Christine was shaken. “Sadly, there are plenty of people out there who would say that, Rosa. And much worse. That’s not what I’m worried about. It’s the fact that he’s directing himself to Michelle. That’s no good.”
She gazed down at the answering machine. The sounds of explosions drifted in from the front room. That’s not scary. Explosions. Animated carnage. But this?
Christine took a breath, held it, and hit the replay button. The message chilled her even more the second time.
“I’ll talk to you later. Bye-bye.”
Christine turned to her nanny. “Could you go sit with Michelle? I’m going to get Mr. Foster on the phone.”
Senator Foster’s gaze came back from middle distance. His intern sat on the edge of Greg’s desk with an impassive expression, watching the senator.
“Can you pause this?” Andy asked.
“Yes.” Lindsay dropped to the floor, stepped over to where Andy was seated, and hit a combination of numbers on the phone keypad. She returned to Greg’s desk and leaned up against it.
Andy asked, “How long does this go on?”
“I’m not sure. I was timing the whole thing when you came in. His ranting goes on like that for at least another couple of minutes.”
Andy’s throat and mouth were dry. There was only one person this Russian could be. He had to be the man who had smashed his way into Joy Resnick’s beach house and murdered her. Andy was aware he was generalizing about the man being Russian. The accent could have been from any of a dozen Eastern European countries. Russian was just the most convenient. It was Lindsay who had said it first.
Lindsay. Nineteen years old. A naive little witness to this horror show.
Andy cleared his throat. “How would you characterize the rest of this?”
In his mind he saw the young woman shrugging. Well, Senator, there’s this whole part in there about, like, you having sex with this woman right before she was killed? You mean, like, how would I characterize that?
Lindsay replied, “You’ve gotten to the part where he is yelling and screaming?”
“That just ended.” Andy could not believe this was happening. So many things were wrong with this picture.
“There’s not much more after that,” Lindsay said. “The man and the woman talk about some stuff. Food, I think. Then the television comes on, it’s hard to hear much after that.”
“How does it end?” Andy was able to summon a grim internal laugh. Yes. How does it all end? Please. Tell me.
“He says ‘Shit.’”
Andy raised an eyebrow. “Shit?”
“Yes. It sounds like he must have finally noticed that the phone was still on. His voice suddenly gets louder. Like he’s approaching the phone or something. He says ‘Shit,’ and then it goes dead.”
Andy looked down at the pad of paper on the desk. He’d written the words ALEKSEY TITOV in block letters, going over them several times as he’d listened to the message machine. The outlines of the letters were now thick and black. Andy made a steeple of his fingers and lowered his chin onto it.
“Lindsay, I need you to do something for me.”
“Yes, Senator. Of course.”
Andy slapped the story together in his mind. A quick patch here, a patch there. No time for finesse.
“First, I need you to remain quiet about this.” He emphasized his point with a no-nonsense look. “You’re to mention this to no one.”
“Not even to Greg and Linda?”
“No. To no one. It—” He took a sharp breath. “I’m afraid this involves Greg.”
Lindsay’s eyes widened. “Greg? What do you mean?”
“You’ll understand if I don’t go into any details with you. The point is, this has to remain between you and me. It’s absolutely vital.”
“But what’s it about? Is Greg in some sort of trouble? Oh Jesus.”
Andy was a little taken aback by how swiftly the hook had been sunk. He fell into his best conspiratorial voice. “Here’s the other thing I need you to do, Lindsay. You heard this man. Something is coming tomorrow by FedEx. You have to contact them.”
“Contact who?”
“FedEx. We need to head it off. We do not want that package arriving here at the office. Greg cannot see it. Linda can’t. Nobody can. Call FedEx and arrange for this package to be held at one of the FedEx places in the city. I’ll get you all the identification you need. I want you to pick this thing up and deliver it to me personally.” He paused. “But not at the office. That’s very important. You’re getting all this?”
She nodded. “I’m to keep the FedEx from coming here. I’ll pick it up at one of their offices, and I’ll deliver it to you.”
“Outside the office. Exactly.”
“But—”
“But what?”
The words came out harsher than he’d intended. Suddenly he was feeling as old as the hills. What he couldn’t afford to do was lose this young woman’s confidence. Lindsay was leaning up against Greg’s desk, looking increasingly scared and uncertain. The feeling in the air was not a good one. She was gathering doubt. Andy could see it. He endeavored to loosen his tone.
“Listen, Lindsay. Greg has gotten himself in a little jam. It’s nowhere near as big as I’m making it sound. He’s done nothing wrong, it’s just the nature of the business we’re in. Greg still has my complete confidence. In the end, everything comes down to trust, doesn’t it? I know you care abut Greg. I’m trusting you to do him this favor. I’m terrifically grateful for the work you’ve been doing for us here. I know it’s not always so glamorous. And neither is this. But what I need is your silence on this. This is just how the world operates. Can I count on you, Lindsay?”
Andy would have paid a small fortune to know what was going on inside the young woman’s head, as her face was revealing nothing. Her expression was like a white wall.
Andy had a cocktail reception to attend at six. He had planned to walk to it, but the threatening phone message and his talk with his intern had scuttled those plans. Christine had called, but he hadn’t bothered retrieving the message. He phoned her from the back of his taxi. He lowered the window, allowing the cool early-evening air to bathe his face.
Christine was enraged. “Where the hell have you been?” she snapped. “Didn’t you get my messages?”
“I… no. I didn’t play them back. I’ve been in—”
“I need you to talk to Michelle. Right away!”
She was shrill. Christine was never shrill.
“Of course,” Andy said. “Put her on. What seems to be the problem?”
“What seems to be the problem is that some nutcase called here and left a message for Michelle about you.”
Andy’s heart slammed up against his ribs. “Me?”
; “Yes, you. A crank call. I don’t know how he got our number. But thank you very much, our daughter was nicely traumatized. Oh, I do so love life in the public fucking eye.”
The taxi was passing the Washington Monument; the blinking red lights at the very top looked like dragon eyes. Andy braced himself. “Settle down. What exactly did this crank caller say?”
“Oh, just garbage. You’re an evil man. Crap like that.”
Andy waited, but Christine had finished. He wanted desperately to ask if the man had some sort of an accent.
“Was that it?”
The White House came briefly into view then vanished again. Sometimes it appeared more like a hologram than an actual place. Especially at night.
“No, that wasn’t it. He scared your daughter half to death! He told her to be careful, whatever that means. Oh. And he said you had perfect teeth.”
“I what?”
“I’m not having this, Andy. I am not having our daughter terrorized by wackos who have some sort of problem with you. She’s seven years old. This is completely unacceptable.”
“Look, put Michelle on. I’m sure I can convince her I’m not evil.”
“You’re missing my point, Andy.”
“I’m sorry, Christine. What is your point?”
There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Nice,” Christine said at last. “Snap at your family. Why the hell not?”
“I didn’t mean that,” Andy said.
“My point is, since you asked… It’s… My point is, something’s not good. It’s this whole thing with Chris Wyeth, and it’s not this whole thing with Chris Wyeth. Jesus Christ, Andy, you might be the next goddamned vice president of the United States, and we haven’t even talked about it! I’m sorry, but I don’t think your family has wrapped its head around this yet. I guess I’m as much to blame as you. But still.”
“Look, that’s all still very much up in the air. I don’t really—”
Christine cut him off. “It doesn’t matter! People are calling here and telling our daughter that nice little girls sink like stones and that her daddy is evil. I won’t have it, Andy. Something is in the air. And I’m just telling you, for the record, I’m creeped out. I don’t like it.”
Andy heard a sound in the background. It sounded like a cat mewing. Christine’s voice went faint.
“It’s Daddy, sweetheart. He wants to talk with you.” She came back fully on the line. “Andy? Michelle would like to speak with you. Convince her that everything is all right.” Her voice lowered to a whisper. “Lie if you have to.”
Andy nodded his head, as if his wife was sitting right in front of him.
That’s exactly what I’m going to have to do, he thought. Lie through my perfect teeth.
By eight thirty a.m., the Mall was throbbing with Earth Day energy. People. Blankets, Frisbees, banners. Oversize green and blue balloons. Painted faces. Dozens of wooden stalls hosting environmental action groups and coalitions from all over the country. Over by the National Museum of the American Indian, a green-bearded Uncle Sam on ten-foot stilts marched about stiffly, chanting through a megaphone, “Washington hot air feeds global warming!” Nearby, a small fleet of solar-powered wheelchairs bumped silently over the grass, their riders passing out pamphlets made from recycled hemp. A flatbed truck had pulled up before sunrise in the area behind the Air and Space Museum, bearing a massive ice sculpture of the earth. The ice was now in the process of melting, the runoff collecting via aluminum troughs into cups and handed out to passersby.
The main stage had been set up near the Smithsonian Castle, on the south side of the Mall. A pair of towers situated on either side of the stage held gigantic video screens that made the onstage activities visible from nearly every part of the north end of the Mall. After an invocation from a Native American elder opened the day’s proceedings on a somber note, speakers and comedians and musicians began their rotation on the stage.
By ten thirty, the lineup was already behind schedule. During a longer-than-intended break to prep for a short set by Tori Amos, the green Uncle Sam had somehow made his way to the front of the crowd, where his tottering presence was blocking the clear view of the center of the stage and was, in any case, a complete distraction. A rumbling chant developed. “Down with Sam! Down with Sam!” As the tall green figure continued bellowing and ignoring exhortations to move out of the way, a contingent from the crowd finally took the matter into their own hands. Taking hold of the stilts, they brought the green man down to earth, sideways and slowly, and the crowd cheered. A few minutes later Tori Amos appeared onstage, looking like a green bumblebee, and offered up nine and a half minutes of anguish. The crowd cheered her, too.
Andy had been scheduled to follow Ms. Amos at eleven o’clock and to speak for roughly ten minutes. He was standing backstage, waiting his turn, obsessively checking his watch. At eleven thirty, the diminutive singer hit her final chord on the piano. The emcee approached the microphone, and Andy glanced down at his notes. The senator wasn’t turning any new ground here; this was a sermon to the choir. Applause lines guaranteed. Andy folded his notes and stuck them into his pocket.
The crowd looked good. Easily ten thousand already. The stage manager was standing several feet away, listening through his headset to the emcee. He looked over at Andy, holding one finger up in the air.
The senator’s cell phone sounded. Andy pounced on it. It was Lindsay.
“Senator, I have the package.”
“Good! Just hang tight. I’m about to go speak. Just wait where you are and I’ll call you.”
The stage manager dropped his arm. “Go! Go! You’re on!”
Andy flipped his phone shut. The adrenaline surged through his system as he headed to the front of the stage. The general din of applause and cheering came into focus for Andy only as he reached the microphone and raised his arms to acknowledge the spirited greeting. In his mind’s eye, he imagined his intern from Buffalo standing on a street corner several miles away, clutching in her arms a FedEx package. Bringing his focus back to the crowd, his ears finally caught not just the simple cadence of the chant that had erupted. They caught the two letters.
“Vee Pee! Vee Pee! Vee Pee!”
Senator Foster took several minutes with reporters after his address to the crowd. He had to insist — forcibly, in one case — that the focus remain strictly on matters of the environment and on his carbon credit bill, which was currently working its way through the committee. A reporter with The Washington Post was pushing him to comment on the Earth Day crowd’s wishes that Andy declare his feelings about the vice presidency.
“Senator, with all due respect, your views on the environment are not exactly news at this point. But don’t you think that should you become the vice president, you would be in a position to make some real progress on those issues? Especially in a global sense?”
Andy replied glibly, “I don’t spend my energies on ifs.”
The reporter was not impressed. “If you were offered the position, wouldn’t you be able to push your agenda more aggressively?”
“Not nearly as aggressively as you’re pushing yours.”
“Is that a no?”
“That’s a nothing.”
The woman cocked her head slightly, tapping her pencil against her chin. “Rita Flores warned me about you.”
Andy jumped in immediately. “I’m very glad to hear that. I’m all for warnings. That’s precisely why these people have gathered here today. If we don’t turn warnings into policy, then we have produced nothing but hot air. And in our case, we will have failed our children’s generation and the generations after theirs.”
“That’s cute,” the reporter said. “Rita warned me that you’re one of the most evasive men she has ever covered.”
Andy cued up his smile. “Anything that is not an outright condemnation I’ll take as a compliment.”
After several more questions, Andy finally extracted himself from the press trailer. He was thanked prof
usely by several of the event’s organizers; then he walked over to Independence Avenue and hailed a cab. From the backseat he dialed Lindsay’s number.
“Have you got it?”
“Yes, it’s right here. I’m at Starbucks.”
“Okay, I’m on my way. Sorry that took so long. Seventeenth and Massachusetts, in about ten minutes. Northeast corner. I’m in a Gem Cab.”
He disconnected the call and fell back in the seat. He checked his watch. It was twelve thirty-five. As far as Andy was concerned, time officially stopped at seven that evening, when he was supposed to be on the phone with the goddamned Russian. Brought down on Earth Day. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint the irony, but he suspected it was there.
Lindsay left the Starbucks as soon as Senator Foster called. Her mind was elsewhere, a million miles away. She vaguely registered the click click click of her shoes as she moved along the sidewalk. The FedEx envelope was tucked firmly under her arm. Mere mortal hands could not have pried it loose.
At the next block she began looking for the senator’s cab. A red pedicab was tooling slowly up the street, some twenty or thirty yards back. Up at the end of the block Lindsay saw a Gem Cab pulling over, but as she stepped off the curb, she saw the rear door of the cab opening and an elderly woman getting out. Not the senator. What she didn’t see was a gleaming black motorcycle that was weaving precariously at just that instant past the pedicab. The motorcycle was pitched at such a severe angle that the driver could have practically reached out his hand and touched the road surface. He was losing control of the machine.
The roar from the motorcycle caught up to Lindsay a split second in advance of the vehicle’s rear tire swerving sideways into her leg. Its brakes locked, and the six-hundred-pound machine immediately fishtailed, whipping in a complete circle. Lindsay was clipped a second time, just below her left hip.
The nineteen-year-old rocketed into the air.
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